Mary, Queen of France: The Story of the Youngest Sister of Henry VIII

implying that his wit was irresistible.

He entered the Palace and in a few minutes had flung open the door of the room and was striding toward his sister.

She leaped up at him, putting her arm about his neck; he swung her round and she shrieked with delight. Katharine, quietly watching, thought how much they resembled each other and how pleasant it was to observe the affection between a brother and sister. It was particularly comforting to realize that Henry was capable of such deep feeling, because she hoped that one day she might be the object of his devotion. She saw in this young man her chance of regaining her lost dignity, and the humiliation of the last years had been almost beyond bearing. Had she not made a great effort to suppress her feelings, she could have hated the King of England who had treated her with such cold indifference since the death of her mother had reduced her value in the eyes of the world. But now her father, Ferdinand of Aragon, was no longer merely King of Aragon. He had enjoyed great successes in Europe and therefore his daughter had ceased to be as insignificant as she once had been. She knew it was solely for this reason that she was allowed to be the companion of the Princess Mary—still humble, it was true, yet no longer completely banished from Court.

When her mother was alive, this dazzling young Prince had been promised as her second husband; she still hoped that he might remember that promise. So in his presence she was nervous, eager to please and yet afraid that she would betray her anxiety to do so.

“I can scarce wait for tomorrow,” Mary was saying.

“Are you so eager to leave us then?” demanded her brother.

“Henry, I never want to leave you!”

His smile was sparkling. He loved praise and could never have enough of it.

“And you know,” went on Mary, “it is only a ceremony. I am not to go away for years and years …”

“Let us hope not,” cried Henry.

“Then you would have no sisters near you. You have already lost Margaret. Oh, Henry, I wonder what it is like in Scotland. Do you think Margaret ever misses us?”

“She has a husband to think of now, but they say Scotland is a dour country. I’d rather be here in Richmond.”

“Henry, perhaps Charles will come and live here, and I needn’t go away.”

“Is that what you would like, little sister?”

“Will you command him to do so?”

“I … command the Prince of Castile!”

“Indeed you must, because you will be able to command the whole world when … when …”

The sister and brother looked at each other for a few seconds, then Henry remembered the presence of Katharine. He turned to her and said: “My sister prattles, does she not, Madam?”

“Indeed, she does, Your Highness.”

“Katharine has been telling me I should pray more and talk less. I won’t, Henry. I won’t. I won’t.”

“You are a bold creature,” said Henry. “Now listen to me. When the ceremony is over there will be a banquet and afterward a great masque. We will show these Flemings how we can dance and sing. You and I … with a few of my friends … will slip away and disguise ourselves. Then we will return and dance before the Court. They will be enchanted with us and, when they are asking each other who we can be, we will throw off our disguises and show them.”

Mary clasped her hands together and looked up at the ceiling. “Oh, Henry, you think of the most wonderful things. I wish … oh, how I wish …”

“Tell me what you wish?”

She regarded him solemnly. “That I need never go away from you and, because being a Princess I must marry, I wish there was one who looked as you do, who spoke as you do, and was so like you in all ways that people could not tell you apart.”

Henry gave a bellow of laughter. He looked at Katharine as though to say: What do you think of my sister? Is she not ridiculous?

But he was contented that she should be so. He was indeed a contented young man. He believed that everything he wished for would soon be his. Every direction in which he turned he found adulation, and very soon—it could not be long because the old man was coughing and spitting blood regularly now—he would be the King of this country.

His friends paid him all the homage he could wish for; when he rode through the streets of his father’s cities he was cheered more loudly than any. He knew that the whole of England was eagerly awaiting that day when they could call him their King. He would have everything—good looks, good health, charm, gaiety … and all that great wealth which his father had accumulated so single-mindedly over the years.

Yet nothing pleased him quite so much as the adoration of this little sister because, knowing her well, he knew too that when she expressed her love she spoke from the very depth of her heart. Young Mary had never attempted to hide her love or her hatred; had he been a beggar she would have loved him.

He sensed too the yearning tenderness in the demeanor of the other woman, and he felt some regard for her.

This was a happy day for, although on the morrow Mary’s nuptials were being solemnized, it was only by proxy and she would be with him for some time to come. So he had not to think of parting with her yet.

Mary smoothed her skirts and tried to look demure. Katharine, who had been selected as her guardian for the occasion, was well pleased with her. In spite of her exuberance, thought Katharine, she was a Princess and could