“Have you ever thought of marriage?” he asked Margaret as they danced together.
“Often.”
“And would you marry again?”
“I married twice and I was singularly unlucky. Such misfortunes make a woman think a great deal before taking the step again.”
“Perhaps it should make her very hopeful. No one continues in such ill luck.”
He took her hand then and drew off one of her rings.
“See,” he said, “it fits my finger.”
She laughed and then said: “You must give it back to me.”
He did so at once and he thought: That is her answer. She enjoys playing this game of flirtation but she is not seriously contemplating marriage with me.
His manner was a little aloof and noticing this, she said: “My lord Lisle, I could not allow you to have a ring which many people would recognize as mine … not yet.”
He looked at her quickly: “Then I may hope?”
“It is never harmful to hope,” she answered. “For even if one’s desires are not realized one has had the pleasure of imagining that they will be.”
“It is not easy to live on imaginings.”
“In some matters patience is a necessity.”
He was very hopeful that night.
Henry wanted to know how his courtship was progressing and when he told him everything, he was delighted. “When we return to England,” he said, “which we must do ere long, I shall bestow a title on you; then you can return to the Low Countries and continue with your courtship of the lady in a manner commensurate with your rank.”
“Your Grace is good to me.”
“When you share the Regency of the Netherlands, my friend, I shall look to you to be good to me.”
When next Charles was with Margaret he talked of his marriage to Anne Browne and his two little daughters.
“I should like to see them,” Margaret told him. “I greatly desire children of my own.”
“I would I might send my eldest daughter to be brought up in your excellent Court.”
“I pray you send her, for I should have great pleasure in receiving her.”
He told her then about the child whom he had rescued from the river, and she said: “Poor mite. Send her to me with your daughter. I promise you that I shall myself make certain that they are brought up in a fitting manner. You see, soon I shall be losing Charles and I shall miss him greatly.”
It was a bond between them. While she had his daughter and his protegee at her Court she would not forget him, Charles was sure.
Henry was making preparations to return to England. He had completed a treaty, before leaving Lille, in which it was arranged that the following May he should bring his sister Mary to Calais where they would be met by the Emperor, Margaret and Prince Charles; then the nuptials should be solemnized, because the boy was fourteen and the Princess would be eighteen, and there was no need to delay longer. The Emperor was eager for heirs, and an early marriage should solve this problem.
Margaret asked then that, if the King should fail to have heirs, the crown of England should go to Mary.
Henry scarcely considered this. Not have heirs! Of course he would have heirs. Katharine was pregnant now. Simply because they had lost their first, that was no reason to suppose they would not have a large and healthy family.
One of his favorite reveries was to see himself, a little older than he was now, but as strong and vigorous, with his children round him—pink-cheeked boys bursting with vitality, excelling in all sports, idolizing their father; beautiful girl children, looking rather like Mary, twining their arms about his neck. Of course there would be children.
But he had no objection to agreeing to this condition. Moreover, in view of what was happening in Scotland, he had no intention of letting the throne pass to his sister Margaret and her son—whose father was that enemy who had attacked England while he, Henry, was in France, stabbing him in the back. Glory to God, the fellow had received the reward of such treachery on Flodden Field!
And so they returned to England.
The people had assembled to cheer their King who came as a conqueror. It was true he had only those two towns of which to boast but he planned to return the following year, and then it would be on to Paris.
Beside the King rode the Duc de Longueville, a very high ranking French nobleman of royal blood, whom he had taken prisoner at the Battle of the Spurs. The crowds stared at this disdainful and elegant personage, whom the King insisted on treating almost as an equal. Henry had become very fond of Longueville, largely because he believed that such a high nobleman, being his prisoner, added greatly to his prestige.
There must be balls and banquets to celebrate the return, but in spite of the splendor it was not a happy homecoming.
Katharine, who as Regent had used all her energies in organizing the defeat of the invading Scots, had exhausted herself in the process and consequently had had a miscarriage. This threw the King into a mood of deep depression, particularly when he remembered Margaret’s request that, should he die without heirs of his body, the crown should be settled on Mary; moreover Katharine had Flodden Field to offer him while he could only boast of Therouanne and Tournay, and reluctantly he faced the fact that the greater glory had been won unostentatiously at home.
