The year is 1464.
The War of the Roses rages on; a great showdown between Lancaster and York.
Yet, asleep in her bed, fiery-haired Melissa Woodville dreams of splintered shields, broken swords, and the resounding screams of wounded men in the Battle...
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A LITTLE OVER two days later, Melissa was silent as Joan, Eliza, and Anne helped her into a fine gown of green velvet. Their eyes pierced her through the mirror as they straightened her dress, wove cloth of gold in-between tendrils of red hair, and adjusted her duchess' crown atop her head.
From a delicate silver tray, Anne offered her a picking of jewels, but Melissa did not even have to look as she selected the golden cross Richard had given to her at the beginning of their courtship, and the little poesy ring he had commissioned for her. There were grander gems she could have chosen, but those little jewels meant more than any rubies or emeralds that could have been unearthed from the royal treasury.
"'Twill be alright, my lady." Eliza murmured soothingly, applying drops of lavender perfume upon the duchess' neck, cleavage, and wrists. "I know it will."
Melissa sent her a troubled look, but nodded nonetheless. "I hope to God that you are right, dearest Eliza. Our men must prevail, for indeed, if they do not, we are in a trouble far greater than any of us could possibly conceive."
It went unsaid that the two other ladies in the room, Joan and Anne were Nevilles. They would be perfectly fine, should the Earl of Warwick prosper. In fact, they would most likely rise to the top, and pretend they had never waited upon the Duchess of Gloucester.
"Or, Joan would," Melissa amended inwardly, examining herself one last time in the mirror. "Anne does not have the gumption to do as such."
And with that, she swept out of her chambers, pausing only briefly at the cradles, to kiss Lily and Eddie upon their foreheads. William, she knew, was cavorting in the gardens with Lizzie. He would not want to see any part of his mother — not now, at least.
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