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

Although her movement was gentle it disturbed Louis. He opened his sleep-coated eyes and gazed at Mary in astonishment. Then he frowned, reached for the wine he had left on the side table and downed the glass in one.
    Mary feared the wine would encourage him to test his manhood again. She breathed out on a sigh when he retrieved his abandoned nightgown and put it on. Confidence restored with the covering of his scrawny limbs, he turned to her and gave her a hearty kiss.
    ‘What it is to have a young bride in my bed once again,’ he said, a twinkle in his rheumy eyes. ‘I feel rejuvenated, my dear. Better than I’ve felt in years.’
    Mary, still anxious that Louis might yet find the strength to set about his husbandly duties, suggested they rise, a suggestion Louis agreed to with what might be construed an insulting alacrity. Worried, perhaps, in case she should demand her bridal dues from him, thought Mary, amused in spite of their tragic situation.
    Louise called for breakfast. Lady Guildford followed the meal in, much to Louis’ obvious annoyance, and began fussing round Mary, clucking at her dark-shadowed eyes till Louis told her to leave her fussing till he had gone. Lady Guildford cast him a look of dislike and left the room muttering.
    Louis didn’t linger long abed after that. Nor did Mary. She rose as Lady Guildford bustled in for a second time, this time with Mary’s Maids of Honour trailing behind her, all eager to see Mary for themselves and learn how she had taken to being a wife. They peeked at the sheets, looking for the tell-tale red stains that would reveal Mary was no longer a virgin.
    Hot colour flushed Mary’s cheeks at the remembered indignities she had endured the night before. But the Maids didn’t find the stains they were looking for. The sheets were still as pure and white as Mary’s virginity. And after much eyebrow raising and furtive glances between themselves, the Maids gazed at Mary with a prurient curiosity until Lady Guildford intervened and sharply rebuked them.
    ‘I’d like to bathe, Mother,’ Mary told her quietly.
    ‘Of course you would, child. A natural enough desire, I’ll vow,’ she remarked. While her meaning was clear enough, even Lady Guildford didn’t quite dare to insult Louis to Mary’s face, especially with the indiscreet Maids of Honour hovering.
    At last, lying in the warm, scented water, Mary began to relax. She scrubbed vigorously, trying to wash away the imprint of her husband’s clammy, clutching hands. Bathed and gowned, Mary and her ladies went down to the hall. There, to her embarrassment, Mary found Louis loudly boasting of his previous night’s exploits with no trace of a blush for their falsehood. His companions’ sly sniggers aroused Lady Guildford’s ire.
    She turned to Mary. ‘Come, Your Grace,’ she said. ‘You should not stand here and listen to such talk. Is this how Queens are treated in France?’
    Lady Guildford had a carrying voice. This time, as she had no doubt intended, it reach Louis. He scowled and came over to greet Mary. Ignoring Lady Guildford, he took Mary’s arm and kissed her hand with genuine affection.
    ‘Ma Cherie,’ he told Mary. ‘You look lovelier than ever this morning. Forgive us men our rude talk. I hope we didn’t embarrass you.’
    ‘A little, your Grace,’ she admitted. ‘But ‘tis only that so many of the faces are strange to me. The men speak in like manner at my brother’s court after all. It is common enough.’
    Louis gave a rueful smile that he, an anointed king, should be found out coarsely boasting like some peasant bridegroom. Perhaps to make amends, he took from inside his doublet a marvellous table-cut diamond with a great, round pearl hanging from it. ‘For my exquisite Mary, an exquisite jewel,’ he said as he presented her with it, amidst gasps from her ladies. ‘This, my dear, is our wondrous ‘Miroir de Naples’. Is it not fine?’
    Mary could only nod as the diamond flashed white