#𝐏𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐈𝐏𝐏𝐀 𝐆𝐑𝐄𝐘 ♔ ˚ · . [ interactions ] .

[philippaed]

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.

[philippaed]

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."

[philippaed]

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.  ❞

[philippaed]

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.

[philippaed]

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  ?  ❞

[philippaed]

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.

[philippaed]

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  ?  ❞

[philippaed]

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.  ❞

[philippaed]

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?’

[philippaed]

tag  drop  .

𝐏𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐈𝐏𝐏𝐀    𝐆𝐑𝐄𝐘    ♔ ˚ 　· 　　 .    [    tag    ]    .

𝐏𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐈𝐏𝐏𝐀    𝐆𝐑𝐄𝐘    ♔ ˚ 　· 　　 .    [    visuals    ]    .

𝐏𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐈𝐏𝐏𝐀    𝐆𝐑𝐄𝐘    ♔ ˚ 　· 　　 .    [    inspiration    ]    .

𝐏𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐈𝐏𝐏𝐀    𝐆𝐑𝐄𝐘    ♔ ˚ 　· 　　 .    [    aesthetics    ]    .

𝐏𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐈𝐏𝐏𝐀    𝐆𝐑𝐄𝐘    ♔ ˚ 　· 　　 .    [    mannerisms    ]    .

𝐏𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐈𝐏𝐏𝐀    𝐆𝐑𝐄𝐘    ♔ ˚ 　· 　　 .    [    crack    post    ]    .

𝐏𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐈𝐏𝐏𝐀    𝐆𝐑𝐄𝐘    ♔ ˚ 　· 　　 .    [    wanted    connection    ]    .

𝐏𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐈𝐏𝐏𝐀    𝐆𝐑𝐄𝐘    ♔ ˚ 　· 　　 .    [    interactions    ]    .

𝐏𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐈𝐏𝐏𝐀    𝐆𝐑𝐄𝐘    ♔ ˚ 　· 　　 .    [    letters    ]    .

𝐏𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐈𝐏𝐏𝐀    𝐆𝐑𝐄𝐘    ♔ ˚ 　· 　　 .    [    ft.    katherine    brandon    ]    .

[philippaed]

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."

[philippaed]

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."

[philippaed]

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.'

[philippaed]

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?”

[philippaed]

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.'

[philippaed]

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."