Reluctant Queen: Tudor Historical Novel About Mary Rose Tudor, the Defiant Little Sister of King Henry VIII by Geraldine Evans

‘Did you know?’
    Mary’s gasp of dismay at this unwelcome news provided the answer.
    ‘I see you didn’t,’ Anne of France told her with a hint of spite. ‘It’s to be hoped you have better luck in that direction than my sister, Jeanne.’
    Through her jumbled mass of feelings, Mary remembered that Jeanne of France had been Louis’ first wife, discarded, so it was said, for her ugliness.
    Anne of France went remorselessly on. ‘Louis divorced her. Couldn’t bear children, so he said. Who’s to know?’ she now demanded of Mary and the assembled company. ‘She wasn’t given the chance to try.’ Her gaze settled sternly on Mary, whom she had termed ‘a wanton’. ‘The king wants a son, madam,’ she told Mary again. ‘Think you he’ll get one on you?’
    Mary felt the flush deepen at this coarse question. Old ladies were often-plain-speaking, she knew, but this imperious lady went beyond the limits. As the lady had said, she was now Queen of France and there was no reason why she should have to tolerate such Lèse-majesté. Mary, considered how her brother Harry would react to such dismissal and was emboldened to defend herself. But before she could summon words sufficiently imperious to put the lady in her place, Anne of France went on, with words that Mary found comforting, although comforting her was, she suspected, far from that lady’s mind.
    ‘He can’t get sons. Never managed it when he was younger, he’ll not manage it now, for all your youth and beauty.’
    Mary found her next words less comforting.
    ‘Nevertheless, Madam,’ Anne of France told her tartly, ‘he intends to try. If you do become enceinte, just be certain the babe is the King’s and not the Duc de Valois’!’ This insult brought a gasp from the ladies assembled at the table. ‘We want no bastard sprigs inheriting the throne of France.’
    Mary gathered her so recently-acquired queenly dignity round her like a shield. It was vital that she defend herself, she knew. Her behaviour the previous evening might have been foolish, but it didn’t warrant such ugly insults. ‘What you suggest is a wicked slander, Madam,’ she told Anne of France icily. ‘And it’s best, for your sake, that I pretend I didn’t hear it. As for bearing the king a son,’ Mary forced the words through unwilling lips, ‘I shall do my duty as shall my husband, God willing. Neither of us can do more.’
    Mary wished only to avoid any further insults from the foul-tongued old harridan. She turned to Claude, who indicated that Mary had only to rise and they would all be forced to do the same. Mary had forgotten in the heat of her shame, that she had such a power. Doubtless, next the ladies of the French court would be gossiping that she had soon forgotten that she was Queen of France and make a double-entendre of the fact. Upset at being caught out and so soon, Mary upbraided herself for her naivety and lack of queenly authority. She must never again forget that she was a Queen now; she must behave like one. Though, in spite of her brave words to Anne of France, she felt only young and inexperienced and far from regal.
    She followed the kind Claude’s advice and after joining the rest of the company in the hall for dancing, she soon retired to her bedchamber to rest and prepare for that evening’s ball, relieved to get away from so many hostile, watching eyes. The unexpectedness of the attack from Anne of France had shocked her, though she recalled that Wolsey had warned her she might encounter envy and antagonism. Courts were ever thus, he had counselled. But even Wolsey would have been shocked that the antagonism should have come so early and been so venomous. Mary was only surprised that Francis’ mother, Louise of Savoy hadn’t joined in.
    Anne Boleyn, her youngest Maid of Honour, who had joined Mary’s train from that of the Archduchess Margaret, waited in her chamber to attend her. As the youngest and least significant of her ladies, Anne