philippaed

[philippaed]

⸻    i    have    many    grievances    and    no    place    to    set    them    down    ,    and    i    am    cranky    from    having    to    shoulder    this    burden    of    reactions    ,    like    i    am    a    fucking    ox    that    should    carry    your    unsellable    wares    .

#PHILIPPAED    >    𝖕𝖍𝖎𝖑𝖎𝖕𝖕𝖆  𝖌𝖗𝖊𝖞  ,  as  written  by  𝖆𝖓𝖓𝖎𝖊      (      she  /  they  ,  25+  ,  gmt+8      ).      associated  with  bloodydayshq.      an  introspection  in      nature  and  nurture,      the  matyrdom  of  oneself  for  a  country,      the  shifting  shapes  of  a  woman  at  war  with  herself,      weaning  babes  on  bitter  medicine,      knowing  hunger  and  learning  greed,      dangerous  infatuations      &      a  story  that  can  only  end  in  death.  

introduction    ⸻    full    statistics    ⸻    tag    drop    .

[philippaed]

his  departure  could  not  have  come  at  a  more  unfavorable  time  and  philippa  was  not  ashamed  to  admit  that  his  absence  had  been  keenly  felt  over  the  weeks  that  the  king  had  spent  in  dover  ─  without  his  encompassing  warmth  and  steady  assurance  by  her  side,  the  duchess  of  suffolk  had  been  unmoored,  floating  mindlessly  in  the  seas  of  uncertainty  even  as  the  court  rose  in  thunderous  celebrations  beneath  the  regency  of  the  princess.  the  separation  had  been  poorly  mended  through  letters  exchanged  on  the  daily  though  many  laid  unsent,  shoved  in  the  compartments  of  her  desk  and  comprising  of  a  few  legible  sentences  that  reflected  the  way  that  he  occupied  her  thoughts  every  second  of  every  waking  minute.  (  in  the  morning,  when  sense  returned  to  her  with  the  rising  of  the  sun,  the  letters  would  be  made  into  kindling  for  the  hearth,  though  a  few  would  remain,  lodged  between  books  and  letters  of  estate,  to  tell  the  tale  of  the  duke  and  duchess  of  suffolk  to  the  future  generations.  )  it  was  no  surprise,  then,  that  she  came  to  him,  as  bare  as  the  day  of  her  birth,  beneath  the  cover  of  night,  unable  to  rest  until  he  was  standing  before  her,  allowing  her  gaze  to  consume  him  as  though  such  drastic  changes  could  take  place  in  a  span  of  a  few  days  ─  unadorned  and  exposed,  both  in  body  and  in  spirit,  she  approached  as  a  shade  of  the  golden,  glittering  wife  he  had  abandoned  for  dover  and  for  the  king,  with  steps  as  light  as  a  feather.

❝  is  it  truly  you,  husband  ?  ❞  pale  lashes  dusted  the  apples  of  her  cheeks  as  she  blinked,  pausing  in  her  step,  to  dislodge  the  exhaustion - fueled  fantasy  from  her  gaze.  when  he  did  not  fade  from  her  sight,  philippa  hastened  to  meet  him,  unhindered  by  the  billowing  nightdress  that  laid  forgotten  on  the  floor.  ❝  how  you  haunt  my  days  and  my  nights,  how  the  absence  of  you  has  made  me  cruel  to  the  undeserving  souls  beneath  our  household,  how  the  sight  of  you  now  fills  my  aching  heart.  ❞  what  was  meant  as  a  rebuke  chimed  instead  with  breathless  appeal,  giddied  and  lightheaded  with  relief  at  his  return  to  her  side  ─  with  outstretched  hands,  they  collided,  fitting  into  the  curves  and  crevices  of  each  others'  bodies  with  a  familiarity  that  had  her  sighing  against  his  ministrations,  fingers  clutching  at  his  shoulders  as  the  warmth  of  his  mouth  descended  upon  her  neck.  ❝  my  darling  ...  you  left  me  emptied  of  soul,  of  warmth,  of  love  ...  take  me,  fill  me,  consume  me  and  make  me  whole  again.  ❞

stretching  along  the  length  of  him,  their  lips  met,  forcing  a  soft  gasp,  a  half  whine  from  the  slender  column  of  her  throat  as  her  body  pressed  closer  to  him,  as  though  she  meant  to  crawl  beneath  his  layers  and  feel  the  warmth  of  his  skin  against  her,  unhindered.  plucking  at  his  ties  and  buttons  with  cool  fingers,  she  brought  him  along  with  her  as  they  stumbled  through  the  darkness,  one  leg  lifting  to  hook  around  his  thigh  as  her  back  met  with  the  edge  of  the  chaise,  the  warmth  of  her  center  pressed  against  the  heaviness  of  his  confined  length.  with  a  trembling  moan,  her  hips  swiveled  pitiful  in  an  attempt  to  rub  against  him  with  little  success.  ❝  let  me  ...  let  me  show  you  ...  let  me  show  you  how  much  i  have  missed  you,  so  you  will  never  think  of  leaving  me  again.  ❞  as  though  it  were  his  choice  to  leave,  as  though  she  had  not  been  supportive  of  his  calling  to  accompany  the  king.  never  again  would  she  put  ambition  before  her  heart,  before  her  husband,  for  though  she  desired  to  possessed  those  around  her,  he  had  full  control  of  her,  the  sole  master  of  her  entirety  whose  lack  of  attention  had  left  her  like  a  marionette  with  her  strings  cut.  murmured  against  his  mouth,  she  broke  away  with  a  stuttered  breath,  trailing  her  lips  down  his  chin  and  neck  to  the  loosen  gap  of  his  shirt  ─  pressing  a  wet  kiss  to  his  chest,  tongue  flicking  at  the  hint  of  perspiration  on  his  skin,  she  fell  to  her  knees,  dragging  her  hands  down  his  front  until  she  met  with  the  ties  of  his  hose.  philippa  did  not  bend  easily,  pride  stiffening  her  limbs  into  lead  before  all  but  the  almighty,  yet  she  found  a  comfort   in  her  place,  staring  up  at  her  husband  with  trust  shining  in  her  eyes  as  she  unpicked  at  his  ties  until  a  slender  hand  could  slip  between  fabric  and  flesh  to  cup  the  warm  weight  of  his  cock  in  her  palm.

freeing  him  from  his  confines,  a  soft  noise  hummed  within  her  throat  as  she  kissed  the  length  of  him  with  an  open  mouth,  shamelessly  delighting  in  the  salt - sweat - musk  that  filled  her  with  a  heady  desire  that  slickened  at  her  cunt.  with  a  firm  hand,  she  grasped  him,  stroking  him  to  full  hardness  ─  once,  twice,  thrice,  the  ring  of  her  fingers  slickened  by  the  wetness  that  drips  from  her  waiting  mouth  onto  the  bulbous  head.  mouthing  at  tip,  she  pushed  the  spit  through  her  lips  against  his  cockhead  as  she  blindly  reached  for  one  of  his  hands  and,  once  their  fingers  intertwined,  his  fingers  were  brought  to  rest  upon  her  head.  ❝  guide  me  ...  show  me  how  you  wish  to  be  pleased,  husband.  ❞  

@philippaed

location: bone town 

 Their bedchamber was quite dark, except for a red light shining under and about the hearth; the wide glass doors and long windows were misted over. A crystal sparkle of starlight here and there spangled blanched this November night, scattered brilliants with the paleness of embroidery, across the chamber; the night was clear, though devoid of the comforts of a halycon moon. Nicholas' heart quaked, his pulse quickly leapt, when he heard the rustling of his wife; she, a deep shadow in the steps of a deeper shadow still - moved and descended towards him. She paused a while at a settee, before she glided before him - simultaneously came the the clanger of a distant church bell. Sounds like this brought thoughts of what Nicholas owned, he anticipated. "Wife." Pippa stood not dressed, but as marbled and perfect as a sculpture; bare was the hot-flesh he worshiped. For a long interval he forgot to think of how he demeaned himself, drawn only to the magnetism of Philippa, unclothed, wanting. 

Desire outstripped all reason - it was hot to vision, scalding to sensation. She disclosed to him in her cunt, a power like a deep winter river, thundering in cataract and bearing down on the soul.  "Let us be known to each other once more, my love; I wish for nothing but your gasping pantings of defiance - let me bend your frame, and fight for every inch of its wanting ground." He advanced one step, then two; for he meant to touch her - the impulse, the mood which controlled him, was with the fait that induced him to a confessional. Nicholas bent and kissed Pippa on her neck; he kissed her not with mere desire, but with feeling. He slipped his hands round her, the tips of his fingers grazing the small of her back - it was his way of saying he was happy, happy here with her. Without pause he brought his mouth to hers, and felt the egalitarianism of the moment. They were not a traitor and her simpering spouse; they were not man and wife - just two human beings, snug and safe in that night. 

[philippaed]

𝐏𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐈𝐏𝐏𝐀    𝐆𝐑𝐄𝐘    as    the    goddess    aphrodite.

portraying  the  goddess  of  sexual  love,  beauty  and  fertility,  the  duchess  of  suffolk  cuts  a  near - ethereal  figure  amongst  the  other  ladies  of  court  ─  certainly,  her  costume  is  the  most  daring  of  fashions  worn  on  her  body  and  one  cannot  help  but  wonder  if  the  allure  of  flesh  and  curves  beneath  translucent  fabric  serves  to  distract  not  only  the  eye  but  the  mind  from  the  shameful  exile  that  had  befallen  her  mother  and  new  stepfather,  edmund  percy.

clad  in  a  shade  that  matches  her  skin  tone  to  present  an  optical  illusion  of  nudity,  the  dress  is  loose - fitting  and  flowy  around  the  arms  and  legs  but  cinched  at  the  waist  by  a  stream  of  sewn  jewels  to  accent  the  dip  of  her  hip.  her  neckline  cuts  against  her  breasts,  sheer  enough  that  the  faintest  outline  of  a  dusky  pink  nipple  can  be  glimpsed  through  the  curtain  of  her  golden  curls  that  had  been  arranged  just  so  whenever  she  reaches  for  a  drink  or  to  reach  a  hand  out  to  her  husband  ─  to  tease  but  not  to  expose  fully.  accentuated  with  feathers  around  the  hem  of  her  dress  and  small  gems  dotting  the  fabric  to  sparkle  in  the  candlelight,  the  goddess  aphrodite  is  prevalent  in  many  of  the  evening’s  performances  and  so  philippa  indulges  in  every  request  to  play  the  small  part  be  it  in  a  song,  dance  or  play  act.

[philippaed]

even  before  fate  had  seen  it  fit  to  interweave  their  paths  together  through  a  shared  affection  for  her  sister,  the  duchess  of  suffolk  had  always  viewed  the  man  that  stood  before  her  as  something  of  a  weak - willed  individual,  prone  to  swaying  in  this  direction  or  the  other  depending  on  where  flattery  brought  him  ─  as  she  studied  the  thunderous  change  in  his  expression,  face  flushed  with  his  impassioned  vows,  philippa  could  not  say  that  she  blamed  him  for  the  way  that  he  flickered  like  a  candleflame,  like  a  blade  of  grass  battling  against  the  wind,  not  when  it  was  safer  to  go  with  whoever  fortune  favored  rather  than  pay  any  heed  to  the  burning  within  his  chest.  it  had  never  been  a  viable  option  for  her,  crowned  a  pauper  queen  at  the  age  of  sixteen  by  those  that  yearned  for  a  catholic  resurgence  in  england,  but  if  she  could  have  floated  through  life,  drawing  as  little  attention  as  possible,  she  would  have  done  so  and  been  glad  for  it  so  long  as  she  could  assure  the  safety  of  her  family  in  the  process.  ❝  and  you  think  that  i  want  you  dead,  john  ?  ❞

she  had,  for  a  few  months  after  amelia  had  told  them  of  the  marriage  and  the  babe,  pondered  on  just  how  grieved  her  sister  would  be  to  lose  her  husband.  philippa  had  believed  herself  capable  of  spinning  the  truth  to  protect  her  sister,  painting  amelia  as  the  fool  and  john  as  the  serpent  that  had  ensnared  her  with  his  promises  so  that  the  king's  wrath  would  not  land  so  heavily  upon  their  necks  but  one  would  have  to  be  blind  and  deaf  to  not  realize  how  much  the  hertfords  adored  each  other  ─  the  very  fact  kindled  an  ache  in  her  head  whenever  they  were  in  the  same  room  together  for  fear  that  they  would  give  themselves  away.  ❝  what  good  would  your  death  do  but  bring  grief  to  my  sister  and  leave  your  child  fatherless  ?  it  is  easy  to  die,  john  seymour,  it  is  harder  to  live.  ❞  she  had  been  prepared  for  the  executioner's  block  for  years  but  as  god  was  her  witness,  she  would  be  walking  that  path  alone.  ❝  if  you  knew  the  cost,  why  did  you  pursue  it  ?  god  above,  a  part  of  me  almost  wishes  you  had  an  ulterior  motive  to  marrying  amelia.  then,  it  would  be  easier  to  hate  you  but  no  ...  your  only  crime  is  that  you  love  her  and  for  that,  i  cannot  condemn  you  too  harshly,  but  she  is  of  royal  blood.  do  you  know  how  many  of  my  own  allies  would  flock  to  you  if  they  knew  ─  a  catholic  seymour  with  a  royal  wife  and  heir  ?  ❞  even  more  so  now  with  the  resurrected  edward  seymour  at  their  heels.  ❝  i  would  not  even  blame  you  if  you  conspired  to  betray  me  to  protect  them  if  so,  but  try,  if  you  can,  to  do  something  to  thicken  the  walls  around  my  sister  when  the  time  comes.  ❞

heaving  out  a  sigh,  she  pressed  a  palm  to  her  stomach,  unsettled  and  empty  after  she  had  skirted  by  breakfast  that  morning.  her  head  ached  with  the  conflict,  with  the  uncertainty,  with  how  badly  she  wanted  to  shake  john  seymour  until  he  was  breathlessly  for  all  the  troubles  they  were  presently  in  ─  she  needed  to  keep  a  closer  eye  on  the  youngest  grey  sister  lest  history  repeat  itself  through  her  grandmother's  rebellion  that  seemed  to  pass  down  through  each  generation  like  a  curse.  ❝  of  course  he  would,  if  only  to  get  information  on  the  innerworkings  of  court  by  playing  to  familial  bonds.  you  ...  you've  never  met  the  boy,  before  ...  well,  before.  he  would  have  been  no  older  than  jack  then  and  you  just  a  few  years  his  senior  but  would  you  recognize  him  ?  ❞

He expected little other than vitriol to drip from Philippa's words, their edges sharpened to cut even moreso than usual. In the best of circumstances, he suspected that she merely tolerated him, but now? He found himself lucky that she did not wield the ability to do him true harm, for he imagined she might very well wish it.

"And why should my actions reflect onto you at all?" He asked her after a moment's pause, the hurt and irritation that he normally went to such pains to suppress seeping into his tone. "I would use any power I have to protect you and your lady mother, should word reach the King of my secrets. I know you think yourself the head of the household, as perhaps you are, and thus you bear responsibility. But Amelia is my wife, in the eyes of God. And in his name, I will die to keep her and our son safe if that is what I must do." His voice had risen now, his cheeks flushed. "Do you not think that I am well aware of where a Tudor's displeasure leads? I have known since I was a child. You may at least take some minimal comfort in the notion of station and allies to whom you may beg, but I have no such luxuries. Now more than ever, it would seem."

He turned away, the heel of his hand pressed against his forehead as he tried to collect himself, squeezing his eyes shut as he pulled in a deep breath. Her admissions of care did not earn a response from him, John too stressed to take a moment to absorb them. "Yes," he said after a moment. "Of course I would. And burn the letter for good measure, for I have no desire to be party to anything he might desire of me. Though I very much doubt he would come to me as an ally. As you suggest, I clearly neither know nor have anything of value."

[philippaed]

the  grey - sutton  family  tree  ─  c.  1500s  to  1700s.

philippa  grey  will  be  arrested  on  charges  of  treason  in  1563,  soon  after  the  birth  of  her  twins,  nicholas  john  sutton  and  katherine  sutton,  in  1562.  through  bribery,  she  continues  conjugal  relations  with  her  husband  even  in  the  tower,  leading  to  a  pregnancy  in  1565.  this  allows  her  to  plead  the  belly  before  court  and  her  execution  is  delayed  until  her  daughter,  mary  sutton,  the  future  queen  of  naples,  is  born  in  january  of  1566.  philippa  grey  is  beheaded  in  1566.

katherine  sutton  will  go  onto  marrying  a  cromwell,  becoming  baroness  cromwell.

mary  sutton,  sent  to  spain  after  the  execution  of  her  mother  to  become  a  ward  of  the  spanish  crown,  will  marry  afonso,  infante  of  spain  and  king  of  naples  after  being  his  mistress  for  over  a  decade  and  through  his  marriage  to  a  de  medici  girl.  she  will  be  murdered  soon  after  their  marriage,  however,  by  vengeful  de  medici  kin  of  afonso’s  first  wife  and  he  will  go  onto  marrying  a  frenchwoman  after  her  death.

[philippaed]

enclosed  with  the  letter  is  a  painted  miniature  of  the  duchess  of  suffolk  and  a  lock  of  her  burnt - gold  hair,  meant  to  be  affixed  to  a  chain  and  hung  around  his  neck.

to  the  one  who  commands  my  entire  being,

    how  can  i  be  happy  when  half  of  my  soul  is  kept  away  from  me,  parted  by  distance  and  duty  to  the  king  ?  if  i  am  kept  busy,  it  is  only  to  occupy  my  thoughts  with  something  other  than  a  longing  for  your  presence  else  i  would  be  laid  prone  in  our  marriage  bed,  useless  to  all  who  call  upon  me  if  they  do  not  possess  your  voice.  like  lazarus  in  the  tomb,  your  words  beckon  me  back  to  life  and  fill  me  with  a  delight  that  i  will  kindle  in  the  evenings  when  the  cold  drives  me  to  seek  out  the  memory  of  your  warmth  between  the  sheets.  is  it  cruel  that  i  find  joy  in  the  thought  that  you  are  as  displaced  in  misery  as  i  am  ─  that  the  only  joy  you  can  find  is  by  my  side  and  in  my  hand  ?  i  care  naught  for  william  beyond  inquiring  of  when  he  will  return  to  court  if  only  because  it  will  see  your  return  as  well.  i  confess  that  i  am  eager  to  reunite  with  cousin  mary  who  i  have  only  conversed  with  through  letters  and  gazed  at  through  portraits,  and  i  know  that  my  mother  is  similarly  enthused  to  have  the  daughter  of  katherine  of  aragon  and  the  true  princess  of  england  back  on  english  soil.

    the  contents  of  my  desk  lay  strewn  across  the  room  to  make  space  for  the  letters  that  i  write  and  never  send  to  you,  papers  of  just  your  name  written  until  my  hands  seize  with  the  sweetest  pain  of  my  devotion  to  you.  how  else  can  i  assure  you  of  my  undivided  affection  ?  no  one  sees  me  as  you  see  me,  no  one  has  gotten  so  close.  you  live  beneath  my  skin,  you  are  in  my  veins,  you  are  what  sustains  me  ─  knowing  this  now,  how  then  can  you  withhold  your  words  from  me  ?  does  the  distance  between  us  put  a  chasm  in  your  affection  for  me  ?  do  you  resent  me  for  not  fighting  to  make  the  journey  with  you  by  robbing  me  of  your  delightful  romancing  ?  i  am  left  cold  in  our  chambers  without  you  by  my  side,  must  you  take  the  beauty  of  your  sweet  words  from  me  as  well  ?

    write  to  me.  i  demand  it.  i  am  mistress  of  your  heart  and  so  i  decree  that  you  must  write  to  me  so  that  when  my  eyes  close  for  the  evening  and  my  fingers  drift  upon  my  skin,  i  can  think  of  you  and  pretend  that  you  are  whispering  to  me  in  the  darkness.  there  is  an  emptiness  in  my  chest  when  we  are  apart.  fill  it  with  your  letters,  a  poor  substitute  for  your  mighty  person  but  one  that  i  must  content  myself  with  for  now.

    i  miss you,  i  miss  you,  i  miss  you.  i  love  you,  i  love  you,  i  love  you.

    you  were  made  for  me,  for  my  love,  sharp  as  barbs  and  sweet  as  molasses.  i  await  for  your  return  with  arms  outstretched.  in  me  you  will  find  a  warm  and  willing  mistress,  a  soft  wife  to  soothe  your  weary  body,  so  come  home  to  me  soon  and  i  will  press  each  devoted  word,  each  desperate  kiss,  each  hungry  bite  to  your  flesh  and  consume  you  entirely  with  the  intensity  of  my  yearning.  oh,  you  see  how  you  have  made  a  fool  of  me  !  need  you  further  validation  of  my  love  for  you  ?  what  other  man  can  reduce  me  to  such  a  state  ?

your  foolish  little  wife.

@philippaed

amongst a dozen letters addressed to philippa, lays a note in nicholas' hand; he hopes, that the font would attract her immediately. 

Dearest Pippa -

It does occur to me to inquire what you have been doing with yourself in my absence - I daresay you have been as happy and as busy as ourselves on our honeymoon. As to the King; he is so sought after, engaged, that one will fear he will grow evermore conceited. Like a good sister, Mary seems keen to keep him down - no flattery does he get from her. And yet, William is a fine man - the Dowager's maternal heart must dance, at the sight of him. A certain petrifying influence surrounds the Spanish; Mary being a cold, callous epicure of all things. She is all that is famed of her late mother - she is useless as far as the communication of knowledge, but strict surveillance and observance of religious practices, she is invaluable. I find myself part of a strange, frolicsome and busy little world - I should not find anything as striking or brilliant, as my the part of my heart which remains at his majesty's court. 

  I sit down, take quill and paper because I love you, and have much to say to you; in all I write, I am tender and true. Be gentle to me, Pippa; be pitying, be a woman - imagine this poor face, and relent. You know I am your husband and friend - I love you in even your wrath, with a passion beyond any realm of what I have ever felt. Your reply will be my last comfort in a strait of loneliness; I have long accepted part is to please another. My delight is to feed my ravenous sentiments of love for you. Our detractors pronounce you a most villainous little she-hypocrite; but it is I who am a mere despotic little creature, and you, a lady of high honour. With the full benefit of your light, I allow you to think of me as more in the dark than I really am. I miss you in every waking moment; I pray for the angel of sleep to take hold, and offer me the only relief viable for a love-sick fool. The very thought of neglecting you so pierces my heart that I might cry. Life is said to be a disappointment; but towards me, I hope you shall never harbour such a notion. I have written three times - subduing my romantic phrases at every rescript. You have yet to deride my dramatic demonstrations; but I wish for my letter to only worry your features in a warm smile. 

Write to me and offer me refuge from this Tudor clique I cannot evade- write to me and affirm that you love me, that you'll have me when I return. I know it is tiresome to reaffirm affections time and time again - how has Nick, despite all his simpleness, not taken my word to heart? It is not you who I am in doubt of; it worries me that I am not a man made in the shape of someone who will be loved.

devotedly and with deep admiration, yours

nicholas 

[philippaed]

bloody days muses + taylor swift lyrics

the grey gooses as sad, beautiful, tragic.

[philippaed]

𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡    . . .    amelia    seymour    grey    (    @myladygrey    )    𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞    . . .    hampton    court    .

the  apartments  had  been  emptied  of  straggling  servants  and  favor  seekers  as  eventide  dawned  upon  london,  compelling  maids  to  light  candles  to  illuminate  the  darkened  hallways  and  husbands  to  return  to  the  comforts  of  their  wives  after  a  day  of  politicking  in  the  court  of  elizabeth  tudor  ─  only  a  young  girl  stood  before  her  in  plain  clothes,  poking  at  the  burning  embers  of  the  fireplace  as  the  duchess  of  suffolk  finished  off  her  letter  with  a  flourished  signature.  philippa  wanted  to  avoid  rousing  suspicion  and  so  would  have  to  entrust  the  contents  of  her  writings  into  the  hands  of  the  maid  that  she  had  brought  from  bradgate  house  to  hampton  court,  concealing  the  recipient  of  her  letter  beneath  the  guise  of  a  note  between  two  sisters  separated  by  distance  and  duty.  it  was  a  pleasant  coincidence  that  young  bonnie  had  an  older  sister  who  had  her  babe  around  the  same  time  amelia  had  gone  into  labor  in  the  privacy  of  bradgate,  allowing  the  grey  women  to  correspond  with  the  nursemaid  charged  with  the  care  of  jack  seymour  through  the  two  sister - servants  without  anyone  knowing  any  better  but  even  with  such  elaborate  steps  taken  to  shroud  their  conversations,  she  was  filled  with  an  intense  sense  of  anxiety,  the  trembling  of  her  hand  forcing  the  quill  to  drag  unnecessary  ink  across  the  page.

her  shoulders  flinched  slightly  as  the  doors  to  their  apartments  parted  to  allow  her  sister  entry,  dark  gaze  cutting  through  the  dimly  lit  room  to  pin  amelia  in  her  place  as  she  rose,  shoving  the  letter  in  the  direction  of  the  servant  so  that  it  could  be  enclosed  in  an  envelope  and  sent  out  with  the  first  rider  of  the  morning.  ❝  you  have  impeccable  timing,  sister.  i  have  just  finished  a  letter  to  dottie.  ❞  jack's  nursemaid  and  sister  to  bonnie.  ❝  you  may  include  something  in  the  letter  if  you  wish  ...  a  last  note  for  your  son,  perhaps,  if  we  are  all  to  meet  with  our  deaths  in  the  coming  weeks  because  of  your  foolishness.  ❞  the  gentleness  of  her  tone  sharpened  at   the  end  of  her  words,  vitriol  curling  viciously  at  her  upper  lip  until  the  disappointment  within  her  was  evident  on  her  features.  though  she  had  come  to  like  john  seymour  both  as  a  good  brother  and  a  man,  philippa  knew  that  all  their  lives  would  be  easier  if  her  sister  had  not  fallen  in  love  with  a  seymour,  of  all  people  ─  it  was  unfair  that  she  had  to  relinquish  her  grasp  on  her  first  love  for  the  good  of  the  family  and  the  future  prospects  of  her  sisters,  only  for  amelia  to  squander  the  security  that  she  had  earned  by  marrying  nicholas  sutton  on  something  as  insignificant  as  love.  

she  could  be  happy  that  her  sister  had  found  joy  in  marriage  but  not  at  the  cost  of  their  lives  which,  judging  by  the  reappearance  of  edward  seymour,  would  soon  be  claimed  by  the  boleyn  axe.  ❝  a  seymour  ...  a  seymour,  amelia  !  did  i  not  say  that  this  would  come  back  to  bite  us  in  the  arse  ?!  ❞  by  the  desk,  bonnie  flinched  at  the  crudeness  that  dripped  from  her  mouth  but  before  her  sister,  philippa  was  a  storm,  a  whirlwind  of  emotions  that  threatened  to  uproot  everything  that  held  their  fragile  secret  in  place  if  only  to  save  the  rest  of  the  family.  ❝  we  should  have  told  william  of  the  marriage  when  we  first  arrived  ...  how  we  will  do  so  now  without  them  rightfully  suspecting  that  we  are  responsible  for  the  man  that  calls  himself  edward  seymour  ?  ❞

[philippaed]

[philippaed]

if  one  assumed  that  extensive  measures  had  been  taken  to  ensure  that  his  presence  in  the  grey  apartments  and  his  closeted  affections  for  amelia  went  unnoticed  by  the  scrutinizing  gaze  of  hampton's  many  courtiers,  the  recent  news  of  his  reemerged  cousin  saw  additional  steps  put  into  place  to  conceal  the  purpose  of  his  appearance  before  the  duchess  of  suffolk.  when  the  crown  had  called  for  the  heads  of  jane  seymour  and  her  two  brothers,  inspired  by  a  piece  of  incriminating  evidence  provided  by  the  boleyns,  philippa,  like  most  of  england,  had  assumed  that  the  boy - child  she  had  borne  had  been  drowned  or  thrown  out  a  window  to  end  any  potential  threats  to  mistress  boleyn  and  her  dubiously  begotten  children  ─  the  soul  of  edward  seymour  had  been  used  as  kindling  for  the  flames  of  opposition  against  the  king  and  his  maternal  kin  but  now  it  seemed  as  though  the  boy  had  not  perished  after  all,  surviving  and  thriving  long  enough  to  earn  the  potential  backing  of  the  medici  family  in  florence.  she  did  not  believe  that  john  knew  anything  of  the  matter  but  that  did  not  spare  him  from  her  vitriol  as  he  sought  entry  into  the  rooms,  her  sharp  interrogation  quelled  by  his  quick  response.

❝  you  know  nothing  of  anything  so  that  is  no  surprise  to  me.  ❞  she  imagined  that  he  must  be  exhausted  of  the  questions  both  whispered  and  boldly  asked  and  were  she  a  kinder  woman  or  a  more  sympathetic  good  sister,  philippa  might  have  offered  him  something  to  drink  or  a  comforting  word  to  strengthen  his  spirits.  instead,  she  levelled  him  with  a  glare  that  spoke  of  her  anger  and  fear  for  his  life  and  the  lives  of  her  sister  and  nephew,  now  endangered  by  the  reappearance  of  his  once - dead  cousin.  ❝  whether  it  is  him  or  not  is  insignificant  compared  to  what  he  represents  ...  hope,  john  !  hope  and  damnation  for  us  all  if  they  find  out  about  you  and  amelia.  ❞  though  the  room  was  emptied  of  eavesdropping  ears,  her  words  remained  hissed,  low  and  whistling  through  the  air,  cutting  with  a  sharpness  that  he  did  not  deserve.

❝  they  might  not  be  able  to  get  their  hands  on  edward  seymour  but  if  they  learn  of  our  deception  ...  if  they  think  we  conspire  with  him  ...  they  will  make  an  example  of  us.  they  will  pull  the  skin  from  our  bones  until  we  tell  them  what  they  want  to  hear  and  then  hang  us  for  treason.  ❞  he  knew  better  than  most  what  a  tudor  king  backed  by  a  boleyn  puppeteer  could  do  but  still  she  continued,  fingernails  digging  into  the  softness  of  her  palms  ─  the  only  outward  sign  of  her  genuine  terror.  ❝  how  can  you  possibly  protect  amelia  ?  you  cannot  even  protect  yourself  ...  it  has  all  fallen  on  my  shoulders.  it  is  my  responsibility  to  keep  you  all  alive.  it  is  my  head  on  the  block,  john.  ❞  unbidden,  the  glisten  of  tears  pricked  at  her  eyes  and  philippa  turned  her  head  away  to  stare  into  the  flames,  clenching  and  unclenching  her  fists.

❝  you  are  my  brother  now  ...  the  father  of  my  only  nephew  and  the  cause  of  happiness  in  my  dearest  sister.  i  am  ...  not  the  easiest  to  like,  i  know  this,  but  i  do  care  for  you.  ❞  he  was  hers  now,  as  amelia  was,  as  jack  was,  and  philippa  would  kill  to  keep  them  all  safe  even  if  it  pained  her  to  admit  it  to  him.  still,  john  deserved  to  know  the  truth,  just  once,  just  in  case  their  ends  were  truly  nearer  than  first  thought.  ❝  if  he  writes  to  you  ...  will  you  tell  me  ?  ❞

@philippaed , grey rooms at hampton court

"I did not know anything about Edward."

He suspects, naturally, that Philippa is going to ask, and so he opts to cut her off at the pass, as it were. It's all many people have been able to speak about, whether to his face or in whispers. The sudden reemergence of his cousin has been the talk of court, filling John with a mix of emotions he can only attempt to untangle. The added scrutiny on his name is an unpleasant side effect, and there is no denying that he is already growing tired. Still, his guard remains up, even as he steps into the suite of rooms where Philippa has asked to speak to him.

"I presume that is what you want to know, foremost. But - before the news, I thought him dead like everyone else did," he continues, running a hand through his hair. "I still do not know what to believe. If it is truly him." He hesitates, but adds on, before Philippa has a chance to speak: "I will endeavor to ensure this will not hurt Amelia."

[philippaed]

𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡    . . .    katharine    grey    (    @katharined    )    𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞    . . .    hampton    court    .

the  news  of  a  resurrected  edward  seymour  did  not  fill  her  with  an  immense  hope  as  some  might  have  speculated  but  rather  with  a  dread  that  had  thickened  by  the  hour,  as  cloying  as  honey  left  outside  to  attract  flies  until  the  churning  within  her  had  forced  the  duchess  of  suffolk  to  empty  out  the  contents  of  her  stomach,  sending  the  household  servants  away  with  express  orders  to  inform  her  mother  of  the  sudden  malady  that  had  stricken  her  to  points  of  weakness.  the  back  of  her  throat  was  sore  from  the  bout  of  sickness  but  philippa  could  not  allow  that  to  hinder  her  purposeful  actions,  the  sharpened  tip  of  her  quill  scratching  out  a  letter  to  the  head  of  their  households  in  chelsea  and  bradgate  to  inform  them  of  the  news  and  of  what  to  expect  should  the  clandestine  marriage  between  amelia  and  john  seymour  come  to  light  at  such  an  inopportune  moment.  her  fingers  trembled  with  the  intensity  in  which  she  held  the  quill,  the  feathered  stylus  splintered  between  her  grasp  as  the  door  to  her  private  chambers  parted  to  usher  the  formidable  katharine  grey  into  her  sanctuary.  casting  the  quill  aside,  she  rested  one  hand  upon  the  bodiced  span  of  her  stomach  as  she  paced  before  the  window,  burnt - gold  locks  entangled  from  where  she  had  torn  the  headdress  from  her  cranium  ─  the  sharp  burn  of  tears  prickled  at  the  corners  of  her  eyes,  breathing  growing  erratic  before  the  one  person  she  trusted  with  her  life,  her  truths,  both  beautiful  and  monstrous.

❝  if  they  find  out  about  amelia  and  john  ...  ❞  her  voice  cracked  with  emotion  as  she  turned  from  the  window  to  gaze  imploringly,  hopelessly  at  the  older  woman,  no  better  than  a  babe  before  her  mother.  ❝  they  will  think  we  conspire  with  the  medici  and  that  ...  that  man  who  calls  himself  edward  seymour.  they  will  think  i  conspire  with  the  medici  ...  what  will  ...  ❞  a  stuttered  breath  caught  in  her  throat,  philippa  pounded  a  fist  against  her  stomach,  inflicting  self - punishment  as  a  reminder  to  keep  it  together.  she  could  strangle  her  sister  for  what  she  had  done  in  the  name  of  love,  burdening  the  duchess  with  two  more  innocents  to  care  for  ─  one,  a  soft - spined  man  and  the  other  a  babe,  twelve  months  old.  (  in  a  moment  of  insanity,  she  wondered  if  the  king  might  be  moved  to  mercy  if  she  betrayed  her  sister  now,  before  the  lie  was  unveiled  against  their  wishes.  her  mother  would  never  forgive  her  but  it  was  better  to  be  hated  by  the  living  than  loved  by  the  dead.  )

a  hand  travelled  to  press  tightly  against  her  mouth,  smothering  the  pained  whimpers  at  such  heinous  thoughts.  ❝  they  will  kill  us.  you  and  nicholas  ...  amelia  and  jack  ...  god,  they  will  kill  us  if  they  find  out,  mother.  ❞  the  recent  executions  came  to  mind,  the  bloody  spray  of  warm  crimson  against  the  fullness  of  her  skirts  as  the  hallowes'  were  relieved  of  their  treasonous  heads,  only  now,  in  their  place,  stood  her  family,  her  darling  husband  who  was  undeserving  of  the  instability  that  she  brought  into  his  life  by  mere  existence.  ❝  what  do  i  do  ?  what  do  i  do  ?  tell  me  what  to  do,  mama.  ❞

[philippaed]

𝐭𝐨    . . .    edmund    percy    (    @edmcndd    )    .

bearing  his  name  and  very  little  to  hint  towards  the  author  of  such  carefully  penned  instructions,  the  letter  had  been  inconspicuously  smuggled  into  the  satchel  that  hunt  from  the  side  of  the  horse  as  one  of  her  maids  disguised  the  motion  by  stretching  to  hand  over  two  other  letters  from  the  duchess  of  suffolk  ─  one  to  her  cousin,  mary  of  spain,  and  another  to  her  husband.  unlike  those  letters,  the  one  that  will  arrive  upon  the  desk  of  edmund  percy  could  be  easily  dismissed  for  the  lack  of  heraldry  that  it  bore  though  the  scent  of  her  lavender  oils  dotted  the  parchment  with  her  affection.

beloved  orpheus,

    i  pray  that  this  letter  finds  you  in  good  health.  fate  is  cruel  to  see  us  separated  though  i  take  great  comfort  in  the  knowledge  that  though  the  distance  between  us  is  great,  our  hearts  still  beat  as  one.  in  your  absence,  i  have  endeavored  to  pray  for  the  soul  of  your  dear  aunt  on  your  behalf  and  on  behalf  of  your  sister,  who  must  mourn  for  her  still  ─  the  quiet  of  court  allows  me  to  share  my  thoughts  with  god  and  now,  with  you.

    i  write  to  you  with  a  burning  purpose  that  rivals  only  my  love  and  regard  for  you  so  that  i  might  challenge  the  king's  messengers  to  bring  you  the  news  that  edward  seymour  has  been  discovered,  in  florence  of  all  places.  whether  this  man  is  truly  the  missing  prince  or  a  pretender,  i  cannot  say,  but  the  hope  that  he  brings  to  those  trampled  by  the  boot  of  oppression,  like  you  and  i,  has  driven  me  to  beseech  your  help  once  again.  you  did  not  return  to  my  side  after  our  conversation  and  i  fear  that  i  might  have  frightened  you  away  with  my  impassioned  support  ─  please,  my  dearest  perseus,  say  it  is  not  so.  there  has  never  been  such  divide  between  us  before  that  we  saw  need  to  keep  secrets  from  each  other  and  in  my  desperation  to  return  to  the  days  of  our  youth,  i  have  pushed  upon  you  the  burdens  of  which  my  great  and  terrible  bloodline  have  cursed  me  with  bearing.

    did  i  err  in  whispering  such  words  to  your  ears  ?  will  i  find  in  you  not  a  confidant  as  once  before  but  a  coward  ?  am  i  surrounded  by  yellow - bellied  men  with  no  hero  to  champion  my  cause  ?  say  it  is  not  so,  my  dearest  hector,  for  i  await  for  you  as  andromache  awaited  at  the  gates  of  troy.  do  not  allow  gods  or  kings  or  other  men  to  come  between  our  united  hearts.  write  to  me,  return  to  me,  i  command  it.  

    the  conditions  at  court  glisten  with  a  veneer  of  falsehoods.  noticeably  absent  are  walsingham,  cecil  and  de  vere,  as  well  as  your  sister  ─  is  she  safe  ?  say  the  word  and  i  will  ride  to  her  rescue.  i  would  not  trust  a  dog  in  the  care  of  these  men  and  your  sister  is  more  dear  to  me  than  all  the  jewels  in  my  trousseau  if  only  for  the  blood  that  she  shares  with  you.  will  you  tell  me  if  it  is  the  same  in  dover  ?  how  fares  our  king  and  his  mother  ?  will  you  help  me  ?  will  you  write  to  me  of  anything  of  importance  ?  

    i  demand  much,  this  i  know,  but  i  cannot  sleep  for  fear  of  my  life.  the  ghost  of  edward  seymour  has  returned  and  with  him,  all  the  hopes  and  fears  of  our  great  cause.  without  your  assuring  words,  i  am  left  adrift.  do  not  leave  me  alone  in  this.

your  eurydice,  who  wilts  in  the  absence  of  your  honeyed  tongue.

[philippaed]

https://www.instagram.com/p/CoDVsTRyDtF/

[philippaed]

it  should  be  impossible  to  experience  with  lengths  of  affection  for  another  ─  a  feeling  that  was  so  strong  that  it  could  move  mountains,  so  improbable  that  it  could  change  night  into  day,  so  frightening  that  she  trembled  against  him  with  a  nervous  energy  as  though  she  were  a  bird  within  his  grasp.  from  the  moment  her  eyes  had  beheld  him  at  the  foot  of  the  altar,  her  resolve  to  remain  as  elusive  to  his  influence  had  faltered  and  with  every  clever  smile,  every  keen  gaze  shared  across  the  room,  nicholas  had  navigated  the  intricacies  of  her  tartarus  heart  like  a  fearless  figure  from  the  myths  and  she  was  helpless  to  his  loving  perseverance,  melting  like  wax  against  his  warm  touch  and  frequent  praise.  she  was  no  stranger  to  desire,  both  the  feeling  of  yearning  for  another  and  the  state  of  being  yearned  for  by  another,  but  none  had  enveloped  her  as  securely  as  he  had  ─  a  firm  presence  by  her  side,  his  body  and  soul  available  for  her  protection,  for  her  bidding.  it  pleased  the  covetous,  yawning  maw  in  her  chest  that  demanded  for  complete  devotion  and  in  turn,  she  awarded  him  with  a  complete  softness  that  no  one  else  was  privy  to  witnessing.  upon  her  thumb,  the  weight  of  her  father's  leonine  ring  glistened  but  before  nicholas,  she  was  a  fat  housecat  with  her  belly  showing,  begging  for  his  consuming  tenderness.

all  teeth,  her  lips  parted  into  a  smile  against  his  skin  at  the  tremor  that  her  words  had  inspired,  breathy  noises  pressed  to  his  mouth  in  between  peppered  kisses.  ❝  you  blaspheme  ...  oh,  how  i  love  you  ...  i  will  profess  it  daily  if  you  so  desire,  it  will  fill  my  every  correspondence  so  that  decades  ...  nay,  centuries  from  now,  they  will  find  my  letters  and  know  that  i  love  you.  ❞  a  fierce  declaration  from  one  that  did  not  do  anything  in  half  measure,  her  heart  was  both  made  hollow  and  full  by  his  words  ─  would  that  they  could  linger  in  this  sanctuary  forever  so  that  she  could  keep  him  for  her  own,  his  charming  goodness  bestowed  on  no  one  other  than  herself  and  the  children  that  would  come  from  their  union.  curious  tickles  morphed  into  sharp  claws,  pinpricks  of  a  needle  against  the  firmness  of  his  arms  as  she  seized  him  with  a  desperation  seen  in  the  glisten  of  her  eyes.  philippa  was  struck  both  with  pride  and  terror,  possessiveness  compelling  her  to  smother  him  in  gratitude  and  reprimand  ─  she  would  find  no  better  champion  for  her  cause  than  nicholas  but  she  despised  the  very  thought  of  harm  befalling  him  and  was  no  shy  to  make  certain  that  he  knew  it.  ❝  it  would  make  me  happy  to  have  you  by  my  side  ...  to  grow  old  with  you  and  count  the  wrinkles  in  your  smiling  face.  you  are  not  allowed  to  die,  least  of  all  for  me.  i  forbid  it,  i  forbid  it.  ❞  

each  command  was  punctured  with  the  digging  of  nails  into  flesh,  with  kisses  to  his  lips  and  cheeks  ─  if  she  could  climb  into  his  shirt,  she  would  have  done  so  but  philippa  sated  herself  with  ridding  him  of  the  hindersome  material,  bearing  his  neck  and  collarbone  for  her  questing  mouth.  teeth  sunk  into  his  shoulder  as  punishment  for  the  demeaning  manner  in  which  he  spoke  of  himself,  for  the  ennobling  manner  in  which  he  elevated  her  as  though  he  were  not  the  better  of  the  two.  ❝  you  are  my  prize.  ❞  hissed,  she  sought  to  reassure  him  the  only  way  that  she  knew  how.  ❝  mine  own  ...  my  husband.  your  heart,  your  mind,  your  clever  tongue,  all  belong  to  me  and  that  makes  you  worthy  of  everything.  anything.  i  will  give  you  anything.  ❞  he  had  invited  her  to  indulge  and  so  she  had,  a  beastly  little�� thing  as  she  stripped  him  of  his  linens  and  brought  her  hands  to  where  the  ties  of  his  hose  were  kept  in  place  by  a  heavy  leather  belt.  deft  fingers  picked  at  the  buckled  strap,  grumbling  her  frustrations  at  the  impracticality  of  so  many  ties  and  straps  until  she  could  slip  her  hand  between  fabric  and  against  skin,  nails  scratching  lightly  at  the  coarse  hairs  that  led  from  his  belly  to  the  base  of  his  cock  ─  with  a  delighted  hum  at  her  success  at  navigating  the  difficult  ties  whilst  otherwise  preoccupied  with  kissing  down  his  front,  tongue  dragging  down  the  center  of  his  chest  as  she  giggled  up  at  him,  philippa  wrapped  her  fingers  around  the  length  of  him,  breathing  out  a  sigh  at  the  warm  flesh  beneath  her  touch.  

❝  mhm  ...  this  is  mine  too,  is  it  not  ?  ❞  with  a  steady  hand,  she  stroked  him  to  full  hardness  to  the  best  of  her  ability  with  such  a  restrictive  amount  of  space,  thumb  circling  the  head  of  his  cock  until  the  first  beads  of  pleasure  spread  beneath  her  fingers.  hunger  filled  her  mouth  at  the  thought  of  tasting  him  but  there  was  too  little  time  to  indulge  and  she  wanted  both  her  hands  on  him  and  his  hands  on  her.  dragging  the  palm  that  was  braced  against  the  hard  panes  of  his  stomach,  she  brought  his  hand  to  the  stretch  of  her  covered  thigh  and  then  higher,  higher  until  he  could  cup  over  her  mound,  the  heat  radiating  from  her  slick  center  palpable  even  with  the  layers  of  her  dress  between  them.  ❝  i  am  yours  ...  make  me  yours,  darling.  damn  this  dress  and  damn  the  seamstress  ...  i  ache  for  you,  body  and  soul.  please,  nick.  ❞  her  voice  rose  to  a  reedy  whimper,  pushing  her  hips  forward  with  a  wantonness  better  suited  for  peasants  than  a  lady  of  noble  birth  but  alas,  he  reduced  her  to  her  baser  desires,  emptying  her  mind  of  all  thoughts  that  were  not  of  him  and  the  pleasure  that  could  be  found  in  their  marital  bed.

 Philippa's manner towards Nicholas was touched with dignity; he hardly knew how to blend together in his mind the delicate dame and the avenging seraph. Her infantine sparkle had yet to be extinguished that night - she yielded to the effervescence of glee. She possessed different moods for different people; with him, she was affectionate, merry, and as womanly as thought and feeling could make her. For the court, she was reliant and expansive, able to shun and pursue the endeavour of appearing cold. Nicholas believed he alone called into her face a pleasurable glow, and and induced a gossamer happiness hanging in the air. The summit of earthly happiness was to love - to be loved, brought Nicholas to the end of all mortal misery. Nicholas felt her natural position was to be by his side; her eyes and ears were dedicated to him. His love had rendered him ductile in her hands, his affection and devoutness blinded his eyes sometimes - he would abandon justice to himself to the craft of marriage. Nicholas loved her now in another degree; she was more his own. 

He had neither anticipated nor invoked her words, which made him shudder involuntarily. "Soft or sharp? For you I am in the habit of obeying both; it is the manner of your breathing, which shall dictate whether to stroke or meet you with force. I am painfully selfish and wish to rid myself of the affliction altogether; but I am bent to obey the mould I was cast in. I know in my heart your are mine - but to hear you tell me you love me, I am made wholly new. I lay this charge upon you like a prayer - I must be a sinner indeed." Scarce a living could be so noble and honourable as to love her. He loved her too well - too much so, to smite jealousy from his path, though a cordial word from her lips would do him good for the span of a life. Nicholas owned jealousy's severe charm - there was something so wholly good in Pippa, that she could not receive it. "My life will not be well spent if it is not dedicated to the procuring of your happiness; should the Boleyns favour my head upon a spike, I could not protest my fatal post, so long as you will think of me tenderly and fondly, every now and then." Bravery and desperation sufficed to fill the post and did the work of courage in Nicholas. He was not a man whom one would seek to send to war; but of sacrificing himself for Philippa, he made no difficulty. The restraint in their marriage had since slackened in prolonged attentions; already to Philippa's lip and cheek geniality reigned, and a wreathing, dimpling smile returned. Nicholas did not merely purport levity, nor raillery, across his aspect - his position had become more pleasurable to himself, and he spoke this augmented comfort in readier language, in tones more suave. 

  Nicholas' heart trembled beside her; stars merely shone subject beside Pippa, and he, with the numinous the ray of pure love, paid willing tribute. "I am no prize - but I am yours in spades, Pippa. I know what it is to call you mine, and I can only offer you the weight of unconditional love as solace." In inadequate language his feelings struggled for expression they could not get - speech was made brittle and unmalleable. She was his queen; royal for him was her lips bounty, to offer homage was both a joy and a duty. Her kiss stirred him up, running with haste and heat through his veins - recalling past hours of prolonged pleasure, and many days and nights of heart sickness. Philippa kissed him and he arbitrated her destiny; love was no oracle, but he pronounced her a diety upon Earth. This moment of tenderness was one of utmost mutiny; he took her lips once more, for one more taste of the deep spell of peace. His words caressed her ear. "Take my love. Be my dearest, first on earth." He took a delight inexpressible in pressing her to him now, his fingers brushing against those which sought to undo his buttons; she deserved candour, and from Nicholas, she always had it. "Be mine. You inquired if I shall be soft or sharp; I am a blade now, and I wish to be charged by your seamstress for the destruction of this frock."

[philippaed]

though  she  would  have  liked  nothing  more  than  to  sit  dutiful  by  the  feet  of  her  mother  as  the  interiors  of  their  apartments  in  hampton  court  were  upended  to  make  place  for  the  clucking  of  french  hens  and  fashions  that  had  been  lugged  through  the  countryside  of  france  to  dover  and  then  to  hampton,  certain  arrangements  could  not  be  so  easily  disregarded  ─  even  when  she  had  offered  to  stay  behind  and  abandon  her  younger  sister  to  the  wolves  of  court,  philippa  had  been  waved  off  for  being  a  fussing  nag,  concern  furrowing  at  her  brows  whenever  her  mother  pressed  a  bejeweled  hand  to  the  span  of  her  belly.  the  morning  had  been  productive  once  she  had  allowed  herself  to  participate  in  the  game  of  bowls,  emerging  victorious  in  three  rounds  and  in  rubbing  elbows  with  the  scottish  guests  that  had  followed  mary  stuart  and  appearing  without  a  care,  a  feat  made  easier  by  the  presence  of  her  mother,  awaiting  for  them  back  in  their  apartments.  with  her  cheeks  flushed  by  the  rare  sighting  of  the  sun,  the  duchess  of  suffolk  kept  her  arm  interlocked  with  her  sister  as  they  spoke  of  the  game  in  hushed  tones,  whispers  punctured  only  by  bursts  of  laughter  after  a  rather  cruel  but  true  observation  was  shared.

the  doors  parted  to  permit  them  entrance  and  her  gaze  immediately  took  in  the  gold  hanging  from  the  windows,  amusement  thinning  her  mouth  as  she  pressed  her  lips  together  to  keep  from  giggling  at  the  overt  display  of  wealth  and  french - favored  decor  ─  as  her  eyes  fell  upon  the  woman  behind  such  a  change,  philippa  knew  that  she  should  have  known  better  than  to  doubt  katherine  brandon's  ability  to  get  the  job  done  regardless  of  an  unsettled  stomach.  her  mother  was  unconquerable  with  an  army  of  servants  at  her  disposal  and  a  sudden  burst  of  fondness  for  the  older  woman  had  her  parting  from  her  sister's  side  to  glide  (  or  run,  though  philippa  would  never  admit  to  hastening  her  steps  for  anyone  if  asked  )  towards  her  mother,  pressing  a  quick  kiss  to  katherine's  cheek  as  her  fingers  brushed  against  the  cloth - of - gold  like  a  raven  captivated  by  a  glistening  curtain.

❝  mother  ...  ❞  her  voice  was  weighed  with  feigned  exhaustion  by  the  conversation  even  if  the  corners  of  her  mouth  curled  up  mischievously.  ❝  while  i  am  most  delighted  by  the  prospect  of  new  gowns  in  the  french  cutting,  i  am  afraid  nicholas  cares  little  for  my  style  of  dress  so  long  as  it  remains  on  the  floor  of  our  bedchambers.  ❞  turning  her  eyes  to  her  sister,  philippa  squinted  at  the  countess  of  hertford,  warning  her  not  to  take  any  sides  in  the  age - old  conflict  between  mothers  and  their  married  daughters  though,  unable  to  resist  biting  at  amelia,  she  continued.  ❝  what  does  john  think  of  the  french  necklines,  sister  ?  perhaps  it  is  you  who  will  sate  our  mother's  unquenchable  demand  for  grandchildren  once  again.  ❞  //  @myladygrey

@philippaed, @myladygrey / 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒈𝒓𝒆𝒚 𝒅𝒂𝒖𝒈𝒉𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒔. the suffolk's suite of hampton court apartments.

Though her cheeks had shed the frightful sallow of sea sickness, Lady Suffolk’s belly was still as unsettled as the tempestuous channel her ship had crossed in order to return to England. It churned with the memory of being pitched and rolled about in the underbelly of a mighty galleon, as cramped as it was dark, until at last the skies cheered – lifting from leaden gray to a pale yellow, the coastal cliffs of Dover searing through the mist like a molten blade through butter. Almost immediately upon returning to London, Katharine had set about making improvements to the Greys’ lavish suite of apartments at Hampton Court, in the style of her opulent chambers at Chambord. Fastidiously she replaced the drab damask curtains slung over the diamond-shaped panes in the windows with cloth-of-gold, embroidered with her mother’s royal coat-of-arms; swapped the old tallow candles with fresh bees wax, burning sweetly throughout each chamber, installed in costly candelabrum of silver; replenished her daughters’ closets with the newest French fabrics and patterns, a welter of pearl and diamond-edged hoods lining the oak table of the morning room, leaking with sunshine.

Though the ground still tilted disconcertingly, Katharine smiled admiringly at her work, two hands perched upon her narrow hips as she assessed the brightened space with pride. Yet as another wave of lingering nausea gathered within her like a great and sickening tidal, the Duchess was obliged to find perch on the velvet bench of the window, doffing the hood from her head and tossing it to the wall, milky droplets of pearls soaring into the air, rubbing the tender stretch of skin where her headdress was pinned and stabbed rather tightly into place. Katharine, never one to rest, would have liked to press onwards with all speed, perhaps even join her daughters for a hunt; but the airs of court had never been particularly salubrious, and travel had wearied her.

But still she roused herself when her eldest daughters, Philippa and Amelia, came bursting through the door in a flood of laughter; two youths with pink cheeks, their father’s complexion, as radiant as a summer’s day, their faces stamped with Katharine’s plucky dark eyes. ‘Back already?’ Katharine asked from the window, surrounded by a mountain of missives intermixed with bits of gemstone that had flown, like the glittering spray of spindrift, from her damnable hood. ‘You’ve come just in time, the new gowns I ordered have arrived from Paris!’ Sufficiently cheered, Katharine rose. ‘I had hoped by this time we would have needed a little fabric to let out your stays, dear Philippa, but with such handsome gowns it will be no time at all ere we have another blessed child to celebrate. Amelia, darling, tell your sister she mustn't disagree with her lady mother.'

[philippaed]

Glynis Johns as Mary Tudor, Queen of France in The Sword and the Rose (1953)

[philippaed]

like  a  blossoming  flower  in  search  of  sunlight,  the  duchess  of  suffolk  brightened  beneath  the  expressive  praise  that  dripped  from  the  accented  tongue  until  the  apples  of  her  cheeks  resembled  the  precious  rubies  sewn  into  the  hems  of  her  sleeves  ─  it  was  important  that  even  the  most  minor  of  resemblances  to  her  ancestresses  were  highlighted  in  a  court  that  would  rather  not  be  reminded  of  her  place  in  line  to  the  throne  and  as  the  most  recognizable  trait  of  the  family  as  often  hidden  beneath  the  fashionable  headdresses  worn  in  public,  it  was  always  a  pleasure  to  know  that  hints  of  her  tudor  blood  could  be  found  in  more  than  the  copper - rich  sheen  of  her  flaxen  head.  philippa  had  been  too  young  when  her  cousin  had  been  sent  to  spain  and  younger  still  when  her  grandmother  had  passed,  retaining  their  features  through  the  paintings  that  had  been  modeled  after  their  likeness,  so  she  would  have  to  trust  the  word  of  the  lady  medina  in  that  matter  and  in  many  other  things  besides  that.  ❝  i  bear  the  resemblance  to  my  esteemed  cousin  with  great  pleasure  though  it  does  delight  the  heart  to  hear  that  you  recognize  my  grandmother  in  my  features  as  well.  my  memory  of  her  is  short  and  clouded  with  the  haze  of  childhood  but  i  knew  her  to  be  a  great  beauty  and  a  spirited  woman.  ❞  a  spirit  that  philippa,  at  times,  lacked  and  that  she  would  need  if  she  ever  hoped  to  become  more  than  a  pawn  in  the  game.

her  pale  gaze  followed  the  acknowledgment  towards  the  man  that  had  announced  her  arrival,  extending  a  slow  nod  of  recognition  at  his  watchful  guard  over  her  kin  and  their  souls  whilst  they  were  in  england  ─  the  staff  of  chelsea  house  had  been  rooted  out  and  where  necessary,  had  been  replaced  with  those  loyal  to  the  family,  plucked  out  from  bradgate  and  brought  to  london  along  with  the  travelling  party  for  their  own  security  as  well  as  the  comforts  of  their  spanish  guests.  it  was  unlikely  that  any  of  them  would  speak  of  what  occurred  beneath  this  roof  but  philippa  would  have  to  dig  through  their  connections  to  be  certain,  trusting  that  maria  could  handle  matters  if  news  of  a  potential  traitor  rose  from  their  midsts.  it  was  so  easy  to  fall  into  the  trap  of  sweet  promises  uttered  by  the  boleyns  especially  when  the  other  options  were  considerably  more  difficult  on  the  body  and  on  the  coffers  but  she  had  to  believe  that  such  secrets  would  eventually  pay  off  with  a  freedom  to  live  as  she  so  desired  without  worrying  about  her  life  or  the  lives  of  her  immediate  family.

❝  you  are  blessed  to  have  his  guidance  while  in  england,  my  lady  ...  i  cannot  help  but  feel  envious  as  it  has  been  years  since  i  have  attended  a  catholic  mass.  ❞  she  had  been  a  girl  and  her  kingly  granduncle  still  drew  enough  breath  to  turn  a  willfully  blind  eye  to  the  practices  that  her  mother,  his  niece,  conducted  in  the  privacy  of  bradgate  house.  ❝  if  i  was  not  so  certain  that  walsingham  has  his  eyes  and  ears  on  my  whereabouts,  i  might  beg  intrusion  when  mass  is  celebrated  but  my  hunger  for  the  word  of  god  must  pale  in  face  of  those  whose  lives  depend  on  my  careful  steps.  ❞  she  would  need  to  be  far  from  chelsea  house,  seen  beside  the  royal  family  so  that  none  would  be  the  wiser  ─  perhaps  she  could  send  her  sisters  over,  once  court  was  settled  after  the  unrest  of  elizabeth  tablot  and  her  conspirators,  so  that  they  could  remember  the  teachings  of  their  girlhood.  the  unacknowledged  tension  in  her  shoulders  melted  away  as  the  lingering  women  were  sent  a  little  aways  to  do  the  bidding  of  their  mistress,  leaving  the  two  alone  and  allowing  her  to  breathe  in  the  perfumed  gardens  and  the  smell  of  incense  burning  in  a  distant  room.

their  eyes  met,  dark  to  light,  and  philippa  was  the  first  to  shatter  the  connection  after  a  heartbeat  of  a  moment  and  the  weight  of  implication  in  the  older  woman's  gaze.  would  she  ever  be  as  bold  as  maria  in  her  convictions  or  was  she  cursed  to  be  as  quick - footed  as  a  rat  in  the  darkness,  darting  around  the  corners  of  the  room  in  the  hopes  that  the  mousers  will  not  catch  her  being  their  sharp  teeth  ?  a  smile  tugged  at  the  corners  of  her  mouth,  instinctively,  at  the  mention  of  her  younger  sister  and  her  head  lifted  to  stare  bashfully  at  lady  medina  with  glittering  admiration  and  gratitute  in  her  eyes  ─  only  a  few  minutes  had  passed  and  already  the  shadows  of  the  boleyn - infested  hampton  were  far  from  her  features,  fluttering  heartbeat  slowing  to  a  more  moderate  pace.  ❝  i  never  wrote  to  thank  you  for  so  readily  accepting  my  sister  beneath  your  care  but  please  accept  my  gratitude  now.  she  has  grown  to  become  a  wonderful  young  woman  which  our  family  credits  to  your  guidance,  my  lady.  ❞  planted  in  the  court  of  their  cousin  in  spain,  at  least  eleanor  would  have  a  safe  house  to  retreat  to  should  the  executioner  call  for  the  heads  of  the  grey  sisters  but  maria's  kind  reminder  only  softened  her  heart,  the  mask  of  composure  crumbling  ever - so - slightly  to  allow  a  measure  of  relief  to  peek  through  her  wide  gaze.

❝  my  lady  is  most  kind  ...  i  must  admit  that  i  had  wondered  how  my  life  would  have  played  out  had  my  mother  sent  us  all  to  spain  or  france  to  serve  beneath  caterina  de  medici  but  i  know  that  i  will  miss  england  with  a  fierceness  that  cannot  be  explained  ...  and  i  cannot  abandon  her  or  her  people  now.  ❞  it  was  her  duty  to  ensure  justice  prevailed  and  that  her  sisters  and  her  sisters'  children  would  not  robbed  of  their  right  to  the  throne,  no  matter  the  cost.  ❝  but  your  generosity  and  support  will  not  be  forgotten.  i  only  pray  that  our  eventual  visit  to  your  home  will  not  be  darkened  by  worries  but  made  brighter  by  our  shared  hopes  for  england.  ❞

The days were short in England, Maria had deduced; daylight ebbed at times when the Iberian sun still blazed and bleached the rugged cliffs of Málaga, drawing like an impenetrable damask curtain over the ancient steeples and leaden spires of London. Through the thick windows of Chelsea House, the Duchess’ eyes adjusted to the sunlight streaming through the trees of the Suffolk’s vast orchards: lush, rambling branches set ablaze and coated with a fine varnish of gold-leaf as daylight crescendoed and vanished into a murky dusk. But as the September wind still whined and whipped through the parkland, Maria turned her head toward her groom – Don Alcarz – flooding the doorway with his bulky shadow, garbed in a crimson robe and tightly fisting a thick roll of wax-pressed parchments, his tongue announcing the Duchess of Suffolk’s forthcoming presence.

As Lady Suffolk and her retinue pounded past Chelsea’s iron-wrought gatehouse, Maria rose and preened with haste, adjusting the mighty hood and its velvet lapels draping her head, revealing just a sliver of the dark tresses that framed her face. The constant intrigue of the English court (and the ever-present threat of garrulous house callers) required Maria to be splendidly dressed at all hours; though at home in Spain, the Duchess preferred to don her loose habitos, flowing bolts of linen befitting of Lady Godiva; to wear her gleaming raven hair loose, and splashed with damascene roses; to traverse the countless glimmering moats snaking around the Mendozas’ castillos with feet bare, heels suckled by the wet grass, and with only a linen cap on her head – not, as her mistress preferred, these cumbersome headdresses. But a gleam soon wreathed her face as she dipped into a curtsy before Lady Suffolk, herself gloriously frosted with jewels and precious silks. ‘By St Michael’s Sword, you are a vision – a testament to your Lady Mother, I am certain.’ Eyeing the Duchess, Maria boasted, ‘but I see both your grandmother and your cousin Mary in you, for which you must be very proud, no?’

Philippa’s words caused the Duchess’ face to tighten with thought, her cheeks still flushed a deep pomegranate-blush from the pinching of her ladies. The persecution of Catholics in this heretical Realm had given both Maria and Queen Mary reason for grave concern but, as the former was wont to remind her mistress, no servant of God ever entered the Kingdom of Heaven but through trials and tribulations. Faithful believers such as Philippa Grey would be rewarded for her unwavering convictions, and with this reminder Maria’s face softened. She nodded in the direction of her groom, still looming in the doorway, his expression an alchemy of stony and sober heed, ‘Don Alcarz is an ordained chaplain, Lady Philippa, and will lead us in our Faith. But the Queen’s children are aware that the religion of our Holy Vicar the Pope is not tolerated here, and have agreed to take Mass privately. It is the price we must all pay under this Boleyn sun.’

Maria folded her hands over her brocade-cinched waist – wondrously softened by the string of babes borne by her womb – and signaled for her ladies to bring the pair refreshments. ‘Queen Mary is aware that her brother the King has inherited not only their father’s red hair, but his inconcebiblé temper. There is no length she is unwilling to go to make peace with England – even through natural fears for its salvation.’ A knowing poured out of the Duchess; a shared desire for the crown of England to adorn the head of king – or queen – who shared in the Catholic creed thrumming between the two.

Countless years spent as Mary Tudor’s chief confidant emboldened Maria to speak freely with her beloved kinswoman – the woman whom, if push came to shove, mighty Spain would seek to plant on the throne. ‘We all cannot but hope for reconciliation between England and the one true Faith. But pray tell, Lady Suffolk, how do you find it? Your sister was a natural in Spain, a true and illustrious English jewel – except, of course, when forced to endure lessons with my daughter’s formidable bishops.’ Maria tittered, thinking about how the years had changed dear Nel – affectionately called Leonor by members of the Mendoza’s household. ‘Would you ever think to find placement elsewhere, away from England? My doors shall never be shut to a woman with Katharine Brandon's blood in her veins, this I pray you and your beloved sisters do not soon forget.'