The year is 1464.
The War of the Roses rages on; a great showdown between Lancaster and York.
Yet, asleep in her bed, fiery-haired Melissa Woodville dreams of splintered shields, broken swords, and the resounding screams of wounded men in the Battle...
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AS THE DATE for the wedding drew closer and closer, Melissa found herself with more free time than she had had since her engagement to Richard had been announced. She had long since given up on trying to manage the details of the ceremony herself — the parts that which involved her (the dress, the maids of honor, the ceremonial procession, etc.) had already been cemented, and all that remained were the official aspects, which — as she had conceded early on — the royal duchesses simply had more experience over.
Now, having officially finished with all the poking and prodding that came with London's best tailors and dressmakers, the red-head spent most of her time in her chambers, teaching her youngest sister Latin, as they had done in Grafton. At other times, she worked on her painting of King Arthur and his knights of the Round Table, scribing poems whenever the inspiration struck, and humming along with the lute whenever her ladies played. It was a calm, routine existence; one that she knew she could not maintain once she became a duchess.
Hints of the work she would have to do were already present; Melissa was currently writing to her newly appointed seneschal at Rockingham Castle, in response to a letter he had sent, over the most recent *hallmote in Corby, Northamptonshire. He was her representative, overseeing all legal proceedings in the jurisdiction, and therefore reported back to her on all of his decisions.
Good progress had also been made in regards to the renovations of the old Norman castle, according to another letter from the steward, who had just reviewed the architects the marchioness had hired a few months ago. That pleased her; she had long wanted to visit her new homestead, and once the stonework was renewed, the motte and bailey renovated, that would finally be possible.
"Perhaps Richard and I can visit after the wedding." She mused, a small smile settling on her face at the thought.
The castle would be his after they had said their vows, but Melissa would always be the suo jure marchioness. The lands were hers, and would eventually belong to their son, once they had one.
