Jean Plaidy - Mary, Queen of France - The Story of the Youngest Sister of Henry VIII

One winter’s day when they were returning from the hunt together Henry said to Charles: “I should like to bestow some title on you, Charles, and I have been turning this matter over in my mind for some time.”

“Your Grace has been so good to me already …”

“It gives me pleasure to honor my friends. But you who are so often in the company of your King should have a title. It has been brought to my notice that Elizabeth Grey is the sole heiress of her father, John Grey, Viscount Lisle. I propose to make the girl your ward. Then it is up to you, Charles; marry her and you will take over the title. Viscount Lisle! What think you?”

“I thank Your Grace.”

Henry slapped his friend’s arm. “Go to,” he said. “You have our leave to visit the girl. She has more than a title to offer you, Charles. There’s a fortune to go with it. Now go, and come back and tell me you have become Lord Lisle. It grieves me to see you without a wife.”

Charles renewed his thanks to the King and left Court, wondering whether Henry was more astute than he had imagined. But perhaps no great shrewdness was necessary. Mary, with her passionate vehemence, could so easily betray her feelings. Doubtless she had already done so to her chief lady-in-waiting, Lady Guildford, who had been her governess since her childhood; could it be that Lady Guildford had thought it her duty to inform the King?

If he were to prove that he was not to blame for the Princess’s passion, he must obey Henry’s command with speed. If there had been a hope of marrying Mary he would have worked with all his might to bring about that desirable end; but there was not. Why, he thought, even if she were not affianced to Prince Charles, she would never be allowed to marry plain Charles Brandon; and if Henry thought he had raised his eyes so high he would feel it imperative to slap him down. Who knew, that could be the end of the brilliant career which was opening out before him.

He arrived at the home of Elizabeth Grey to find a mansion which was an appropriate setting for a rich heiress. All this land would be mine, he thought. This house, a fortune, a great title. I trust she is beautiful.

He waited in the long hall for her servants to tell her of his arrival, but while he paced up and down he was thinking of Mary, picturing her fury when she heard that he was married. He murmured: “Mary, my Princess, it is useless. You would have had us both in the Tower.” She would answer: “Willingly would I endure imprisonment in the Tower, for I would rather be dead than married to Charles.”

She was a wild creature; she had escaped the discipline which had been enforced during the lifetime of her father; the restrictions Henry VII had imposed on his children could only make them more eager for freedom. The same was true of Henry, and, he was sure, of Margaret. They were headstrong people by nature; they called themselves Tudors but they had inherited none of the caution of Henry Tudor; they were Plantagenets, every one of them—adventurers who would demand of life what they wanted, and use all their tremendous willpower to acquire it.

He would have to explain to her that it was at the King’s command that he had married Elizabeth Grey. She would despise him, stop loving him; and perhaps that would be as well for her peace and his.

There was a commotion at the head of the great staircase, and he heard a shrill, imperious voice saying: “ Must I see this man?”

“My lady, you must. It is the order of the King.”

Then she was coming down the stairs, lifting her skirts almost disdainfully; her little head high, as she looked straight ahead, walking regally like a queen in her palace. Brandon was astonished, for she could not be more than eight years old.

She stood before him and held out a hand. He bowed his tall figure a very long way and looked into her face. She was no beauty and her expression at this time was far from agreeable. Her governesses stood a few paces behind her.

Charles straightened up. “I would speak with the Lady Elizabeth in private,” he said.

For a moment the child’s face betrayed her fear; then she said: “Very well.” And to her attendants: “You may wait in the winter parlor.”

She was both imperious and apprehensive, as though she recognized that she was a very rich little girl, and that riches could mean power in some ways, disaster in others; Charles, who was fond of children, felt a little sorry for her.

When they were alone he said: “You know the King has commanded me to come here?”

“I know it,” she answered.

He took her hand and led her to a chair on which she sat while he drew up a stool and placed it opposite her, before seating himself.

“You should not be afraid of me,” he assured her.

“I trust not,” she answered.

“Then why does my presence worry you?”

“Because I know why you have come. The King has chosen you to be my husband.”

“And you like me not?”

“You are very old, and I do not want a husband.”

“It is because you are so young that you think me old. It is also because you are so young that you do not want a husband.”

“And it is because I have a large fortune that you want me for a wife.”

“My dear child, the King commanded me to come here. I did not seek this any more than you did. Shall we say we are victims of circumstances?”

“I am happy here. I have many people to care for me. My father is dead.” Her lips trembled. “But I have others to love me.”

“Do not be downcast. You are over-young to marry. You could not have a husband for at least five years.”

She looked relieved, and suddenly laughed in a merry fashion. “In five years,” she said incredulously, “why, by then …”

“I shall be quite ancient and beyond being a husband!” He laughed. “Not quite, my lady. But it may well be that in five years’ time you will have a different opinion of me from that which you have today.”

She was unconvinced, but clearly she did not find him such an ogre as she had feared he might be.

“The King has made you my ward,” he told her; “and as your guardian I must stay here awhile and make sure that you are being well cared for. It is the King’s wish that we should become betrothed to each other. But do not be alarmed. I do assure you that this will be only a simple ceremony; and we shall not be married until you are at least thirteen years old, which must be quite five years away. Come, show me the house and introduce me to your attendants. I promise you that in a few days you will recognize me as your friend.”

The little girl rose and put her hand uncertainly in his.

She said: “And if, when the time comes, I do not want to marry you …”

“Then I shall not force you to do so.”

Elizabeth Grey was clearly happier than she had been since she had heard that by the King’s command she was to become the ward of Charles Brandon whom Henry had chosen to be her husband.

As he learned the extent of Elizabeth’s wealth, Charles could not but feel gratified. Henry must indeed think highly of him to place such a prize in his hands. He was glad that the child was too young for marriage, because he would have time to prepare her for it; and since he could not have Mary, she would be a very good substitute.

She was an ungracious little creature whose confidence was not easily won, but he was sorry for her. Poor child! To lose her father and then suddenly find herself, on account of her position and wealth, offered to a stranger!

She would find that he was no brute. But how to convince her of this?

An incident occurred a few days after his arrival which made the little girl change her mind.