#𝐏𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐈𝐏𝐏𝐀 𝐆𝐑𝐄𝐘 ♔ ˚ · . [ interactions ] .
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𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 … maria de mendoza ( @mendozaed ) 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 … chelsea house , london .
the dowager duchess of suffolk had always spoken highly of katherine of aragon and of the women that had followed their princess from the perfumed warmth of the alhambra to the fever - stricken halls of ludlow and then to the foggy dampness of london ─ weaned on her mother's esteem of the spanish infanta, katherine brandon had filled the minds of her impressionable young daughters with an admiration for their iberian neighbours that only grew more fierce with the death of her royal namesake. philippa could still recall the disappointment that had leaden her young body at the realization that she was much too young to follow mary tudor from calais to spain as part of her royal entourage, so it was with no small amount of fascination that she presented herself before the duchess of medina, head dipping into a nod of acknowledgment as the doors parted to announce her arrival. chelsea house had hastily been made available for the use of any spaniards who wished to elude the viper - infested corridors of hampton court but though it served as an assembly of like - minded persons, there was only so much that she could offer to her guests and her visit was more apologetic than she would have preferred, hands folding above her stomach as her steps quickened towards the older woman to greet her properly.
❝ doña maria ... i am certain that my lady mother has ensured that you lack for nothing but i would be a poor hostess if i did not inquire if there is anything else we might offer to make your stay in chelsea house more pleasant. ❞ faced with such a formidable woman, philippa could not help but be reminded of her mother and her grandmother, from what faint memories she had to mary tudor brandon before the queen of france and princess of england had passed just two years after her birth and the recollection brought a sense of attentiveness upon her, softening her sharp gaze into something that was more watchful with a curiosity to learn. though her mother had still held much power as dowager duchess, it was philippa who served as the figurehead for many catholic sympathizers in england now that mary of england had left to become mary of spain and she wanted her foreign cousins to know that she assumed the role with the severity that it deserved in the hopes of gaining their support or protection should the boleyns pass the action to curtail her rights as a claimant to the throne.
❝ i also wished to extend my apologies for my failure in finding a catholic priest to attend to the needs of the infante and infanta and yourself, of course, and i wanted to inquire if one was forthcoming from spain to preside over mass services in chelsea house ? ❞ it was treason to celebrate a catholic mass in england and to do so beneath the king's nose would be stupidity but she was not certain if exceptions would be made for their catholic guests or if the spaniards would do as they pleased regardless of the king's feelings ─ either way, philippa needed to be made aware if such plans existed, if only to capitalize on the moment.
#𝐏𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐈𝐏𝐏𝐀 𝐆𝐑𝐄𝐘 ♔ ˚ · . [ interactions ] .#:polite: emoji#mendozaed#this entire starter is just pippa being pro KOA huh
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after spending a rather emotionally exhaustive morning with the older women at court where questions prying into her family had to be fended off with careful grace and a good sense of redirection, the duchess of suffolk found that her feet had led her towards the royal stables where her cream colored mare had been relieved of her saddle and bags and fed a treat or two as a reward for not faltering as the grey family rode into the yard of hampton court. the monotonous act of brushing through a horse's mane and feeling the whiskered, rubbery nose snuffle at her fingers for any hidden treats had always been a special comfort that she would seek out whenever the world and the people around her became too demanding ─ philippa had spent a week in bradgate's stables after her sister had broken the news of her pregnancy and clandestine marriage to the family if only to avoid the looks darting in her direction, asking for some guidance as though she were suddenly a crone and not just a year older than the countess of hertford. she could never be so comfortable as to propose a hunting trip to quench the hunger for a strong mount between her thighs and the wind against her cheeks, knowing how easy it was to feign a hunting accident to rid oneself of an enemy, but hopefully the stink of horse and hay would be enough to soothe the shouting in her head.
yet it seemed as though she was not alone in such thoughts, eyes blinking slightly to adjust to the differences in light as she entered the stables and to decipher the identity of the woman that stood before her ─ alice's niece, if she was not mistaken, and the realization softened her guard slightly. ❝ do you plan on sabotaging my horse, lady parr ? ❞ the cream colored mare nickered from the stall and her tone lightened in response, feet stepping towards the other woman slowly. ❝ i was not aware that a riding party was organized today. where are your companions or will you tackle the outdoors by yourself ? ❞ she might have advised against it had she known the other better but as she did not, philippa kept her cautions to herself, raising a fair brow instead.
Traipsing off alone in the middle of the day was not the sort of thing that a lady was supposed to do; however, despite her family name and her relations' best efforts, Bridget endeavored to do exactly the sorts of things that ladies were not supposed to do. A bird impossible to cage, it seemed to be Lady Parr's mission in life to forge her own path, regardless of what others thought appropriate. That afternoon, such determination led her to the stables; Bridget never felt so free as she did on the back of a horse, wind whipping through her long, golden locks as the animal tore across an open plain. She would not go so far as to try to ride out on her own - that would provoke consequences she was not in the mood to endure - but there could be no harm in visiting the animals deemed worthy enough to be housed at His Majesty's court.
All was quiet when she arrived, and Bridget wordlessly made her way through the stalls, stopping before one horse who whinnied quietly as she approached. She carefully reached out and gently ran her hand over its long neck, meeting the horse's large, dark eyes with her comparatively small, blue ones. The horse's attention shifted in an instant, drawing Bridget's gaze to the presence of another. "Careful, we mustn't startle them."
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𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 . . . katharine grey ( @katharined ) 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 . . . hampton court .
the news of a resurrected edward seymour did not fill her with an immense hope as some might have speculated but rather with a dread that had thickened by the hour, as cloying as honey left outside to attract flies until the churning within her had forced the duchess of suffolk to empty out the contents of her stomach, sending the household servants away with express orders to inform her mother of the sudden malady that had stricken her to points of weakness. the back of her throat was sore from the bout of sickness but philippa could not allow that to hinder her purposeful actions, the sharpened tip of her quill scratching out a letter to the head of their households in chelsea and bradgate to inform them of the news and of what to expect should the clandestine marriage between amelia and john seymour come to light at such an inopportune moment. her fingers trembled with the intensity in which she held the quill, the feathered stylus splintered between her grasp as the door to her private chambers parted to usher the formidable katharine grey into her sanctuary. casting the quill aside, she rested one hand upon the bodiced span of her stomach as she paced before the window, burnt - gold locks entangled from where she had torn the headdress from her cranium ─ the sharp burn of tears prickled at the corners of her eyes, breathing growing erratic before the one person she trusted with her life, her truths, both beautiful and monstrous.
❝ if they find out about amelia and john ... ❞ her voice cracked with emotion as she turned from the window to gaze imploringly, hopelessly at the older woman, no better than a babe before her mother. ❝ they will think we conspire with the medici and that ... that man who calls himself edward seymour. they will think i conspire with the medici ... what will ... ❞ a stuttered breath caught in her throat, philippa pounded a fist against her stomach, inflicting self - punishment as a reminder to keep it together. she could strangle her sister for what she had done in the name of love, burdening the duchess with two more innocents to care for ─ one, a soft - spined man and the other a babe, twelve months old. ( in a moment of insanity, she wondered if the king might be moved to mercy if she betrayed her sister now, before the lie was unveiled against their wishes. her mother would never forgive her but it was better to be hated by the living than loved by the dead. )
a hand travelled to press tightly against her mouth, smothering the pained whimpers at such heinous thoughts. ❝ they will kill us. you and nicholas ... amelia and jack ... god, they will kill us if they find out, mother. ❞ the recent executions came to mind, the bloody spray of warm crimson against the fullness of her skirts as the hallowes' were relieved of their treasonous heads, only now, in their place, stood her family, her darling husband who was undeserving of the instability that she brought into his life by mere existence. ❝ what do i do ? what do i do ? tell me what to do, mama. ❞
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𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 … edmund percy ( @edmcndd ) 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 … knot garden , hampton court .
dispersed along the grounds of hampton court in clusters of two or more people, the courtiers had turned their faces up towards the night sky, now illuminated by a show of pyrotechnics coloring the dark canvas in flares of whites, reds, oranges and yellows. the duchess of suffolk was no less transfixed by the sight of light and color and smoke above her head, remaining in place even as the sounds of the cannons blasting gave more reason for inebriated bodies to move closer together with heads bent and hips touching ─ an intimacy prompted by the pleasant assault on their sense of sight, sound and smell. the wind had begun to pick up, blowing the smoke from the distant cannons in her direction as another bang resounded through the gardens, followed by a shower of light and philippa startled at the sound, shoulders drawing closer to her ears instinctively as a chorus of surprised whispers and awed laughter floated from those gathered nearby. unknowingly, her lips had curved up into an embarrassed smile at her own reaction and she spared a glance around her to make certain no one else witnessed the flash of shock on her otherwise well - composed and rigidly controlled movements ─ most appeared to be as mesmerized by the display as she had been except one, his heavy gaze resting on her heated features from where he stood some feet away, seemingly content to watch her instead of the skies above.
( ned. )
mouthing his name silently as their eyes met, philippa was aware that her carefully curated mask of delightful insipidness was slipping, features softening, melting as she invited him to her side with a small, imperious lift of the chin as though she was challenging him, daring him to approach or risk her wrath otherwise. it had been months since they had last met, years since they had last spoken to each other with anything in their intonation besides polite respect, yet she knew he would come to her ─ edmund percy was as predictable as the rising of the sun when it came to her demands, a fact that they were both aware of and that she, unfairly, took advantage of at times. with a furrow to her brows at his delayed response to her wordless call, one hand stretched out halfway, fingers wiggling in the air for him to seize and hide away between the layers of fabric, the only point of touch that she would allow him now that she was married and in a court filled with viperous boleyns.
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𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 … eleanor grey ( @ivorylaced ) 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 … the pathways of knot garden , hampton court .
❝ to my side, eleanor. ❞
over the near - three decades that she had been privileged to spend as an elder sister, there had been many occasions when propriety was dimmed in the face of good - natured rivalry between siblings, when not even the sternest of looks from the late duke of suffolk had been able to quell their argumentative chirpings at the breakfast table, all three of them being contrary for the sake of being difficult until their mother would speak, her voice sharp with warning through the silence of the air. she had learned to be the first to secede to her sisters in such trivial matters but eleanor was blessed ( or perhaps cursed ) by being the youngest of the three, protected and cherished by everyone in the family. if there had been any envy between the elder two sisters, philippa felt none of the same towards the young woman that stood before her, a vision in the crimson cloth that she had commissioned some months prior for this very purpose ─ there had never been a need to feel exasperated or disappointed with this one though the expectation on eleanor's shoulders had only increased since the middle grey daughter had acted out of turn and married without permission from her king or her older sister. ❝ walk with me for a moment. we need to speak before the play begins and i am otherwise occupied. ❞ with playing the part of delightful courtier, expert in dance and music and socializing even if the feeling of so many eyes on her made her skin crawl.
❝ i need you to keep watch on agnes and john. i know that neither of them are foolish enough to do anything incriminating whilst we are beneath the noses of the king and his family but ... ❞ but their sister had done something foolish once before in her very home, so who was to say when it came to matters of the heart ? philippa choked by a scoff at the thought before casting a considering gaze at her sister. she wished that she could assure eleanor that love, as strong as the one that agnes apparently shared with john, was also in her future but her sister understood the demands of their blood ─ it only made her want to fight for a good match for the youngest grey daughter when the time came for if she could not promise love, philippa would try her hardest to secure wealth and safety, at the very least. ❝ and have fun, if you can ... a contradicting request, i know. i ask too much of you, don't i, little one ? ❞
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𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 … cecily fitzroy ( @cecilyfitzrys ) 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 … knot garden , hampton court .
❝ cecily ! ❞
the beckoning call was filled with genuine delight, one hand outstretched as the other grasped at the sheer volume of her dress, lifting the fabric up so that she could cross the short distance towards her dearest lady fitzroy without dragging her skirts against the ground, muddied by the feet that had trampled down the grass. the evening had progressed to the point that anyone that mattered now nursed dutifully at the chalices of wine that kept coming from the kitchens without end, growing increasingly muddled in their senses that philippa did not mind the slight fracture in her composure as she hastened towards her cousin, a soft noise escaping her throat as they collided with each other, wrapping her arms around the younger woman in a brief but warm embrace. ❝ dearest love ... you are a vision but why are you alone ? where are the seymour dogs meant to guard you ? ❞ she had never agreed with the idea of granting wardship over cecily to anyone considering the girl was no longer a girl but a woman grown ─ if philippa had been entrusted with her care, she would have been married or in the process of engaging a gentleman worthy of her hand but as she was not, the duchess of suffolk could only gently guide from the sidelines, hoping that by supporting cecily in her bid for independence, she could one day depend on the lady fitzroy for support in turn.
❝ never mind them ... i make for much better company. won't you stay by my side for a time and tell me of your evening so far ? are you enjoying the play ? ❞ it was an interesting choice, not at all subtle but she could appreciate the story outside of the potential underhanded meanings to the selection.
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𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 . . . amelia seymour grey ( @myladygrey ) 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 . . . hampton court .
the apartments had been emptied of straggling servants and favor seekers as eventide dawned upon london, compelling maids to light candles to illuminate the darkened hallways and husbands to return to the comforts of their wives after a day of politicking in the court of elizabeth tudor ─ only a young girl stood before her in plain clothes, poking at the burning embers of the fireplace as the duchess of suffolk finished off her letter with a flourished signature. philippa wanted to avoid rousing suspicion and so would have to entrust the contents of her writings into the hands of the maid that she had brought from bradgate house to hampton court, concealing the recipient of her letter beneath the guise of a note between two sisters separated by distance and duty. it was a pleasant coincidence that young bonnie had an older sister who had her babe around the same time amelia had gone into labor in the privacy of bradgate, allowing the grey women to correspond with the nursemaid charged with the care of jack seymour through the two sister - servants without anyone knowing any better but even with such elaborate steps taken to shroud their conversations, she was filled with an intense sense of anxiety, the trembling of her hand forcing the quill to drag unnecessary ink across the page.
her shoulders flinched slightly as the doors to their apartments parted to allow her sister entry, dark gaze cutting through the dimly lit room to pin amelia in her place as she rose, shoving the letter in the direction of the servant so that it could be enclosed in an envelope and sent out with the first rider of the morning. ❝ you have impeccable timing, sister. i have just finished a letter to dottie. ❞ jack's nursemaid and sister to bonnie. ❝ you may include something in the letter if you wish ... a last note for your son, perhaps, if we are all to meet with our deaths in the coming weeks because of your foolishness. ❞ the gentleness of her tone sharpened at the end of her words, vitriol curling viciously at her upper lip until the disappointment within her was evident on her features. though she had come to like john seymour both as a good brother and a man, philippa knew that all their lives would be easier if her sister had not fallen in love with a seymour, of all people ─ it was unfair that she had to relinquish her grasp on her first love for the good of the family and the future prospects of her sisters, only for amelia to squander the security that she had earned by marrying nicholas sutton on something as insignificant as love.
she could be happy that her sister had found joy in marriage but not at the cost of their lives which, judging by the reappearance of edward seymour, would soon be claimed by the boleyn axe. ❝ a seymour ... a seymour, amelia ! did i not say that this would come back to bite us in the arse ?! ❞ by the desk, bonnie flinched at the crudeness that dripped from her mouth but before her sister, philippa was a storm, a whirlwind of emotions that threatened to uproot everything that held their fragile secret in place if only to save the rest of the family. ❝ we should have told william of the marriage when we first arrived ... how we will do so now without them rightfully suspecting that we are responsible for the man that calls himself edward seymour ? ❞
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𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 … henry sutton - dudley ( @henrysuton ) 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 … the rooms of the duke and duchess of suffolk , the grey apartments , hampton court .
the maids had been dismissed from the room after painstakingly pinning the hood to her heavy head of curls, the squared edges of the headdress allowing peeks of her burnish bronze locks to catch against the light of the candleflame as she fiddled with the ring on her thumb ─ every inch a proud display of her rich ancestry as though she were more a heraldic symbol than a woman and for the evening, that was what she needed to become whilst among the glittering, fork - tongued courtiers. it was perhaps fortunate that the eyes of court remained affixed on the distant shadow that spain had projected across the gathering of continental neighbors with the queen's refusal to make time for the diplomatic discussions let alone the festivities, allowing philippa to skirt by in relative ignorance for the moment, planting seeds among the thorns in the hopes that friendships might sprout in time, but with the threat of a parliamentary act that might pull the crown further from her grasp and thrust the grey family into unchartered waters where the blood of their royal grandmother could do them no favors, the duchess of suffolk knew that those sympathetic to her cause ( to the cause of mary of england and spain, to the catholic cause ) needed to be reminded that there was a champion for them on english soils should they be brave enough to stand behind her.
still, she would not get far in such ambitious plans without some assistance to finish dressing and as she struggled to tighten the laces of her dress, loosened by her frequent pacing and sitting and standing, philippa had begun to regret sending her maids away so early. finding a messenger to call them back when most would have been roped into assisting with the festivities for the evening would take too long so she had resigned herself to the slight slack of the fabric at the waist, irritation shattered by a knock to the door followed by the sound of it creaking open, betraying the intruder as one of her own ─ as brazen as a touch upon bare skin, her eyes lifted to meet with his dark stare through the mirrored glass. ❝ it is time. ❞ the words were not a question, though she posed it as one, rising from the padded seat with a frown, hand to the stomach where the slight insecurity discomforted her. a small matter to another woman, perhaps, but to someone that prided herself in keeping things under control, it was a nuisance, an unnecessary distraction that will detract from more important things. ❝ we can spare a few more minutes. come here and help me tighten these laces. ❞ and then, as though remembering that she spoke not to a maid but to a husband, philippa softened, melting one corner of her mouth into a half - smile as she looked at him over her shoulder. ❝ please. ❞
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though bradgate house had not lacked for visitors with the favor - seekers, paltry entertainers and conspiring noblemen that had darkened their doorstep, exhausting her hospitality as the mistress of the household long before her father had passed and the weight of being head of the family had passed onto her, the sheer number of people that had answered the invitation to sojourn in hampton court had taken some familiarizing with after nearly seven years of being away from court outside of answering royal summons and attending the necessary festivities for births, marriages and coronations. her sisters had long since taken their leave from her side to disperse among their old companions, blessed with the chance to shed their concerns for a moment with an optimism and belief in others that she had replaced with a calculating eye that she used to measure the worth of those around her, dismissing or treasuring her friends ( allies, even among those that she considered kin ) according to the value that they might bring into her life. yet even for someone who delighted in the ostentatiousness and subtle politicking of court, the revolving list of names and bodies had slowly grown to grate at her patience and philippa knew that she should seek out of moment to clear her head, allowing the smile that now ached at her cheeks to falter into nothing.
there was a pleasantly gentle breeze that picked up along the riverside, cooling the heated apples of her cheeks as she sought out some privacy though the freshness of the air was soon tainted by a strange scent, sweet and musky in a way that reminded her of a great furred coat or the bark of a tree, if her face was pressed entirely up against it. her nose twitched, chin lifting in the air as the figure that emitted the scent in great puffs of white smoke turned, revealing himself to be the earl of leicester ─ there was no mistaking the width of the gentleman for anyone else and something sour with uncertainty curled around her tongue even as she smiled, dipping her head into a small nod. ❝ i thought you were on fire, sir, and had you not turned, i might have convinced myself that i would be doing you a kindness by pushing you into the water. ❞ curiosity furrowed at her brow, unbidden and in spite of herself, at the foreign contraption and philippa knew, had it been someone familiar at the riverside, she might have bullied them into letting her attempt a puff. ❝ it is strange but not entirely unpleasant. did you come to the riverside in the hopes that the breeze will blow away the smell and cover your habits, my lord ? ❞ or was he similarly spent by interacting with guests of varied backgrounds and motivations ?
robert dudley / 𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒏 𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒆𝒓. event-thread, river thames.
The tip of his long pipe leaked a curl of damp, pungent fog, and with it, the distinctive stench of tobacco clouded the air. Sweet-smelling, earthy, a touch piquant. Smoke coiled around Dudley’s long, black beard, unbound with a deep sigh heaved from within the Earl’s broad chest. Although not yet couth to smoke at court, Dudley had taken the opportunity to escape, without drawing suspicion, as the rest of the assembly fawned over the troupe’s performance – sneaking toward the river’s edge to avail himself of a puff. Dudley was, and always had been, greatly fond of courtly theatrics – it was, rather, the simpering delegation of foreigners on English soil he disdained, each velvet-robbed threat to the Tudors’ sovereignty and security.
What good could come of them, those peacocking French? The French who craved much more than Calais, but to rule England itself? And what of those devout, unwavering Spaniards, sombre in both body and blood? With an arrogance unmatched at court, Dudley openly exhibited his distrust and derision. It was, after all, these very guests – kings, princes, and emperors – that would expect to get an heir off His Majesty’s sister, the only woman in England powerful enough to command the earl's exultant affection.
Dudley’s posture neatened, and his lip curled with quiet annoyance, as his ears pricked to the telltale rustle of approaching footfalls. He turns with a clear-eyed expression to the visitor, cutting a proud, graceful figure. ‘A Spanish vice,’ he quips, touching his pipe. ‘Tainting the blood of a wholly English man. Does the scent trouble you?’
#𝐏𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐈𝐏𝐏𝐀 𝐆𝐑𝐄𝐘 ♔ ˚ · . [ interactions ] .#leiccsters#me u pip n duds all know he is more capable of throwing her over his head into the river eye ---
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tag drop .
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𝐏𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐈𝐏𝐏𝐀 𝐆𝐑𝐄𝐘 ♔ ˚ · . [ ft. katherine brandon ] .
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even before fate had seen it fit to interweave their paths together through a shared affection for her sister, the duchess of suffolk had always viewed the man that stood before her as something of a weak - willed individual, prone to swaying in this direction or the other depending on where flattery brought him ─ as she studied the thunderous change in his expression, face flushed with his impassioned vows, philippa could not say that she blamed him for the way that he flickered like a candleflame, like a blade of grass battling against the wind, not when it was safer to go with whoever fortune favored rather than pay any heed to the burning within his chest. it had never been a viable option for her, crowned a pauper queen at the age of sixteen by those that yearned for a catholic resurgence in england, but if she could have floated through life, drawing as little attention as possible, she would have done so and been glad for it so long as she could assure the safety of her family in the process. ❝ and you think that i want you dead, john ? ❞
she had, for a few months after amelia had told them of the marriage and the babe, pondered on just how grieved her sister would be to lose her husband. philippa had believed herself capable of spinning the truth to protect her sister, painting amelia as the fool and john as the serpent that had ensnared her with his promises so that the king's wrath would not land so heavily upon their necks but one would have to be blind and deaf to not realize how much the hertfords adored each other ─ the very fact kindled an ache in her head whenever they were in the same room together for fear that they would give themselves away. ❝ what good would your death do but bring grief to my sister and leave your child fatherless ? it is easy to die, john seymour, it is harder to live. ❞ she had been prepared for the executioner's block for years but as god was her witness, she would be walking that path alone. ❝ if you knew the cost, why did you pursue it ? god above, a part of me almost wishes you had an ulterior motive to marrying amelia. then, it would be easier to hate you but no ... your only crime is that you love her and for that, i cannot condemn you too harshly, but she is of royal blood. do you know how many of my own allies would flock to you if they knew ─ a catholic seymour with a royal wife and heir ? ❞ even more so now with the resurrected edward seymour at their heels. ❝ i would not even blame you if you conspired to betray me to protect them if so, but try, if you can, to do something to thicken the walls around my sister when the time comes. ❞
heaving out a sigh, she pressed a palm to her stomach, unsettled and empty after she had skirted by breakfast that morning. her head ached with the conflict, with the uncertainty, with how badly she wanted to shake john seymour until he was breathlessly for all the troubles they were presently in ─ she needed to keep a closer eye on the youngest grey sister lest history repeat itself through her grandmother's rebellion that seemed to pass down through each generation like a curse. ❝ of course he would, if only to get information on the innerworkings of court by playing to familial bonds. you ... you've never met the boy, before ... well, before. he would have been no older than jack then and you just a few years his senior but would you recognize him ? ❞
He expected little other than vitriol to drip from Philippa's words, their edges sharpened to cut even moreso than usual. In the best of circumstances, he suspected that she merely tolerated him, but now? He found himself lucky that she did not wield the ability to do him true harm, for he imagined she might very well wish it.
"And why should my actions reflect onto you at all?" He asked her after a moment's pause, the hurt and irritation that he normally went to such pains to suppress seeping into his tone. "I would use any power I have to protect you and your lady mother, should word reach the King of my secrets. I know you think yourself the head of the household, as perhaps you are, and thus you bear responsibility. But Amelia is my wife, in the eyes of God. And in his name, I will die to keep her and our son safe if that is what I must do." His voice had risen now, his cheeks flushed. "Do you not think that I am well aware of where a Tudor's displeasure leads? I have known since I was a child. You may at least take some minimal comfort in the notion of station and allies to whom you may beg, but I have no such luxuries. Now more than ever, it would seem."
He turned away, the heel of his hand pressed against his forehead as he tried to collect himself, squeezing his eyes shut as he pulled in a deep breath. Her admissions of care did not earn a response from him, John too stressed to take a moment to absorb them. "Yes," he said after a moment. "Of course I would. And burn the letter for good measure, for I have no desire to be party to anything he might desire of me. Though I very much doubt he would come to me as an ally. As you suggest, I clearly neither know nor have anything of value."
#𝐏𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐈𝐏𝐏𝐀 𝐆𝐑𝐄𝐘 ♔ ˚ · . [ interactions ] .#johnseymour#pippa : DO SOMETHING JOHN#john : bears witness to another secret grey marriage#pippa : NOT FUCKING THAT !!!#also clearly she is keeping an eye on the wrong grey woman akskakskk eye ---#she is so mean bonnie im so sorry im crying im screaming im throwing up
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was it any wonder that her affections were not the slow return of the tide but the all – consuming heat of a forest fire when edmund percy had been the first to brush against the gates of her heart ? even after the years had dulled her love for him into a flickering candlelight in comparison to the steadily burning hearth that was her marriage, his devotion had influenced the demands that she made of those around her to surrender themselves completely into her hands if they truly did care for her ─ it was a frightening stipulation and one that not many had risen to challenge and that was because of him, knelt now at her feet like she was the altar and her knees were the pew upon which his hands were clasped together in ardent prayer. the warmth of his touch seeped through the fabrics of her skirts like a branding iron, desperation for her guidance pouring from his upturned gaze and philippa felt her stomach twist at the sight, pleasure and power coupling to form a heady blend that had her head spinning from the intensity of the feelings that he evoked. edmund had always been so obedient even when she had been bold enough to twist his ear and scold him for being so reckless with his worship, acquiescing to her commands with a mischievous glint to his gaze and a quick press of his mouth against her hand but there was no such impishness today ─ only an anger that provoked her own ire on his behalf. ❝ my darling boy … how will i ever let you out of my sight if i cannot cease worrying for you ? ❞
was he destined to forever be just a boy in her mind ? philippa was quite aware of his desires, potent with masculinity to claim her as his own, the woman that had slipped from his grasp all those years ago, but she was not certain if in having her, she would lose him, and so kept him at a distance even as she drew his face to rest upon her knees, fingers gently combing through his thick locks as she had once wished to do. she could not look at him and see the pain, the hunger, the anger and the idolization ─ in seizing his heart for her own, she had cursed herself into becoming a figurehead for him as she was for so many others and a small part of her that longed for the comfort of their easy friendship wept at the lost. she would need to be unflinching now, a rock upon which he could cling to during the storm and he could never know her own weaknesses, not as he once did. ❝ hush now … hush … i know your heart, ned. it beats as one with mine … it beats with anger and with fear but we must be clever about this. ❞
how easy it was to delude herself into thinking that he spoke of george boleyn and of their young king ─ philippa knew him better, knew him enough to know that it was likely his father who was the subject of his vitriol and who evoked such despair in him but she was only a woman, exhausted with the weight on her shoulders, and it was so comforting to think that their enemies were one and the same. ❝ you must do as your sister has done and endear yourself to the king … support him, ned, but do not forget who supports you. it will be a difficult path but they will not hesitate to kill you … to kill me to secure their control. we are not their friends, no matter how gently we are treated and you must remember that. remember who loves you, ned. ❞ did she love him ? yes, but perhaps not in the way that he had hoped and deserved to be loved. ❝ he will never trust me but he might trust you … do as you have always done and then come back to me. let me share your truths … unburden yourself in me. ❞
it mattered little that philipa grey had not deemed him worthy enough of her words again before this, that she'd married another man before he may call upon her father for her hand - for edmund had named her anchor in childhood without ever asking and even as a man now, he could not bear to tear himself from her feigned shoreline. far too willing to dash himself against the stones a thousand times over if it may mean that he shall be graced with the heavenly image of her hand beckoning him forward to kneel at her feet. edmund echoed a sinner at the altar of a saint, or perhaps a desperate man making deal with devils, the skin beneath her fingers felt as it was on fire - unworthy of her blessed touch. if she dared to ask, edmund fears he may pledge himself to her false idol hood, to those eyes that stare into the very depths of his soul. for the briefest moment, he wondered if she may bless him again with her lips against him. if they may touch thighs as they atoned for the sin of it in the chapel, heads ducked in shared prayer. " i shall thank him for his mercy," he echoed, for when had the earl ever been anything but a puppet for the women he loved in his life? his mother, isobel, sibella, pippa, their voices far out triumphed his own some days. " i shall remain a pillar of stone, despite the way my chest aches with fury. it will be a mercy if i do not spit on walsingham's feet by the end of it all," he voiced, evident disgust in his tone.
her words grant him a sense of peace that edmund had not felt in quite some time, settling the unrest that had made itself home between the spaces of his ribcage. and perhaps edmund was fearful of the wrong people, of the king and his father - when pippa held more sway over his actions and beliefs than anyone else. there was no need for her to hand him the tools, edmund had plucked the brush from her and painted his face and soul to mimic a fool within her court. allowed himself to believe that they were doomed lovers. that she was eurydice while he played orpheus, descending into the underworld to steal her away from a lover that he believed she didn't want. ironic, that he was unable to see that he was far more akin to icarus - wax wings melting as he flew closer to her tantalizing sun framed silhouette. her praise masks the sensation of him plummeting into the treasonous waves - of her trap that she so carefully weaved just for him. " i wish to see them burn, pippa. " he confessed as she pulled her touch from him, the skin now cold as if frost itself was nipping at his cheek, it is a dangerous thing to voice between them. yet, edmund trusted her with everything that he possessed, strong in his faith that she shall never betray him nor steer him incorrectly. he remained kneeled before her, chin pointed to face her despite no longer having a guiding hand, as he gave words to the unspoken truths that had always laid between them. " tell me how i may, and i shall cast myself at your feet and devote myself to you and yours," he pleaded, desperation heavy in his words, the ones that cast him him chains that bound him to her - to her mercy. " i wish to take north umberland from his cowardly hands, before he may declare the rest of us guilty and sent to the tower to die as elisabeth shall. help me, if you possess any love in your heart for me still - tell me how i can tear him apart with my hands, till his blood stains the stones crimson. i beseech you."
#𝐏𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐈𝐏𝐏𝐀 𝐆𝐑𝐄𝐘 ♔ ˚ · . [ interactions ] .#edmcndd#whatever ya'll thinking ... NOT LIKE THAT#also smh ... when will ned be free of pippa's feminine wiles ...#religious symbolism tw
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though she would have liked nothing more than to sit dutiful by the feet of her mother as the interiors of their apartments in hampton court were upended to make place for the clucking of french hens and fashions that had been lugged through the countryside of france to dover and then to hampton, certain arrangements could not be so easily disregarded ─ even when she had offered to stay behind and abandon her younger sister to the wolves of court, philippa had been waved off for being a fussing nag, concern furrowing at her brows whenever her mother pressed a bejeweled hand to the span of her belly. the morning had been productive once she had allowed herself to participate in the game of bowls, emerging victorious in three rounds and in rubbing elbows with the scottish guests that had followed mary stuart and appearing without a care, a feat made easier by the presence of her mother, awaiting for them back in their apartments. with her cheeks flushed by the rare sighting of the sun, the duchess of suffolk kept her arm interlocked with her sister as they spoke of the game in hushed tones, whispers punctured only by bursts of laughter after a rather cruel but true observation was shared.
the doors parted to permit them entrance and her gaze immediately took in the gold hanging from the windows, amusement thinning her mouth as she pressed her lips together to keep from giggling at the overt display of wealth and french - favored decor ─ as her eyes fell upon the woman behind such a change, philippa knew that she should have known better than to doubt katherine brandon's ability to get the job done regardless of an unsettled stomach. her mother was unconquerable with an army of servants at her disposal and a sudden burst of fondness for the older woman had her parting from her sister's side to glide ( or run, though philippa would never admit to hastening her steps for anyone if asked ) towards her mother, pressing a quick kiss to katherine's cheek as her fingers brushed against the cloth - of - gold like a raven captivated by a glistening curtain.
❝ mother ... ❞ her voice was weighed with feigned exhaustion by the conversation even if the corners of her mouth curled up mischievously. ❝ while i am most delighted by the prospect of new gowns in the french cutting, i am afraid nicholas cares little for my style of dress so long as it remains on the floor of our bedchambers. ❞ turning her eyes to her sister, philippa squinted at the countess of hertford, warning her not to take any sides in the age - old conflict between mothers and their married daughters though, unable to resist biting at amelia, she continued. ❝ what does john think of the french necklines, sister ? perhaps it is you who will sate our mother's unquenchable demand for grandchildren once again. ❞ // @myladygrey
@philippaed, @myladygrey / 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒈𝒓𝒆𝒚 𝒅𝒂𝒖𝒈𝒉𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒔. the suffolk's suite of hampton court apartments.
Though her cheeks had shed the frightful sallow of sea sickness, Lady Suffolk’s belly was still as unsettled as the tempestuous channel her ship had crossed in order to return to England. It churned with the memory of being pitched and rolled about in the underbelly of a mighty galleon, as cramped as it was dark, until at last the skies cheered – lifting from leaden gray to a pale yellow, the coastal cliffs of Dover searing through the mist like a molten blade through butter. Almost immediately upon returning to London, Katharine had set about making improvements to the Greys’ lavish suite of apartments at Hampton Court, in the style of her opulent chambers at Chambord. Fastidiously she replaced the drab damask curtains slung over the diamond-shaped panes in the windows with cloth-of-gold, embroidered with her mother’s royal coat-of-arms; swapped the old tallow candles with fresh bees wax, burning sweetly throughout each chamber, installed in costly candelabrum of silver; replenished her daughters’ closets with the newest French fabrics and patterns, a welter of pearl and diamond-edged hoods lining the oak table of the morning room, leaking with sunshine.
Though the ground still tilted disconcertingly, Katharine smiled admiringly at her work, two hands perched upon her narrow hips as she assessed the brightened space with pride. Yet as another wave of lingering nausea gathered within her like a great and sickening tidal, the Duchess was obliged to find perch on the velvet bench of the window, doffing the hood from her head and tossing it to the wall, milky droplets of pearls soaring into the air, rubbing the tender stretch of skin where her headdress was pinned and stabbed rather tightly into place. Katharine, never one to rest, would have liked to press onwards with all speed, perhaps even join her daughters for a hunt; but the airs of court had never been particularly salubrious, and travel had wearied her.
But still she roused herself when her eldest daughters, Philippa and Amelia, came bursting through the door in a flood of laughter; two youths with pink cheeks, their father’s complexion, as radiant as a summer’s day, their faces stamped with Katharine’s plucky dark eyes. ‘Back already?’ Katharine asked from the window, surrounded by a mountain of missives intermixed with bits of gemstone that had flown, like the glittering spray of spindrift, from her damnable hood. ‘You’ve come just in time, the new gowns I ordered have arrived from Paris!’ Sufficiently cheered, Katharine rose. ‘I had hoped by this time we would have needed a little fabric to let out your stays, dear Philippa, but with such handsome gowns it will be no time at all ere we have another blessed child to celebrate. Amelia, darling, tell your sister she mustn't disagree with her lady mother.'
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as someone who had rarely possessed the autonomy to decide where her shadow fell, she had always admired the ease in which the other woman navigated through the invisible lines that were drawn at court as favorites rose and fell with the changing moons ─ philippa had been born into her role, blessed with a royal grandmother and cursed with the responsibility of upholding the desires of those around her, and by the time she had developed enough of an individual self that was separate from her family name and the ichor that flowed through her veins, it had been too late to rescind from the part that had been impressed upon her to play. there were too many innocents depending on her successful rounds about court for her to falter in conviction now though she could only hope that she could preserve her own head as well as that of her sister, good brother and nephew. with so much weighing on her frail shoulders, alice seymour was a welcomed comfort as someone who knew the truth of the earl and countess of hertford, and philippa turned towards her as a flower might turn towards the sun, humming in agreement. ❝ yes ... yes, it is plenty. ❞ the defiant strength of mary tudor brandon was not only in her blood but in her bones as well, a fact that she needed to channel more often if only to avoid unnecessary courtesies that exhausted the spirit.
pinned in place against the sun - warm wall by the knowing gaze of lady beauchamp, philippa felt the certainty that she possessed waver before the other woman, eyes widening as though she were a child still and alice had uncovered her hand in a bag of sweets. the plumpness of her bottom lip was worried between her teeth as the duchess of suffolk weighed the wisdom in speaking her concerns alice played her part very well but though they were allied in spirit and in blood now that her sister's foolishness had tied the grey family to the seymours, how much of her neutrality was an act ? it was never something that philippa had questioned before but if she had children of her own, she knew that she would stop at nothing and hold no one above betrayal should the need arise ─ even her own family would not be safe from the boundless desperation of a mother and who was lady hertford to alice seymour but a distant relation, at most ? ❝ the spanish have roostered in chelsea house. ❞ though nearly everyone was aware of that. ❝ my mother had extended an invitation and i fear that in light of the recent rumors swirling about court, their presence might call undue attention to the family. their support has been a tremendous comfort but i cannot help but wonder if it would not be more prudent to speak of my sister's ... predicament before the king uncovers it on his own. ❞
Alice could not help but smile, the expression stretching against often stubborn lips before her lids lowered to expose another singular thought. Philippa, if she wanted to survive, would surely depend upon her own cunning, for though Alice could act as tutor and then bodyguard, the power she could wield was barely justifiable against the brutish plans of the Tudor reign. Leaning closer, the warm sunshine bleeding through the nearest window to highlight the two women’s place in that moving hallway of like minded young women and ambitious men, Alice put a delicate hand to her charge’s arm, coaxing her forward with the tilt of her head. “You are correct, though if you are to pretend they are your friends then it does not mean that you are forced to be any more pleasing. Simply allow them to sit with you, that should be plenty,” Alice whispered, her gaze straying to observe the goose-like walk of their fellow ladies, watching how their coloured skirts brushed the stonework whilst on their merry way towards the courtyard.
FInally alone, Alice sighed profusely, her nostrils flared in a moment’s irritation as she stopped them both beside the window. From the night of the play, to the dinner the next day, there had been amounting gossip surrounding the rumours of newly unearthed traitors — Alice, who played both fields with the slick sleight of hand allowing the Viscountess to move without comment, could not help but second-guess Philippa’s safety. She was, after all, the sister of Agnes who had already (if unknown to almost everyone in that moment) been made a fool by the secret marriage to a Seymour, and could easily be roped in to some lawsuit pertaining that the Grey sisters had worked against the crown in an effort of retaking it for themselves. That, and Philippa seemed to have a plan up her sleeve, knowledge that Alice had yet to find out.
Removing her hand, she beckoned her against the wall, allowing their seclusion to melt into the background as the rest of the court went about their day. Her relationship to James Cecil was often used as a means to gather information, but even Alice had not been made his serious confidante concerning the gossip, and so could tell Philippa little. But, she would try to touch base, to try and work out what exactly was going on in her corner of court life. With the fall of her brows, she anchored her to the spot, the bright blue glint of her eyes directed towards the Duchess. “Now, tell me, is there anything I should know?”
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like a blossoming flower in search of sunlight, the duchess of suffolk brightened beneath the expressive praise that dripped from the accented tongue until the apples of her cheeks resembled the precious rubies sewn into the hems of her sleeves ─ it was important that even the most minor of resemblances to her ancestresses were highlighted in a court that would rather not be reminded of her place in line to the throne and as the most recognizable trait of the family as often hidden beneath the fashionable headdresses worn in public, it was always a pleasure to know that hints of her tudor blood could be found in more than the copper - rich sheen of her flaxen head. philippa had been too young when her cousin had�� been sent to spain and younger still when her grandmother had passed, retaining their features through the paintings that had been modeled after their likeness, so she would have to trust the word of the lady medina in that matter and in many other things besides that. ❝ i bear the resemblance to my esteemed cousin with great pleasure though it does delight the heart to hear that you recognize my grandmother in my features as well. my memory of her is short and clouded with the haze of childhood but i knew her to be a great beauty and a spirited woman. ❞ a spirit that philippa, at times, lacked and that she would need if she ever hoped to become more than a pawn in the game.
her pale gaze followed the acknowledgment towards the man that had announced her arrival, extending a slow nod of recognition at his watchful guard over her kin and their souls whilst they were in england ─ the staff of chelsea house had been rooted out and where necessary, had been replaced with those loyal to the family, plucked out from bradgate and brought to london along with the travelling party for their own security as well as the comforts of their spanish guests. it was unlikely that any of them would speak of what occurred beneath this roof but philippa would have to dig through their connections to be certain, trusting that maria could handle matters if news of a potential traitor rose from their midsts. it was so easy to fall into the trap of sweet promises uttered by the boleyns especially when the other options were considerably more difficult on the body and on the coffers but she had to believe that such secrets would eventually pay off with a freedom to live as she so desired without worrying about her life or the lives of her immediate family.
❝ you are blessed to have his guidance while in england, my lady ... i cannot help but feel envious as it has been years since i have attended a catholic mass. ❞ she had been a girl and her kingly granduncle still drew enough breath to turn a willfully blind eye to the practices that her mother, his niece, conducted in the privacy of bradgate house. ❝ if i was not so certain that walsingham has his eyes and ears on my whereabouts, i might beg intrusion when mass is celebrated but my hunger for the word of god must pale in face of those whose lives depend on my careful steps. ❞ she would need to be far from chelsea house, seen beside the royal family so that none would be the wiser ─ perhaps she could send her sisters over, once court was settled after the unrest of elizabeth tablot and her conspirators, so that they could remember the teachings of their girlhood. the unacknowledged tension in her shoulders melted away as the lingering women were sent a little aways to do the bidding of their mistress, leaving the two alone and allowing her to breathe in the perfumed gardens and the smell of incense burning in a distant room.
their eyes met, dark to light, and philippa was the first to shatter the connection after a heartbeat of a moment and the weight of implication in the older woman's gaze. would she ever be as bold as maria in her convictions or was she cursed to be as quick - footed as a rat in the darkness, darting around the corners of the room in the hopes that the mousers will not catch her being their sharp teeth ? a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth, instinctively, at the mention of her younger sister and her head lifted to stare bashfully at lady medina with glittering admiration and gratitute in her eyes ─ only a few minutes had passed and already the shadows of the boleyn - infested hampton were far from her features, fluttering heartbeat slowing to a more moderate pace. ❝ i never wrote to thank you for so readily accepting my sister beneath your care but please accept my gratitude now. she has grown to become a wonderful young woman which our family credits to your guidance, my lady. ❞ planted in the court of their cousin in spain, at least eleanor would have a safe house to retreat to should the executioner call for the heads of the grey sisters but maria's kind reminder only softened her heart, the mask of composure crumbling ever - so - slightly to allow a measure of relief to peek through her wide gaze.
❝ my lady is most kind ... i must admit that i had wondered how my life would have played out had my mother sent us all to spain or france to serve beneath caterina de medici but i know that i will miss england with a fierceness that cannot be explained ... and i cannot abandon her or her people now. ❞ it was her duty to ensure justice prevailed and that her sisters and her sisters' children would not robbed of their right to the throne, no matter the cost. ❝ but your generosity and support will not be forgotten. i only pray that our eventual visit to your home will not be darkened by worries but made brighter by our shared hopes for england. ❞
The days were short in England, Maria had deduced; daylight ebbed at times when the Iberian sun still blazed and bleached the rugged cliffs of Málaga, drawing like an impenetrable damask curtain over the ancient steeples and leaden spires of London. Through the thick windows of Chelsea House, the Duchess’ eyes adjusted to the sunlight streaming through the trees of the Suffolk’s vast orchards: lush, rambling branches set ablaze and coated with a fine varnish of gold-leaf as daylight crescendoed and vanished into a murky dusk. But as the September wind still whined and whipped through the parkland, Maria turned her head toward her groom – Don Alcarz – flooding the doorway with his bulky shadow, garbed in a crimson robe and tightly fisting a thick roll of wax-pressed parchments, his tongue announcing the Duchess of Suffolk’s forthcoming presence.
As Lady Suffolk and her retinue pounded past Chelsea’s iron-wrought gatehouse, Maria rose and preened with haste, adjusting the mighty hood and its velvet lapels draping her head, revealing just a sliver of the dark tresses that framed her face. The constant intrigue of the English court (and the ever-present threat of garrulous house callers) required Maria to be splendidly dressed at all hours; though at home in Spain, the Duchess preferred to don her loose habitos, flowing bolts of linen befitting of Lady Godiva; to wear her gleaming raven hair loose, and splashed with damascene roses; to traverse the countless glimmering moats snaking around the Mendozas’ castillos with feet bare, heels suckled by the wet grass, and with only a linen cap on her head – not, as her mistress preferred, these cumbersome headdresses. But a gleam soon wreathed her face as she dipped into a curtsy before Lady Suffolk, herself gloriously frosted with jewels and precious silks. ‘By St Michael’s Sword, you are a vision – a testament to your Lady Mother, I am certain.’ Eyeing the Duchess, Maria boasted, ‘but I see both your grandmother and your cousin Mary in you, for which you must be very proud, no?’
Philippa’s words caused the Duchess’ face to tighten with thought, her cheeks still flushed a deep pomegranate-blush from the pinching of her ladies. The persecution of Catholics in this heretical Realm had given both Maria and Queen Mary reason for grave concern but, as the former was wont to remind her mistress, no servant of God ever entered the Kingdom of Heaven but through trials and tribulations. Faithful believers such as Philippa Grey would be rewarded for her unwavering convictions, and with this reminder Maria’s face softened. She nodded in the direction of her groom, still looming in the doorway, his expression an alchemy of stony and sober heed, ‘Don Alcarz is an ordained chaplain, Lady Philippa, and will lead us in our Faith. But the Queen’s children are aware that the religion of our Holy Vicar the Pope is not tolerated here, and have agreed to take Mass privately. It is the price we must all pay under this Boleyn sun.’
Maria folded her hands over her brocade-cinched waist – wondrously softened by the string of babes borne by her womb – and signaled for her ladies to bring the pair refreshments. ‘Queen Mary is aware that her brother the King has inherited not only their father’s red hair, but his inconcebiblé temper. There is no length she is unwilling to go to make peace with England – even through natural fears for its salvation.’ A knowing poured out of the Duchess; a shared desire for the crown of England to adorn the head of king – or queen – who shared in the Catholic creed thrumming between the two.
Countless years spent as Mary Tudor’s chief confidant emboldened Maria to speak freely with her beloved kinswoman – the woman whom, if push came to shove, mighty Spain would seek to plant on the throne. ‘We all cannot but hope for reconciliation between England and the one true Faith. But pray tell, Lady Suffolk, how do you find it? Your sister was a natural in Spain, a true and illustrious English jewel – except, of course, when forced to endure lessons with my daughter’s formidable bishops.’ Maria tittered, thinking about how the years had changed dear Nel – affectionately called Leonor by members of the Mendoza’s household. ‘Would you ever think to find placement elsewhere, away from England? My doors shall never be shut to a woman with Katharine Brandon's blood in her veins, this I pray you and your beloved sisters do not soon forget.'
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it should be impossible to experience with lengths of affection for another ─ a feeling that was so strong that it could move mountains, so improbable that it could change night into day, so frightening that she trembled against him with a nervous energy as though she were a bird within his grasp. from the moment her eyes had beheld him at the foot of the altar, her resolve to remain as elusive to his influence had faltered and with every clever smile, every keen gaze shared across the room, nicholas had navigated the intricacies of her tartarus heart like a fearless figure from the myths and she was helpless to his loving perseverance, melting like wax against his warm touch and frequent praise. she was no stranger to desire, both the feeling of yearning for another and the state of being yearned for by another, but none had enveloped her as securely as he had ─ a firm presence by her side, his body and soul available for her protection, for her bidding. it pleased the covetous, yawning maw in her chest that demanded for complete devotion and in turn, she awarded him with a complete softness that no one else was privy to witnessing. upon her thumb, the weight of her father's leonine ring glistened but before nicholas, she was a fat housecat with her belly showing, begging for his consuming tenderness.
all teeth, her lips parted into a smile against his skin at the tremor that her words had inspired, breathy noises pressed to his mouth in between peppered kisses. ❝ you blaspheme ... oh, how i love you ... i will profess it daily if you so desire, it will fill my every correspondence so that decades ... nay, centuries from now, they will find my letters and know that i love you. ❞ a fierce declaration from one that did not do anything in half measure, her heart was both made hollow and full by his words ─ would that they could linger in this sanctuary forever so that she could keep him for her own, his charming goodness bestowed on no one other than herself and the children that would come from their union. curious tickles morphed into sharp claws, pinpricks of a needle against the firmness of his arms as she seized him with a desperation seen in the glisten of her eyes. philippa was struck both with pride and terror, possessiveness compelling her to smother him in gratitude and reprimand ─ she would find no better champion for her cause than nicholas but she despised the very thought of harm befalling him and was no shy to make certain that he knew it. ❝ it would make me happy to have you by my side ... to grow old with you and count the wrinkles in your smiling face. you are not allowed to die, least of all for me. i forbid it, i forbid it. ❞
each command was punctured with the digging of nails into flesh, with kisses to his lips and cheeks ─ if she could climb into his shirt, she would have done so but philippa sated herself with ridding him of the hindersome material, bearing his neck and collarbone for her questing mouth. teeth sunk into his shoulder as punishment for the demeaning manner in which he spoke of himself, for the ennobling manner in which he elevated her as though he were not the better of the two. ❝ you are my prize. ❞ hissed, she sought to reassure him the only way that she knew how. ❝ mine own ... my husband. your heart, your mind, your clever tongue, all belong to me and that makes you worthy of everything. anything. i will give you anything. ❞ he had invited her to indulge and so she had, a beastly little thing as she stripped him of his linens and brought her hands to where the ties of his hose were kept in place by a heavy leather belt. deft fingers picked at the buckled strap, grumbling her frustrations at the impracticality of so many ties and straps until she could slip her hand between fabric and against skin, nails scratching lightly at the coarse hairs that led from his belly to the base of his cock ─ with a delighted hum at her success at navigating the difficult ties whilst otherwise preoccupied with kissing down his front, tongue dragging down the center of his chest as she giggled up at him, philippa wrapped her fingers around the length of him, breathing out a sigh at the warm flesh beneath her touch.
❝ mhm ... this is mine too, is it not ? ❞ with a steady hand, she stroked him to full hardness to the best of her ability with such a restrictive amount of space, thumb circling the head of his cock until the first beads of pleasure spread beneath her fingers. hunger filled her mouth at the thought of tasting him but there was too little time to indulge and she wanted both her hands on him and his hands on her. dragging the palm that was braced against the hard panes of his stomach, she brought his hand to the stretch of her covered thigh and then higher, higher until he could cup over her mound, the heat radiating from her slick center palpable even with the layers of her dress between them. ❝ i am yours ... make me yours, darling. damn this dress and damn the seamstress ... i ache for you, body and soul. please, nick. ❞ her voice rose to a reedy whimper, pushing her hips forward with a wantonness better suited for peasants than a lady of noble birth but alas, he reduced her to her baser desires, emptying her mind of all thoughts that were not of him and the pleasure that could be found in their marital bed.
Philippa's manner towards Nicholas was touched with dignity; he hardly knew how to blend together in his mind the delicate dame and the avenging seraph. Her infantine sparkle had yet to be extinguished that night - she yielded to the effervescence of glee. She possessed different moods for different people; with him, she was affectionate, merry, and as womanly as thought and feeling could make her. For the court, she was reliant and expansive, able to shun and pursue the endeavour of appearing cold. Nicholas believed he alone called into her face a pleasurable glow, and and induced a gossamer happiness hanging in the air. The summit of earthly happiness was to love - to be loved, brought Nicholas to the end of all mortal misery. Nicholas felt her natural position was to be by his side; her eyes and ears were dedicated to him. His love had rendered him ductile in her hands, his affection and devoutness blinded his eyes sometimes - he would abandon justice to himself to the craft of marriage. Nicholas loved her now in another degree; she was more his own.
He had neither anticipated nor invoked her words, which made him shudder involuntarily. "Soft or sharp? For you I am in the habit of obeying both; it is the manner of your breathing, which shall dictate whether to stroke or meet you with force. I am painfully selfish and wish to rid myself of the affliction altogether; but I am bent to obey the mould I was cast in. I know in my heart your are mine - but to hear you tell me you love me, I am made wholly new. I lay this charge upon you like a prayer - I must be a sinner indeed." Scarce a living could be so noble and honourable as to love her. He loved her too well - too much so, to smite jealousy from his path, though a cordial word from her lips would do him good for the span of a life. Nicholas owned jealousy's severe charm - there was something so wholly good in Pippa, that she could not receive it. "My life will not be well spent if it is not dedicated to the procuring of your happiness; should the Boleyns favour my head upon a spike, I could not protest my fatal post, so long as you will think of me tenderly and fondly, every now and then." Bravery and desperation sufficed to fill the post and did the work of courage in Nicholas. He was not a man whom one would seek to send to war; but of sacrificing himself for Philippa, he made no difficulty. The restraint in their marriage had since slackened in prolonged attentions; already to Philippa's lip and cheek geniality reigned, and a wreathing, dimpling smile returned. Nicholas did not merely purport levity, nor raillery, across his aspect - his position had become more pleasurable to himself, and he spoke this augmented comfort in readier language, in tones more suave.
Nicholas' heart trembled beside her; stars merely shone subject beside Pippa, and he, with the numinous the ray of pure love, paid willing tribute. "I am no prize - but I am yours in spades, Pippa. I know what it is to call you mine, and I can only offer you the weight of unconditional love as solace." In inadequate language his feelings struggled for expression they could not get - speech was made brittle and unmalleable. She was his queen; royal for him was her lips bounty, to offer homage was both a joy and a duty. Her kiss stirred him up, running with haste and heat through his veins - recalling past hours of prolonged pleasure, and many days and nights of heart sickness. Philippa kissed him and he arbitrated her destiny; love was no oracle, but he pronounced her a diety upon Earth. This moment of tenderness was one of utmost mutiny; he took her lips once more, for one more taste of the deep spell of peace. His words caressed her ear. "Take my love. Be my dearest, first on earth." He took a delight inexpressible in pressing her to him now, his fingers brushing against those which sought to undo his buttons; she deserved candour, and from Nicholas, she always had it. "Be mine. You inquired if I shall be soft or sharp; I am a blade now, and I wish to be charged by your seamstress for the destruction of this frock."
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