The Other Henry VIII

An Empty Heart

When Charles Brandon lost his wife to smallpox nearly fourteen years ago, he had unsuccessfully attempted to remarry a great number of times. Being created the Duke of Suffolk only exacerbated the situation. What girl would be fit to become his duchess, and bear his heirs? It was too important a choice to be taken lightly.

In a way, Mary Brandon was thankful for her father's indecision. Her sister Anne was her mother figure; there was no need for any other, for none could rival the one that she had. All those years of sprinting down the halls, playing and chasing and laughing, had been the making of Mary. It had given her a thirst for life that not many highborn girls possessed. She was a bright child, and pretty enough to catch the eyes of guests, but her father never seemed to pay his daughters much attention. He was too busy with the King, at the royal court. Servants whispered that he took a different mistress every night.

The halls of their manor-house in Suffolk had always been far too large and hollow for such a small, broken family, but Anne's lively spirit had filled every corner. Now, she was gone, and Mary's soul was soaked in bitterness. Why had her father not given her a husband as well? Why did Anne deserve to marry a baron? It was unjust, considering he spent as much time ignoring her as he did her sister.

That was not even the worst of it. After victory in France the previous year, Charles Brandon had returned home with a broad grin, three fresh battle scars, and a blushing young bride on his arm.
"Girls, I have come to introduce you to your new mother, Duchess Agnes of Suffolk," he announced proudly. Anne immediately eyed the woman with distaste, and Mary, uncertain of how to react, mirrored her sister's expression. Were they expected to address this bony creature as 'Mother'? The very idea seemed preposterous. She could not have been more than five years older than Anne.

Ignoring her stepmother had not proved at all challenging until Anne was wed. Now, imprisoned alone in the house with the insufferable woman, Mary's life had become centred around her father's visits. They were the only glimpse of starlight and splendour in her dull existence. Listening at the door as he recounted his tales of court became her only amusement. Watching the path for the sight of his horse become her only past-time. Waiting for her inconstant father became her life.

One of the first days of the year with a clear sky brought Charles Brandon back home again. Restlessness engulfed his body like a disease. The news that his wife would give birth any day now was enough to wrench him away from court, if only for a few days.

"Papa, how was your journey?"
He shot his daughter a careless glance, not even pausing as he thundered through the entrance hall. "Tolerable. How is she? Has she had the baby yet?"
Mary scurried after him, lifting her skirts so that she would not trip over in her haste. "No, Papa."
"Good," he said tersely. A pointless conversation was not high on his list of priorities at the moment. "Surely you have something else to occupy yourself with?"
"I have finished my lessons, if that is what you mean," replied Mary breathlessly. "Papa, is it true that the Queen has delivered twins?
"Yes, that was weeks ago. Sweetheart, I would appreciate it if you could give me some time to rest. What do young ladies do these days?"
"Twin boys? Or girls? What are their names?" she persisted.

The Duke of Suffolk finally stopped his marching, and turned to face his daughter with firm resolve. "A boy and a girl: Prince Edward and Princess... I cannot remember. Do stop badgering me, it really is insufferable. Run along now, and make sure the duchess is well and comfortable."  Mary watched him vanish into another chamber, her heart sinking like a pebble dropped in a well. Her crumpled skirts tumbled out of her fists. Chances were, that would be all that she saw of him during this visit.