It's been nine years, Mary, now fifteen, stood in the middle of her room, her hand running over the palest of blue fabric of her new gown - trimmed with pearls and silver, as her ruby ring glittered in the twilight glow...
She had grown into a fine woman, a jewel of womanhood.

Mary was to be wedded in a week to a man she had never met.
The heir to an Earldom - small but rich.
Sir Thomas Alwin. At man at twenty-two years old, was one of many stories'.
Admittedly, it had taken years for the dowry and joint to be settled. Mary will be the Viscountess of Moyen in Scotland, a newly wed woman with £500 a year including two castles and the surrounding lands.
After November, Mary was to give up her now English ways, to become a Scottish courtier - The new Lady Moyen

Her tightly-laced corset itched against her skin, catching a glimpse of herself in the polished mirror. Mary was uncomfortable, and hungry - her skin like milk against the blue fabric; her auburn red, washed, was bright and long.
She was to remain thin, as her Lady Mother's wishes - Mary was always starving.

The household were still mourning for all the children; John, little William and Anne, - black now draped the Calsley Halls'.
All were dead with weeks of each other.
Her cousin, the slimy, Sir Richard, was now Earl of Calsley, a choice, her Lady Mother, does not agree with, since she fought so hard to keep the title for her sons.
Uncle William would be overjoyed with the Watergraves inheritance. He died four years ago and the maids gossiped that when he died, his ghostly laugher filled the hall for weeks after.
Her cousin, inherited everything- from Calsley Hall, and the several other estates, to even her own father's sword.
She couldn't help, but be jealous of him, since Mary was now the sole living child (apart from his illegitimate children) of Sir Henry Watergraves. It should be hers. It was her right and not Sir Richard's.

Mary heard footsteps from outside the large, wooden doors.
She quickly placed her hood on top of her head, a black veil behind - it was in the English style of the Gable and not the current fashion, at her mother's request, while her two maids, Anne and Jane, finished her look with jewels of garnet, - drop earrings and a necklace, small gifts of the former Queen Katharine.

There was a knock, it was Henry de Tieuleor. Her mother's former ward and Mary's closest friend.
Her sweet Henri
He smiled, it was soft and tender. He was handsome at only seventeen,
"Are you ready Mary?" he said, almost excited.
It was a court celebration for the King and his new Queen, Anne.
Mary looked down at her black slippers. She was nervous - another court function for Queen, who was rumoured to be with child again.
The Princess Elizabeth was a charming, little baby - but not the son England wanted. The King needed a son - his eyes were wandering.
The Seymours' and Greys were dancing their daughters under his nose.
Mary never understood the rules of that game as she reached for the crook of Henry's sleeve.

They walked through the hall. She always felt a pull to him, ever since they played in the gardens of Eye Castle. She always remembered that was the day he kissed her....
Mary often wished she had married him. She wished it was her whom he ravished every night.
The silence fell quickly between them.

"How is married life Tieuleor?" She said, bluntly, needing information.
Henry sighed for a moment. Mary could see he was tightening his jaw.
"Lady Eleanor is a good woman. Alas, not for me. She is a snake. She always watches me when I am with Miss Clough."
The strain in his voice was noticeable, but Mary called him out on his marriage woos as the walked through the sea of young ladies and gentlemen in their finest of jewels and furs.
"My dear Henry, mon chéri. When you married two months ago, maybe you should of given up Miss Clough as your mistress, and most certainly before she was carrying your child"
Mary felt smug as the truth floated in his beautiful head. Henry had danced with Miss Clough before, and yes, she is his favourite - but there have been three pretty maids before her - none, although were currently carrying his child.
Henry sighed, brushing his lips against her fingertips "If I can't have my Mary. I shall have another"

The air turned uncomfortable for a moment. Mary had known since girlhood that Henry de Tieuleor had desired her and she returned the feeling, but Lady Mother most passionately refused the match when he asked for her blessing, knowing he was a "lowborn Frenchman to marry a grandchild to the Duc de Églantine"
His maids were always named Mary and she knew why.

Mary and Henry stopped for a moment, hidden in the corner of marble. The column decorated with the Tudor rose, tiny H & A loveknots hidden in gold amongst the delicate stone.
He kissed her hand, Mary felt his heartbreak as he brushed his fingertips along the little garnets embedded in her necklace, a net of gold.
Her chest was tight against the corset.
"You will always be my Mary. I wanted..."
Henry's whisper was broken when Lady Eleanor appeared - noticing us in the shadows. Her eyes narrowing as she caught a glimpse of where Henry's fingers were.
"Court filled with spies'" Mary whispered, - a childish smile forming on her lips, as they continued to walk, arm-in-arm into the grand hall with Eleanor in toe.

The jewel of England was always Court, a place Mary had been living in since 1532. Under the guidance for the former Queen, Mary had learnt a little Spanish and Latin, but to dance and to sew with ease.
She had flourished under Queen Katherine. Under that frost of a woman, was warmth and kindness.
Now Mary curtsied to a new Queen, the dark-haired, Anne Boylen. Her eyes glanced toward Henry de Tieuleor, as he moved between the courtiers, taking a quiet seat next to a Howard man, the name she had forgotten.
The new Queen sat beside her King. She was little, thin-faced, but it was her deep, black eyes the made Mary uncomfortable, her sister, the Lady Carey stood behind her chair along the other ladies-in-waiting.
Mary, unfortunately, was removed from Queen Katherine's household, but not placed in the Lady Anne's. She needed all the loyal Boylen and Howard's by her side, not pretty, - young, maidens.
Mary did not have her support as Queen. Losing her position, Mary currently was serving herself, happy with her freedom.
"Mistress Watergraves. Are you excited for your marriage?" She said, almost bored.
"I hear he is popular at the Scottish Court" She remarked again before Mary had a chance to come up with a graceful reply.
It was a lie
Her husband to be is not popular at both courts. The rumour was he drunk, with serval bastard children. That he smoked with the courtiers and even visited whores with the Scottish King.
....But he is rich. He will have a title and if Mary cousin dies, Thomas, can claim her father's titles and lands by their marriage.
It was all in the marriage arrangement. It still shocked her to think of it, but Lady Mother arranged the match for that purpose in mind - and Thomas's father, was more than happy to oblige.
"It is a good match. He will be a good husband and I a dutiful wife. I am most grateful for Your Majesties' for the silver cloth and diamonds'" my reply was graceful and sweet, remembering how I was raised - with perfect obeisance.
The King smiled at her - a small wedding gift to make himself look humble. His dark red hair, the same colour as Mary's, was hidden underneath a fur-lined cap.

There was to be two weddings that day - The King's own son from Bessie Blount, Henry Fitzroy, was to be married to a Howard girl, and of course, Mary to Thomas.
She was to overshadowed once again - more ways than one.
The Queen waved her hand as her way to release Mary.
After a small curtsy, she made her way towards her Lady Mother, who was standing by the fire with Lady Marie, both still in their gowns of widowhood. Both Lady Mother and Aunt Marie had not remarried, nor they said they would until "their children were protected"
"Mother" Mary whispered as she bobbed gracefully, quickly taking her place beside her.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Henry. He flirted with Lady Anne Grey, a girl of sixteen and already widowed.
She felt jealousy, Mary loved to dance. But she knew her own betrothed was in England, but not at Court. He was staying at Lambeth with his train, only to see her the day they are married. Jealously fuelled her veins again at the sight of Henry and Lady Anne - Mary wanted to be flirted with and chased like a flighty sweetheart.

She went to bed that night, alone and drunk with wine, and it was there she dreamed of her Knight, whose armour shone bright.