The first thing that happens after we arrive in London is a bath. We are smelly from the road and by the time we reach the bathing area were servants have already set up a place for us to get clean Nora can hardly stand the smell of herself. We all roll our eyes as she complains endlessly that we smell as though we lived in a barn the entire journey although she knows as well as the rest of us that we have stayed in some of the most luxurious courts in Europe.
"Just ignore her," Ria whispers in my ear, "she's being overdramatic as usual."
I can't help but agree. After our washing we are dressed into court gowns from our home country of Italy and we are brought to another set of rooms where Henry Beaufort is waiting. He gives us each a charming smile and looks over addresses before his eyes linger on Ippolita.
After they stare at each other for an obnoxiously long time, they finally break eye contact and Henry tells us, "You want to be presented to Her Grace the Queen. I am sure all of you, raised in the greatest nobility in Italy, understand the protocol when meeting a woman of her station, correct?"
We nod. We have been rehearsing for this moment since it was decided who will travel with me to England.
"Good, very good," Henry Beaufort nods approvingly.
Suddenly, a lady with dark brown hair and a rather plain face peaks her head out the door and tells Henry Beaufort, "The Queen is ready."
Henry Beaufort nods as the doors to the room open and he nods his head, directing me to step inside first. I straighten out my gown of red and tuck a loose part of my golden red hair behind my head and step into the threshold of the room. It is a beautiful room, with tapestries lining every wall and fires burning in the mantels. There are carpets with the most beautiful designs littering the floor and furniture of the most ornate detail thrown about. Then I stare straight at a group of ladies who are crowding around a woman. And this is my first glimpse of my great aunt, the Queen of England.
The first thing that comes to mind when I look at Margaret of Anjou is that she's smaller than I imagined. I am tall for my age and I am the same height as her, though she is a woman of 22 years and I a girl not yet 13. Her hair is red like mine, although it is not golden red as everyone has always told me mine looks. Hers is a real bronze. A dark red, maybe even a copper, quite a contrast to my strawberry blonde. It's curly and falls loosely down her shoulders with no headdress to hold it up. However, even with her hair down you can see her small face with an exquisite complexion and two beautiful blue eyes. Then I catch a glimpse of what she is wearing and I am completely shocked.
Her gown, a virginal white, fastened higher the waist with a plaited gold cord, is one of the most scandalous things I have ever sat my eyes upon. Something my father would say harlots would wear. I hear someone, one of her serving lady say that she is supposed to represent a goddess, however, I think she looks like a peasant bride, just in better material. The sleeves on the gown are cut so short and wide you can see her arms almost to the elbow! I can see Claire trying awfully hard to compose herself and not to point out to the Queen of England but she is wearing a gown that is most indecent.
"You will have to wear another set of sleeves," a beautiful red haired lady, the prettiest of all the queens ladies in waiting there tells her. "These are quite indecent."
I can see some of the older ladies in waiting not of had an agreement, thanking God that one of the queens companions have voiced to her what they have been obviously holding in. However, the queen seems not to notice it. She hugs the inside of her arms and twirls around the room saying, "It feels so lovely. My skin feels like silk. It feels so wonderful to be this-"
"Naked," the red haired lady says flatly, clearly not amused.
Realizing that the queen will not give up these horrendous leaves without a fight I make my way over to where a pile of her clothes is scattered about her clothes chest. I delicately pick up a pair of beautiful lace sleeves and walk over to her. When she sees me she allows me to come close and I tell her, "How about these sleeves Your Grace? They'll go with the white of the gown and the look ever so pretty with your eyes."
YOU ARE READING
The White Countess - The White Queen
Historical FictionElisabetta "Eliza" de' Medici is only 13 years old when she becomes one of the most important people in Europe. The death of her mother leaves her the heir apparent to the Duchy of Burgundy, and her father's inability to care for her after the death...
