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Theo James and Zawe Ashton in Mr. Malcolm’s List (2022) dir. Emma Holly Jones

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they had been together for nearly longer than they've been apart at this point in their lives, they had a beautiful daughter who grew taller every day and carried her father's fierce spirit, and penelope liked to believe that at this point that she knew thomas nearly as well as she knew herself. to love thomas was to love a storm at times, to be a sailor on a voyage who prayed each night for the crack of thunder and roll of waves, it was to place herself in the center of it as it raged onward around her. while other women longed for and worried that their husband would succumb to the wiles of another temptress, penelope knew with an unshakable faith that there existed not a world where thomas drifted from their martial bed. they had lasted the rise and fall of cromwell, the securing of boleyn victory, the loss of james, and still, thomas succeeded, while penelope remained by his side. she knew that when thomas perceived a potential threat to their life, to the family that he had formed, that he was prone to working himself into a hysteria that near rivaled the ones cecily had thrown as a child. 

it is why their daughter was so often sequestered away from them, tucked away somewhere safe where she could learn and grown in relative peace and comfort - why penelope dared to not steal away his attention too frequently where other eyes may see. there was reason behind his precautions, she was not naïve to this, that he had certainly accrued enemies that would not shy away from the chance to take out vengeance against him. yet, penelope desired little to allow him to remain so tightly wound, with lightning in his eyes and rolling thunder beneath his skin. " thomas," she whispered against his lips, her hands moving to gently grab his cheeks, pulling his head up so that he was forced to look into her eyes. " you have only just returned to me, and you wish for me to flee from your grasp already? no," her voice is firm as she brushed her thumb along his kin, mapping out the wrinkles that she knew she echoed in her own features. " we shall send away cecily, for her safety and her lessons. my brother's wife has a sickly son, cecily will be there in the country helping her if anyone asks. but i shall not leave you, thomas." 

her body pressed tightly against his own, a few careful steps to tug them back towards where their bed laid, till the back of her knees hit it. " i do all that you ask of me, but this i cannot, my love. we are stronger together than we have ever been apart, i shall not allow you to walk into a den of famished beasts entirely alone - so that you may offer yourself as a meal." penelope stood within the eye of his raging storm, in the midst of his anxieties and fears, and sought to relieve him of them the easiest way that she knew how. her hands tugged him in for a harsh kiss, her lips pressing against his as her hands traced along his chest, plucking away at ties and strings as if she had them memorized. her hand sneaking beneath layers that separated them to brush against the warm, soft skin of his manhood. " i cannot continue to ache for you, set aside this nonsense, you've yet to return home."

Thomas was always going to return to Penelope, even if it’d take ten years to do so in the same manner Odysseus went to his own patient wife, but without the frequent infidelities that had cursed that figure of epic poetry. To he, there had been no other, no more temptation found in a rowdy tavern than put before him in his own marital bed — for as soon as he had seen her he had seen something holy in her eyes, something that deserved the loyalty of someone strong or albeit ready to cut all who thought to get in his way. It had been so when Thomas had thought to cross ranks against his own Master, his own role model who had become a quasi-father instead of his own who had always lived and breathed by the job at the Tower. But as soon as the safety of his family had been threatened with the upheaval of Cromwell’s master plan, or when the tally had been drawn to secure a Boleyn victory, Thomas had done just as he had once thought foolish or for certain something unfathomable. So, he had proved himself, he had proved that if the hair on his wife or his daughter’s heads were put into question then he would cut any throat that dare thought to harm them. And with his return, he came raked with insecurities, the fact of illegitimate son of the old King a matter fresh within his mind. 

He was home, but whether home was good enough for his family was under superstition, for even as he kissed her — his words laced between his need for attention — he could not help but stray to what was to be packed, what was to be kept or what was to be lost to the crows of Hampton Court. He knew then, as he looked at her, that he could not tell his wife of the truth. That if it came out that he, Cecil and de Vere had lied (for Lady Percy, as a translator, would hold little weight to the fury of a King and his other councilmen) to their Master — a trick played by Walsingham’s own hand in the fight against Cromwell — then he would not be surprised to find himself resting against the chopping block in practice for the final swing. No, he could not have Penelope then put under the scrutiny of treason — she would remain unaware, she would be safe. Perhaps, if they were lucky, after his death she would be exiled to her own paternal hearth with Cecily in tow, where they could survive and live their lives without the constant threat of being a Walsingham. 

“I would tell you, I will tell you when the time is right. But I cannot lie to you, Penelope, I have never and I never would. But you must believe me that I keep you shrouded for good reason, for you and our daughter, our family,” he whispered, as if the walls had ears, his brow flush against her own as he held her there — oh, and how in love he was, and what a weakness it was to be so passionately reserved for she. “Pack all things that mean more to you, we can get clothes or essentials elsewhere. I must stay, but you and Cecily could go —” he murmured, before pushing her hair from her shoulders, putting the gentle nudge of his nose against her neck, bowing before her as he held her against his broadness, his lips finding the sweet curve of her skin to kiss, his body played the fool against his mind that worked furiously against the deadline.

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𝖌𝖔𝖉𝖉𝖊𝖘𝖘𝖊𝖘 𝖆𝖙 𝖍𝖆𝖒𝖕𝖙𝖔𝖓 𝖈𝖔𝖚𝖗𝖙 | penelope walsingham, as  persephone, goddess of spring. 

the attendance of penelope walsingham and her husband, thomas, was well documented in the romance novel ' the spymaster's bride ' written by fledgling fiction author diana suno, inspired heavily by other tudor romance novelists such as jean plaidy and phillipa gregory. it included a very vivid scene that was heavily based on the true events of the pageant of the king's in the year of 1559, where penelope acted out a sorrowful scene of leaving her mother, demeter, to be with the king of the underworld. the two women soon dissolved into giggles once the scene was complete. adorned in mauve silks, it was noted that penelope maintained a higher neckline then some of the other women in attendance, however if the fictional novel is to be believed the fabric was sheer whenever penelope shifted, revealing long dainty legs and bare thighs and glimpse of her breasts if stood in the right position ( one that her husband was notably glued to most of the night as they drank ). historians have remarked in brevity in various writings of thomas walsingham's life that it was unintentional irony for his wife to portray the goddess of spring, growth, and fertility, as according to the timeline it was around this period of time that she became pregnant with their third, and final, child. 

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the word had come that the men had returned, yet penelope did not immediately flank to her husband's side, it would be a foolish scene and she was no longer a young maiden who was at the mercy of her hysteria and follies of the heart. instead, penelope had paced their rooms endlessly, allowing cecily to prattle at her about the lessons her tutors had been harping on as of late, till her mother eased some of the tensions in her shoulders. it was nearing mid meal with still no sign of thomas' return to their chambers, penelope sighed to herself as she ordered cecily to go wash up before they ate, shifting towards their bedchamber. penelope was certain that he must be held up with the king, yet her heart still raced in mild anxiety that perhaps thomas was not returning and soon, james would darken their doorstep to inform her of trouble that had befallen him. 

in an effort to soothe herself, penelope moved towards her own trunk, kneeling down to sift through it till she found the shirt that she had tucked away at the bottom, it had been on she'd been slowly working on hemming and sewing for him. penelope lifted to her chest, his scent still lingered on it faintly and with her eyes closed she nearly could trick herself into believing that he had returned already. her fingers traced the corners of it, a fond smile on her face as she recalled the way thomas had teased her when she stolen it from his body directly, pressing fleeting kisses to her cheeks till she near a mess in giggles, tossing it aside then so she could map out every scar on his body with her hands. the memory warms her cheeks, lifting the tunic to her lips to press a faint kiss to it before resting it atop her trunk once more, praying she didn't accidentally undo one of her own stitches in her temporary melancoly moment. 

the sound of cecily as she cried out at the sight of her father is enough to send penelope shooting up with baited breath as her eyes watched the door to their bedroom, hands clasped in front of her as an odd sense of anticipation filled her. soon, the door had opened and thomas' figure stood in it, penelope's face lighting up instantly at the sight of him. before she has a chance to rush for him, he is dashing for her and she is enveloped in his arms, her own hands gripping him desperately. " thomas, you're home," she whispered, barely having a moment to return the kiss before he is rambling again, a frown replacing the smile on her lips. her hands sought out his cheeks, cupping them and forcing him to hush and look at her in the eyes. " my love, please, you will work yourself sick in such a fret. tell me, what is it that you are so fearful of? we have conquered together so much before, we shall do it again. lay your worries at my feet so that i may soothe your tired heart."

Thomas had returned home as soon as he had been able, for the safety of his only living child and wife was all that mattered if one was to think further on the troubles that came from Florentine waters. If only he knew of the Cromwells and their rising tempers, then perhaps Thomas would’ve instead called his family to the Holy Roman Empire or Spain, where there were acquaintances that could be thus used as safe harbours. But, no, he had been blindsided by the news from home only due to the fact that Walsingham had thought that nothing would happen, that when he had left there had been no news of his old Masters clad in black, nor had he even come to think of anything other than the looming threat of the real, breathing illegitimate son of King Henry VIII. 

Though perhaps James or even Julian enjoyed the welcome home, Thomas kept himself to the shadows and back passages, his pace quickened upon seeing the known hallway that had since become the quarters kept to himself and his family. Breaking through the door, he met his daughter — his hands clasped against her sweet face as he kissed her brow and cussed with relief. She was safe, Cecily Walsingham was safe. With a breath, he held her close to the repulsion of his only child, who had since grown to find her father only a suffocation to her growth. But, she proclaimed that she had missed him, and that her mother waited for him behind their walls. 

With one last kiss, he strayed, removing his travelling cloak and heavy leather gloves in the process, the items dropped to the floor in a rushed fashion before pushing the door open to reveal his ever patient love. In a frantic dash he carved his arms around her, embracing her against him in one lunge — a gasp then passing by his stubborn lips, his brow falling against hers. “Sweetling, you are here… God, how I have missed you,” he then sighed, passing his mouth over her own, before a quick release. “What have I missed? How has Elizabeth fared? No, you must have your trunks packed, we must make haste to somewhere of the utmost safety. I shan’t risk you or Cecily in a fault of my own.”

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penelope was not a dull woman, she was loosely aware that the business her husband attended to meant that at times he carried far more enemies in court than friends, and that at times it was best that she simply went along with his whims. but, his letter that he'd delivered shortly after his departure still haunted her, and penelope found herself full of questions with little answers or ways to even seek them out till his return. if he returned at all. she had believed that perhaps she'd settle in alice's company, certain that james would write to her and by proxy, penelope would know that her own husband remained safe, for the pair were never far from one another and she knew that james cecil loved thomas nearly as much as she did, he'd hardly let harm befall the older man. yet, the look in alice's eyes as she gripped onto penelope's arm serves only to further rattle any docile nature she had been able to procure, as if alice now put validity to the claims in her own heart that thomas was in danger. penelope knew that alice was frightened most likely due to the whisperings of a seymour heir to the throne, for their status had always been teetering over the edge of a cliff that was not her own doing, but the mention of sending cecil away - to wulf hall, far from her mother's grasp ( and a place that thomas frequently spoke ill of ), it made her lips frown. 

" alice, please, you speak in such urgency, what nameless beast has come to hampton that you believe us to be in danger?" she whispered, a hand residing over alice's as she searched for any knowledge in her eyes. if the whispers were to be believed, the cromwells had taken up residency within the seymour stronghold, and penelope believed alice, certainly - but she doubted the safety of her daughter in any place where the seymours may have once touched. alice believed that she could keep all three of the children safe, yet if it mean arthur and catherine or cecily, penelope knew that the woman would pick her own blood to protect first - just as penelope would be pressured to do in her stead, as well. as any mother shall do. and if thomas did return, he would be furious with her for daring to send cecily away to wulf hall of all places, for having little faith in her own husband's words, and penelope knew she could bear any brunt of his moods, for she was far from a wilting flower beneath his gaze, but the idea of doing so for this? it made her sick to her stomach nearly. 

her head shook, a faint smile directed at alice as she checked out of the corners of her eyes to make certain that they were entirely alone. " no, i must not send her there, thomas will be beside himself with me, alice," she whispered, clutching the other woman's hand tightly. " it is i, that should offer you protection for arthur and catherine. your husband's kin have aligned themselves with dangerous people, the cromwells are not to be trusted, and even if you believe wulf hall to be safe, you can no longer ignore the reality of arthur, alice. he grows each passing summer to look more like cecil, soon his name shall no longer offer protection as you believe it does. please, let them join cecily, at least catherine! we can send for arthur later, when it is safer and the men have dealt with things in hampton." touching the once untouchable subject between the women.

The loss of James was keenly felt, it was as if she suffered from a phantom pain — her heart ached with the distance that stretched across ocean and land till the string was taut with tension. It didn’t help, thereafter, that Alice felt the shift of powers begin their fateful dance. With the Princess set with an honourable title and the ever righteous return of Mary Tudor teased in gossip passed from mouth to ear, Alice felt the distinct need to protect those who meant the most to her. Previously, she had thought the precarious stability of the Grey daughters her most important task — but with the danger, and sudden loss of the protection naturally boasted off by Cecil, Alice had been forced to bundle her offspring into her own ideas of safety. Arthur, who had been beneath the court tutor instructed to educate the older children in any such ideal that may appear in court life (Latin, Greek, etiquette…) and Catherine, who had been by Alice’s side whenever she was found behind closed doors, were instead taken from their rooms and instead parcelled into an awaiting carriage due to take them out of the city and back into the renewed palace of Wulf Hall, where they would remain till a further extraction — perhaps to some Irish connection, or upon an awaiting ship where they could make some claim to Spain where her mother had once dreamed off whenever her Mistress, the late Queen, waxed upon the beauty of sun drenched shores. 

In truth, those were fantastical ideas — but Alice could not help but prepare for an escape, to twist herself, the son and the daughter into safety whilst throwing her husband to the wolves. If she had to, there was no qualm in defending herself by claiming that a Seymour had plotted against the crown — after all, anyone would’ve believed it, even in the face of a man who had once betrayed his siblings in order to keep his head. But even as the court remained a constant rumble of suspicion and gossip, Alice was forced to stay her ground in order to secure her children’s escape — and in some moment of desperate need she found herself straying to the one person at court she could trust without the comfort of Cecil to depend upon. 

Penelope Walsingham was married to the Spymaster, a man who’s history was slathered in legend of torture, murder and lies. So, she could not help but find it hard to imagine him anything other than a foe — after all, in some rebellion Alice had continued to seek Mass behind the public’s back, and whispered her support of the return of Mary Tudor in some last bout of love once emboldened by her mother’s undying loyalty. But, Alice was not her mother, the ever faithful Maud Green who had died of a broken heart to serve Catherine of Aragon in her last, painful years as an exile. Instead she had inherited her father’s intelligence, her quick wit the only such thing saving her from warrants signed in her name — if her loyalty remained anywhere, it was to herself and the ones of her blood, and against the logic that presented itself, Cecil as well. 

But, Penelope and Alice had met long before the days of matrimony and status, and though some thought to shun the coquettish nature that claimed the Parr girl, Penelope had only sought friendship. Together they had shared secret gossip, with their heads close Alice had shared what she knew about the warrant on Anne Boleyn, and then to the legitimacy of the then Prince and Princess. Later, they would walk shoulder to shoulder with matching stomachs that blossomed with the promise of life — and though the claim of her first son’s parentage had never quite made it to her lips, the knowledge was there for her to weave together, and if provoked, Alice would find herself at confession. 

It was then, without their safety nets bracing for their dependent falls, that Alice sought her private audience. Arm in arm, she watched as Penelope’s attention wavered into the unknown. She assumed that the Lady Walsingham thought of her husband and then her daughter; and upon finding themselves very much alone, she dropped her voice to a whisper, her blue gaze finding the other’s in a sense of urgency. “Listen, tonight Arthur and Catherine will be taken out to Wulf Hall… Would you wish to see Cecily in that same carriage? It can be done, Penelope — I will keep them safe,” she hushed, her words hushed and weary as she drew Penelope to a final stop, the hall stretching out behind and before them in the last dregs of daylight. “Do not tell your husband, he will disapprove of Wulf Hall. But I swear, it is no longer a Seymour safehold. It is mine, it is entirely Parr. You must think of Cecily.”

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i will not ask you where you came from. i will not ask you, neither should you. | a playlist for the walsinghams.

𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭.

savior complex by phoebe bridgers.  ivy by taylor swift.  work song by hozier.  orpheus by shawn james.  jackie and wilson by hozier. in the best case scenario we'd die at the same time by my name is ian.  gold rush by taylor swift.  like real people by hozier.  mastermind by taylor swift.

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it was a cool day much like this when penelope first met alice, years ago now, when they were both but young maidens, tittering at the edges of groups of ladies. shifting to attempt to find place for themselves within all of it, pressed hands as they walked, heads turned to one another as they whispered things to the wind. soon enough they had become waddling mothers, matching bumps that grew as snow covered the ground and melted once more, sharing worries and fears as if they were currency. and when the children had came, penelope had watched with careful eyes as her sweet alice dropped from favor, the titling rumors of the child that penelope regarded with mild curiosity but paid no true mind to. alice had guarded penelope's deepest secret with a reverent faith, and so penelope guarded her friendship with alice, continuing their walks and whispering to alice's ears little jokes about the cruel women.

let the wind carry them back to the women, with a playful quirk of her lips as they sputtered and furrowed brows at them. what a pity that cruelty turned some ladies so ugly. now, they were older and maybe a bit wiser, no longer the spotlight of a court full of pitfalls and traps, but rather thoughtful observers on the sidelines. at least for a few more years till their children would grow to higher standings, though penelope knew alice often worried for her eldest still. 

now, alice's company is a brief reprieve from penelope worrying over thomas' journey or whether their own daughter would have to join them again soon. the cromwells returning to court made her a bit uneasy, though she felt more unsettled with neither daughter or husband within her grasp or sight, no way she may physically protect them from harm. " please carry forgiveness in your heart for me, sweet alice, my mind has been swept away in the breeze it seems. for i do not hear a word that you spoke," she said softly, a faint smile on her lips as she apologetically pressed a hand to their cojoined arms as they walked. " you were ruminating on the princess' court as of late?"

closed event starter for @thmagdalene | home front.

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a carefully folded piece of parchment, tucked in between the shirts packed that thomas brought with him to florence, it carries the faintest smell of their fireplace and the floral perfume that penelope often wore. as if she had hurriedly written the contents before laying beside her husband in bed. beneath the parchment is handkerchief, embroidered along the edges with a litany of various tiny flowers. | @thquldnunc

my sweeting, 

lady fortuna is a cruel mistress to force us to part once more, i suppose i shall perch as a bird upon the window, collecting seeds as i await your arrival home to me. i meant to gift you such a token for the yuletide, a pity that i pricked my finger a thousand times over simply to have to now make you another for the holiday. i request that you dutifully tuck it into your pocket, so that perhaps my prayers will cross the seas and protect you in my absence. 

careful to not allow james to return home with a bride or child, i fear there is not enough time to remind him of my wrath. 

[ there is a few smudged lines, as if after writing them, penelope swept her finger over the ink before it dried in an attempt to erase them. the only decipherable words being ' love ' and ' promise '. ] 

do try to not keep me waiting very long, lord walsingham. 

yours & yours alone, 

pen.

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Alphonse Eugène Félix Lecadre (French, 1842-1875) 

The Sleep, 1872

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her laughter is soft and  merciless between them, relishing in the way that thomas so easily shed his courtly stature at the touch of her hands, at the girlish antics that she entrapped him with - as if they were young courtiers again, stealing moments away before duty called thomas back to cromwell. eyes remained focused on their watch obediently, even as her body curves into his touch, his lips leaving fresh goosebumps in their wake that will remain to haunt her throughout the afternoon once they have parted yet again. " you remain a cruel, yet devoted man of english blood. tell me, does our majesty make your cock stir as strongly as i do?" her words are hushed between them, a slip in the dignified lady that she always so often carried. the secret bits of their selves that they deigned to only share with one another.

" i suppose i shall tolerate being another bird whispering in your ear, my thomas. perhaps you shall find my words sweet enough to reward with another press of your lips when we must part." a grin hidden on her face as the sound of his muffled groan sent a shiver down the length of her body, dark eyes full of wanton desire as he pulled away from her once more. 

plump lips fall into a teasing pout as he tugged her forward, falling forward and into his side as if her body was meant for no other place in the world. she lifted his hand to her lips to steal another kiss along his knuckles, ripe with adoration and devotion for her beloved, before releasing it so that she may slip her arm through his. " i fear that if i awaited your return in our rooms, you may have found that i have sought to shift the entirety of them to play a foolish jest on you." penelope hummed, smile returned once more to her features. " no, i would rather pluck a few moments away from you while we walk. it shall settle my moods to know that i have delivered you safely, less a stray lord attempts to bother you incessantly and needlessly." she stretched out a hand to gently fix the hair that she had mussed previously with her antics. " may i inquire on your appointments?" 

From his youth to his present, it had always been distinctly known to Walsingham that it was rare for a true love match to be found among an arranged, suitable marriage. Though he did not boast of his affairs in the same manner as Cecil or write romantic prose like Wyatt, the Spymaster well and truly adored his wife who had given him a life to lead among the many darker days found beneath each Tudor King’s rule. His adoration for her remained a closely guarded secret, their private life locked tight behind a door that would’ve otherwise been broken into by the fever of gossip that often took the court by the horns. 

He had seen her before he had met her in the middle of that lonely hall, her skirts peeking from the seclusion of the alcove as her own lustful gaze met his. They were older then, older than they had once been when he had been but a protegee of Cromwell and his sniffling minions — and yet, one look was all it took for the Secretary of State to sip at the fountain of youth, his stride carrying him towards his wife with heavy steps before he took her hand into his, his head turned from toward the opposing ends before facing Penelope at last, his hand dropped to instead encase her face, his thumbs resting atop of her cheeks as the alcove instantly transformed into something intimate. 

“I have told you —” he began, his voice low, covered by an ache at the back of his throat, his body leaned so slightly against her own in some manner to vie for control, his attention put upon his love despite the very tips of his ears tuned to the outer world. “ — you must not tempt me like this, or I will never get my work done,” Thomas growled, leaning his lips then against Penelope’s brow, her cheek and then her ear as he turned his wife’s head to the side, for both her to keep watch and him to do as he may. “You will have me waste daylight hours kissing your lips, is that right? Well, I cannot — I shouldn’t. You must walk with me instead, I have people to meet, and you can whisper in my ear as we go,” Thomas muttered, his lips then pressed against the shell of her ear, his poise suddenly swallowed with a muffled groan, his hand finding her own as he pulled her forth, his harsh manoeuvres made with a grin that enraptured his expression. “Or, perhaps you will find heaven in our rooms, waiting on my return?”

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closed starter for @robsartd !

fiery crimson, sun kissed ringlets caught penelope's attention from the corner of her eye, head swiveling to smile warmly at the sight of amy with her children, the other woman calling after her son with a tone in her voice that made penelope chuckle softly. cecily turned her face up to look at her mother, large brown eyes pleading for her to allow the little girl to go chasing after her companions. " go on, little one. do not soil your dress, or i shall contemplate sending you to the country to live with your grandmother." it is a meaningless threat, cushioned by the tender way that penelope brushed her daughter's hair from her face before sending her off to follow gaily after amy's pair. penelope approached amy at a slower pace, tilting her head downward to grin softly at the far shorter woman, motioning with her hand towards where their children played together. " it feels as if though anne has grown quite taller since the last time we spoke, it is truly a wonder that she may rise so quickly in merely a few days. do you not fret that she may one day sprout endlessly till she towers over you, amy?" with a laugh, penelope intertwined their arms, hand resting on her forearm, an intimate embrace that spoke of coy friendship and warm sentiments. " your robin strikes a fearsome vision of lord dudley, he has stolen any hope of him sharing your features - an unfortunate, but foreseen consequence of such a man as he."

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closed starter for @jamescecils!

in different circumstances, thomas' playful smile upon her request about james cecil's location would have sent penelope in a proper frenzy, yet sadly there was little space left in her bosom for anything but a righteous sort of fury. the same anger that she often held towards her elder brothers when they were children, penelope chasing them out of trouble at her mother's request. now, penelope seeks out a fond companion who's name has graced her ears within the circles of women that she frequented as of late at court, all sorts of unsightly rumors. ones that made her sigh in soft fondness coupled with mild annoyance, more so that she was meant to listen to such outlandish tales rather than hear them from james, himself. in a brief amount of hurried footsteps, the woman spots him with a sharp quirk of her lips as they make eye contact, a mischievous look on her face that spells the danger that remains ahead for cecil. " my lord," she greeted loudly, so that he was unable to run from her ire less he make them both look foolish. penelope lifted her skirts enough to stride confidently towards james, smile dropping from her lips once she passed other courtiers, a mild glare directed at him. once he is within a close enough distance, penelope stretched on her feet to grasp his ear in reprimand, tugging him none too gently. " why must i hear from other ladies that you are chasing the skirts of every young woman who breathes within your proximity? if you yearn so desperately for a wife to warm your bed, will you not listen to my pleas and allow me to find you a worthy woman?" with a gentle huff, penelope released his ear and fixed him with a pointed look. " you wound me, having such little faith and trust in me, james. i am incredibly hurt, i shall not forget this slight against my character."

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closed starter for @thquldnunc !

as a little girl, penelope had often dreamt of the man that may one day lay claim to her heart - tall, gallant lord with a massive estate with a thousand rooms for her to explore, or a charming gentleman with a booming laugh and prickly beard. thomas was neither of those when they met, a young blooded man with soft eyes that reminded her of her father and a smile that made her heart race furiously. his jests never failed to make her laugh, he watched her as if she was the only woman in any room they stood within, and penelope did not believe she may ever love a man as viscously as she loved thomas. even now, with nearly more years together than apart, penelope still found herself in constant wanton desire for her husband. a hunger that only grew with every glimpse she saw of him throughout the days, frequently banning him from spending midday meals with her so that she may not steal his attention for the rest of the afternoon - to force him to lay siege to his wife till she was sated and cheerful once more by the time the sun set. unfortunately, her husband was not quite lucky enough to escape her endless hunger this afternoon, having spotted him walking towards her, head down as he remained deep in his burden laden thoughts. with a teasing quirk of her lips, penelope stepped out his path to rest in a hidden alcove within the hall. 

as thomas began to pass her, a single hand grabbed his doublet and tugged him towards her and the hiding spot. with a quiet laugh, her back rested against the stone wall, chin tilted up towards her husband in a similar fashion to the way flowers shifted to always face the sun. her thomas. her sun. in all his entirety before her, looking as handsome as he had when he left their bed this morning. " you were almost tardy for our appointment, my sweeting." her hand drifted to cup his cheek, fingers teasingly scratching at the light scruff on his face. the wrinkles around his eyes reminded her of the laughter they so frequently shared, the warmth of his smile that she was granted the privy of seeing. she despised deeply the layers of fabric that kept them apart, wishing desperately to wrap herself around him." it is unfortunate that we must meet like this, my lord, when shall your wife ever allow us to be together?" her voice is heavily laced with jest, finger under his chin as she directed him down to kiss her softly. 

[pcppyy]

closed starter for @truedevotions !

the older woman hummed softly as she waited patiently for the arrival for her companion, eyes watched the various bodies that strolled throughout the gardens, smiling faintly at the sight of a child making their governess chase after them. penelope's thoughts wandering to her own daughter, praying that she was being mindful currently in her lessons, less she have to play the role of sharp mother as her own had done years before. the sound of gentle footsteps called penelope's attention away from the sight of others, instead resting on the demure, feminine beauty that was isobel percy. while she still carried a few features from her girlhood, isobel had certainly grown into the near perfect image of a lady of court that penelope had seen when they first met previously. the woman took note of the way that isobel carried herself, a sight that certainly must have made other young ladies quiver in fear at such a threat to their own reputation. for how could any of them compare when lady percy sparkled like a ruby within the sun? her expression softened as isobel drew near, hand reaching so that they may clasp arms and press against one another as if they were sisters, a sense of familiar intimacy shared between the women. 

" what a cold, uncaring woman you have become within hampton's halls," penelope teased with a mischievous quirk of her lips. " to leave me waiting at your beck and call, do you care not for the old maid that i am becoming in your absence?" their steps are easily matched with one another, the older of the pair discretely leading them towards a less populated path so that they may be granted a brief amount of privacy. out of the corner of her eye, penelope watched isobel carefully. " i shall not ask if your family is well, i imagine you tire of speaking about such incidents. instead, i shall inquire that you fill my ear with your opinions of court. we may compare notes about the particularly dull ones, or shall i warn you of the ones that will certainly soon come nipping at your ankles like a sort of unruly hound?" 

[pcppyy]

PENELOPE WALSINGHAM, WIFE OF SIR THOMAS WALSINGHAM & COURTIER,  41,  GEMMA CHAN.

tw child death mention !

NAME: penelope walsingham, affectionately called pen.

AGE / D.O.B.: forty one & march sixth, 1518.

STATUS / RANK: courtier, mistress walsingham.

COUNTRY OF ORIGIN: england. 

PLACE OF BIRTH: london, england.

BIRTH ORDER: the youngest of four, only daughter.

MOTHER & FATHER: olive & james lewin. ( father was a merchant.)

CHILDREN: cecily walsingham ( 11 ). unnamed walsingham ( † ).

SEXUALITY: bisexual , biromantic. 

HOROSCOPE: pisces sun , virgo rising , gemini moon. 

VIRTUES: dauntless, meticulous, steadfast.

VICES: reticent, opinionated, stoic. 

MARITAL STATUS: married to thomas walsingham.

ISSUE: n / a.

RELIGION: church of england. 

ALLIES: the boleyns, the king, james cecil, julian de vere.

ADVERSARIES: tba.

TIMELINE                             

1518. last child born to her parents.

1536. meets thomas walsingham.

1537. married in a grand love match to thomas.

1545. thomas joins the boleyn defense, abandons cromwell. 

1546. loss of her first child after a few months of pregnancy. 

1547. both her parents pass from a sweating sickness. 

1548. birth of daughter, cecily. 

1550. thomas becomes secretary of state. the walsinghams come to court.

1557. william is named king & coronated. 

BIOGRAPHY:

work in progress ! tagline for penelope however is a very independent, strong sort of woman who often wears a mask to put forward a brave face & hide her true opinions, mostly cares about the protection of her daughter and her husband. fond of the current royal family as they have benefitted her family greatly. 

[pcppyy]

Gemma Chan in Mr. Malcoms List [2019]

[pcppyy]

penelope walsingham , MISTRESS WALSINGHAM. | exclusive blog for bloodydayshq.  written by sunny. ( they/them )

intro. musings. threads.