Hope for Love

Chapter I

XX

17th May 1536, Palace Of Whitehall, London

Her first wedding had been simple; quiet and rushed. Not unlike this debacle here, she thought. It made her laugh that both her weddings were to be held in the same place and officiated by the same person. The first time, she had loved her husband-to-be far too much and it had consumed her. He had consumed her, filling her very veins with his essence. There were differences with this wedding though, the biggest being that she did not love the man who was to be her new husband. Although, she had to admit her wedding dress was far finer this time.

She looked at her reflection in the large gold ornate mirror, looking at the cut of the lace and silk gown and how it highlighted her slender waist. She had decided to forgo the corset today, and she was glad her body was still slim after three pregnancies. Her neck was adorned by her signature pearl 'B' necklace. Her dark hair was tied up tightly in an elegant bun, with brilliant white daisies entwined in it. Anne was not a vain woman by any stretch, she knew she had many faults, but narcissism wasn't one of them. However even she could say she looked attractive today. A gentle knock at the door roused her from her thoughts.

"Annie, you look beautiful" sighed her father, Thomas, his dark eyes cloudy with, what Anne thought was, regret. Thomas gently pulled his youngest daughter into his arms, cradling her close.

"I wish I could have changed things" he whispered to her, kissing her raven locks.

"It is not your fault, Papa, we did not know how things were going to play out" she soothed her father, drying her own tears onto his quilted doublet.

Thomas sighed, his little girl did not deserve this. She was to be married off to a man she hated and then kept far away from court in exile, as the man who held her heart married another. He cursed the bloody Seymour family and that bastard Brandon for the fifth time this morning before carefully placing the long white veil over his daughter's pale face and gently taking her thin arm.

"Papa, Annie, it's time" called George, his head peeking through the archway into the church. They all knew that although this was a bitter blow to them, it was better than the alternative.

Anne nodded at her brother and allowed her father to sweep her forwards towards the church.

XX

17th May 1536, The Palace Of Whitehall, London

The ceremony and after party had gone by in a flash, she could remember only flashes of it, thank goodness. Poor Cranmer's pale face and bumbling words, the look of victory in Henry's eyes, the cold and unfeeling lips on hers. And now, Anne found herself in the cold rooms of her new husband. For a man who was the king's favourite and best friend, his rooms were rather plain. One wall was lined entirely with books and there was a large bureau by the dying fire.

The draft in the room made her shiver slightly, drawing the silk shawl tight around her thin frame, ignoring the small goose bumps that broke out along her ivory skin, crying out their discomfort. The small dying fire by the bureau, gave the spacious chamber little warmth. Sighing, she slipped the silk nightgown down her angular shoulders and allowed it to pool on the stone slabs at her feet. Her pale hands covered her body as best they could. Charles' hands, though warm were not gentle, as they tugged at her elegant bun, freeing her raven curls and allowing them to tumble down.

"No need to cover yourself. I'll be seeing it all in a moment anyway" he drawled, in what she thought was a bored tone.

Nodding stiffly, she lowered her hands, staring at the wall behind his head, her dark eyes unblinking. His blue eyes looked over her, drinking her in. He could admit that she was a beautiful woman with her dark hair, ivory skin and stormy eyes. She looked as if she had walked off the pages of Homer's The Iliad, her beauty could rival the mythological Helen of Troy. His eyes drifted further down her body, taking in the perk form of her breasts and the way the pearl 'B' necklace adorned the space between them, before his eyes fell foul on some awful discolorations.