The Other Henry VIII

A Façade of Joy

8 September 1523
To Clara, the four months that followed her father's third wedding passed as smoothly and effortlessly as she could have hoped. She and Lizzie were at court, enjoying the daily excitements and feasts, and it almost seemed like Esther's quiet funeral had been put behind them. James was in the stables with more work than ever, since he was growing more into a young man every minute and leaving his carefree youth behind. What the Princess really found intriguing was the lack of gossip or drama that her father was setting in motion. Usually when she was at court, there was an obvious trail of his conquered women and the smell of jealousy in the air. Somehow, all of that had vanished, like nothing more than a dream. Here was the King now, months into his marriage to a lady who, as far as was know, he had not cheated on yet. The Princess privately wondered whether it was her father's fiftieth time lucky.

"I think it has been too pleasant recently," contemplated Clara one sunny afternoon as she lay under a secluded tree beside her companion. At least they were at Richmond Palace now, at the edge of London, with its beautiful grounds and well-kept acres of gardens. It wasn't quite autumn yet, for the landscape was still largely lush and green, and the sky a cloudless clear blue above them. Over the past few months, the Princess had become a little careless with her meetings and no longer reminded herself often that servants filled the court palace grounds at all times. Sometime, the royal gardeners would wander nearby and tend to the plants, but she simply hoped that they would not recognise her in maid's clothing.

James laughed. "Are you complaining?" he replied, repositioning himself on the grass so that the tree roots did not jab into his back so uncomfortably.
"No, it's not like that." Clara thought for a moment. "What I mean is... I have been used to living around my father's erratic behaviour for so long that it feels strangely uneventful now. Almost... peaceful." Indeed, life had been almost like a routine recently. She and Lizzie spent their mornings with their tutors and governess, learning everything from French and Latin to how things worked at court and the way to form marriage alliances. They would usually eat lunch together in their Privy chamber, though on occasion, Clara would be invited to dine with the King and Queen. In the afternoon, she would use her two precious hours of freedom to steal away and see James before anyone noticed she was gone. Life in the royal palace could not have been more different from Westhorpe, where almost every person was there to serve her in some way and it was much more difficult to disappear unnoticed.

"Because the King is happily married?" asked James. The Princess shot him her usual look, an odd mixture of disdain, agreement and admiration. Only she could press all three together into one stare so perfectly.
"Yes, I suppose. Do you think it was like this when Papa married my mother?"
He paused. Clara was rarely upset or self-pitying when it came to her mother, like many girls he had encountered. Perhaps princesses were taught not to expose their feelings to others as freely as commoners. Nevertheless, James never knew quite what to say when she brought up the late Queen. It was the only subject that they still couldn't speak easily about together and those conversations usually ended up in silence or a small disagreement.

"Yeah, I'm sure it was," he answered, regretting his nonchalant tone almost immediately afterwards.
"How convincing." Clara sat up and brushed the dirt off her arms with the casual elegance that she always seemed to possess. Inside, she was only hoping that the King had loved her mother at least as much as he now loved Queen Leia when he took her as his first wife. It would feel almost unsettling if she had been a temporary interest, as fleeting and shallow as the southern wind, like Queen Diana. "I'm sorry, James, I just feel somewhat off today." She avoided his gaze for a little while, contemplating a small idea in her head. "I think I know what is so peculiar now."