The Yorkist Rose
fifteen
Elizabeth’s appearance was one which the court took as a scandal. Her arrival had been with her family, her brothers and father meeting her outside the court and greeting her with a smile, a bow and a hug each, the women had then followed the men into the palace only to be greeted by the king himself. Elizabeth had been surprised to see him dressed so lazily, he had not bothered to put on his cape despite the slight breeze, his excuse was he could not care for the cold, he wished only to see her and now. He was indeed like an excited boy at Christmas, an excited child waiting for a gift or like a puppy being taunted by rich meats he wished to eat. He had lifted her from the horse and held her for a moment, staring into each other’s eyes, a connection was there still. She had worried, feared it would not be, that she would arrive at court and he would not love her, or that she would wake up from this dream to find he was not there at all. Yet this felt so real, his warm hands, hot breath, his scent so sweet she could barely resist sinking her lips into his neck and sucking his soft skin. She had to, knowing this only more as he turned slightly, she saw his mother, the Duchess Cecily staring daggers at the pair for their show of intimacy.
He put he to the floor and offered her an arm, by his side to men walked, one she had met before, the Earl of Hastings who smiled politely, a small sparkle in his eyes suggested all was fake and he approved of this no more than Edward’s mother, who she knew hated the marriage and would do all she could to insult it. Only he would keep his manners at his side if only to please Edward, who she noted he stood particularly close to, muttering things to the king which made the young man smile. They walked slowly, as though it was a leisurely walk and not one to establish her into this hell they called the royal court, as though this process would be easy for her, and as though she were not nervous and her heart was not pounding in her chest. She wished to hurry them but could not find her way to do it. Instead she smiled and gripped harder on her husband’s sleeve, like a clingy child who wished her father’s attention, he noted it, glanced at her and speed his pace almost running up the stairs with her to make his introductions.
A painfully slow process in which ever name was mentioned at least twice, where all but one – Edward’s younger sister Margaret offered her a glare, one which told her she was no more than a common whore to them and that they would not support her, the marriage or Edward when it came to this, as though her children to him would be no more than bastards and that the world would have continued to spin if only he had done as he was commanded, if only their king had been the puppet he was thought to be and had married that damn French princess, the one he had mentioned oh so many times that he would rather had died than marry. All had seemed polite enough with their words, their actions had been polite, courteous, though that had only convinced her more that this was not where she wanted to be.
The dinner which both her mother and Edward had told her would make her more secure, make her feel more at ease and more comfortable, would convince her and all around them that she was queen only made her worse. All eyes on them had not helped, he had taken it so naturally, so easily. Yet she recalled that even at his less than royal birth he had been raised to act like this, to expect this and to marry well and be one of the more important people in the room, to be the most important in a country would not seem so out of place to him. Of course he had noticed her nerves and discomfort and rested his hand on hers for most of the evening, trying to comfort her, they had danced, sung, drunk and been merry yet all the while no matter what they did the eyes of the Duchess of York dug into them, burning holes in Elizabeth’s head she was sure, Edward seemed to ignore his mother with ease, she could not.
That night in the King’s bed, he held her to him, his hand stroking her soft and now moist with sweat skin, his breath cooling her nck she smiled his touch, though his words changed her mood. “She will come to it.”
“Oh Edward if only she would.”
“She must.”
“I think you dream, a dream is allowed but you dream one which could not be true and worse, you believe it.”
“It will work out.” His words came with a smile, at that moment Elizabeth knew that those words could not have been further from the truth had they wished it. Still she knew, she must not mention her thoughts, she was now Queen of England, she could not darken her husband’s spirits even if she had needed to, he had to believe in the ultimate good. For his sakes and England’s.
He put he to the floor and offered her an arm, by his side to men walked, one she had met before, the Earl of Hastings who smiled politely, a small sparkle in his eyes suggested all was fake and he approved of this no more than Edward’s mother, who she knew hated the marriage and would do all she could to insult it. Only he would keep his manners at his side if only to please Edward, who she noted he stood particularly close to, muttering things to the king which made the young man smile. They walked slowly, as though it was a leisurely walk and not one to establish her into this hell they called the royal court, as though this process would be easy for her, and as though she were not nervous and her heart was not pounding in her chest. She wished to hurry them but could not find her way to do it. Instead she smiled and gripped harder on her husband’s sleeve, like a clingy child who wished her father’s attention, he noted it, glanced at her and speed his pace almost running up the stairs with her to make his introductions.
A painfully slow process in which ever name was mentioned at least twice, where all but one – Edward’s younger sister Margaret offered her a glare, one which told her she was no more than a common whore to them and that they would not support her, the marriage or Edward when it came to this, as though her children to him would be no more than bastards and that the world would have continued to spin if only he had done as he was commanded, if only their king had been the puppet he was thought to be and had married that damn French princess, the one he had mentioned oh so many times that he would rather had died than marry. All had seemed polite enough with their words, their actions had been polite, courteous, though that had only convinced her more that this was not where she wanted to be.
The dinner which both her mother and Edward had told her would make her more secure, make her feel more at ease and more comfortable, would convince her and all around them that she was queen only made her worse. All eyes on them had not helped, he had taken it so naturally, so easily. Yet she recalled that even at his less than royal birth he had been raised to act like this, to expect this and to marry well and be one of the more important people in the room, to be the most important in a country would not seem so out of place to him. Of course he had noticed her nerves and discomfort and rested his hand on hers for most of the evening, trying to comfort her, they had danced, sung, drunk and been merry yet all the while no matter what they did the eyes of the Duchess of York dug into them, burning holes in Elizabeth’s head she was sure, Edward seemed to ignore his mother with ease, she could not.
That night in the King’s bed, he held her to him, his hand stroking her soft and now moist with sweat skin, his breath cooling her nck she smiled his touch, though his words changed her mood. “She will come to it.”
“Oh Edward if only she would.”
“She must.”
“I think you dream, a dream is allowed but you dream one which could not be true and worse, you believe it.”
“It will work out.” His words came with a smile, at that moment Elizabeth knew that those words could not have been further from the truth had they wished it. Still she knew, she must not mention her thoughts, she was now Queen of England, she could not darken her husband’s spirits even if she had needed to, he had to believe in the ultimate good. For his sakes and England’s.