Tampered Beauty

Relief

The deed was done. 

Mary watched with glee as the carriage holding the new Sir and Dame were carried away. A tiny affair mostly resembling Kenna and Bash's first nuptials -without the long dead, thought to be insane, Henry, bellowing to the bride and groom- rather than Greer's wedding and definatley not her own. Either one of them, to be exact.

There had been no pomp or pageantry, in the ceremony the night before. Lola wore an old brown gown -the colour of security and stability- as she said her vows, before heading to one of the banquet halls for a quiet dinner. Only the necessary people had been there, including the Emperor and Empress, the Empress' two ladies in waiting, the Flemming clan and representatives from the Pope and the Vatican. It had been pitiful, really, but certainly more than Lola deserved to have. The only slight section of pomp and grandness was when Mary passed her loyal subject five bags of gold, a reward for his sacrifice and to act as Lola's dowry.

The Sir and Dame would live out the rest of their lives in a small estate in the North of Wales, complete with a small household paid for by the crown. Every time Francis would travel to the British Isles, he'd stop off at their household to visit his eldest son. And, when John was old enough to write, he and his father would correspond with letters.

Speaking of, Mary walked from the window -as soon as the carriage left her view- and over to her black velvet covered husband, wrapping her arms across his shoulders -both tense and relaxed- and pressing a kiss to his neck. She heard him exhale a smile and lean into her.

"How are you feeling?" she asked, knowing the marriage was a sacrifice for Francis. Although the small boy was illegitimate, the boy was still Francis' son. And now he wouldn't see him for months.

"Alright, I suppose." he sighed. "It's the right thing to do, and although he hasn't reacted well to the change, I will miss him." he leaned back into her further.

"I won't stop you from seeing him, you're welcome to, anytime you wish. Just don't repeat your mistake." she said, her voice quiet. 

"I know, and you're too good to me in this aspect." he smiled a little. Mary pressed a kiss to his cheek, a side effect from the baby growing inside her meaning she'd been a little clingy and affectionate to her husband. Not that he seemed to mind, of course.

He moved her around to sit in his lap. Her light chiffon gown made of layers and layers of green -the colour of relief- blue, white and black, swished a little as she made herself comfortable. Familiar fatigue set in, and she relaxed into his warm embrace, her head tucking comfortably into the crook of his neck. It felt -and looked- as though they were still young and naive. It was like when they were courting again.

"What are you working on?" Mary's voice was quiet.

"A letter, to my mother." he said, his own voice sounding tired at the mention of the mischievous Medici.

"Has she arrived in France?"

"Timothy says so, but I am suspicious."

"Why?"

"Because she's Catherine de Medici?" he guessed. Mary breathed a chuckle. That was reason enough, enough said.

"Point taken." her voice was quiet. She nuzzled into his neck. He pressed a kiss to her hair, feeling the cold silver and emerald diadem that she wore against his lips.

"We didn't part on the most civil terms. I couldn't forgive her for what she did to you and James, manipulating me to trying to have me turn out like Father. I cannot condone. She sweet talked into getting what she wanted, pretending it was for my own benefit. But, she tried to control me, driving you and our son away." he sighed, looking up at her. "I am sure she resents you."