The Other Henry VIII

Restoration

The sweating sickness consumed February. Thousands lay dead in the streets. It was not until the beginning of March that the disease had run its course, and by then, England was so crippled by sickness and poverty that it was hard to imagine that she would ever recover.

Clara was almost too afraid to return. There was something almost divine in waking up beside James' little cousin Mary, enveloped in the soft sheets, with a plate of fresh bread and fruit waiting at the foot of their bed. The fires were always warm and well-stocked, since there were only a few in the house, and the servants spoke to her as amiably as if she were not a Princess at all. It was difficult to believe that there had been an outbreak of the Sweat not far away when she was swaddled in her safe haven here.

Baron and Baroness Peters had four children in all. There was Margaret, who was nineteen and recently wed to a local viscount. Then the son and heir, Charles, who was the same age as James. He was a lean, reserved young man with light brown hair and wise, soulful eyes, who seemed to permanently be at the service of his sister Barbara. She must have been no more than eleven, but was already commanding half the household and shooting James devious grins across the dinner table. The youngest, Mary, was by far the sweetest in nature. On the first night of sharing her own bedchamber with Clara, she had begged for tales of court and listened longingly for hours. Even at that age, one could foresee that she would be a beauty.

But it could not last. The common people, reeling from one of the worst winters in decades, needed guidance. The kingdom was desperate for a leader, and if need be, she and her stepmother would have to take that position. Clara prayed every night for the life of her baby brother, for the weight of England now rested on his tiny shoulders.

One evening, well into March, the whole family dined together. James was clearly in his element; he sat at his uncle's right hand, exchanging lively conversation and washing each speech down with a goblet of wine. Beside him, Barbara clung to his every word with eyes as wide and gleaming as the dinner plates. Even Lizzie and Mary contributed, though they were mostly giggling at Lady Jane's cynical remarks from the other end of the table.

"You have to leave soon, don't you?" whispered Charles from her left. It was more of a statement than a question but she could sense the uneasiness in his tone.
"Yes, I think I must," sighed Clara. "I cannot tell you how much I adore living here but I think it's time to face my responsibilities. My people need me."
Charles massaged his neck, avoiding her gaze. "We will miss you." He cleared his throat. "All of us."
"Then you must come to court. Once it has gone back to normal, I mean," she replied with a faint smile.

Taken aback by the offer, Charles filled his open mouth with food to give himself time to find an answer. "Thank you, that's very kind of you, but I think Mother has other plans for me."
"Are you to be wed?" asked Clara politely. She was dreading her own marriage more than words could express. When he answered with a slight nod, the full thought resurfaced in her mind. The outcome of the war in France would determine her future. Who knew how swiftly she would be wed once she went back to court? What would happen to her if, God forbid, both her father and betrothed had been slaughtered? It was unbearable to even consider. And yet somehow, she managed to push that to the back of her mind.
"What's her name?"
Charles began to nibble on his lower lip. "Helena Hastings."
"What's she like?"
"I've never met her."

So seemed to be the norm, thought Clara.
"My Lord," she said in a louder voice, addressing the Baron himself.
"Yes, Your Highness?" he replied almost instantly, interrupting James mid-sentence. The entire table fell silent.
"I think that my sister and I must take our leave from you."
"Of course, Your Highness, if that is what you wish. I shall make the arrangements for tomorrow."
"We shall lend you one of our carriages for the journey," added Lady Jane, raising her goblet. "A toast: to England."
"To England," chorused the others.