The Other Elizabeth

Chapter XIX: Winter 1458

Chapter XIX: Winter 1458 

Little Easton, Essex, England 

I gaze upon the reflections of the two women before me in the looking glass. The taller, myself, wears a most elaborate headdress. It is like a tall cap on my head, with a roll of padded fabric curving down in a circle from the top. There are many ostrich feathers protruding from the back, and a long thin piece of fabric, resembling a gauzy veil, trails down and is thrown over my shoulder, drooping down to my waist; past my low V-necked shaped gown in dark green with a peep of taffeta- trimmed kirtle underneath, and the gown is bordered in black fur. I look a little severe for a young woman off to a gay event.

Whilst I attempt to look ridiculously stylish, the girl beside me looks most radiant, a little virgin bride with a girlish, fresh face and rosy cheeks to match her ruby velvet gown. 'Tis an unusual colour for a bride, who usually wears blue or green, but this is no ordinary marriage; this is the wedding between the red of Lancaster and the white of York. A circlet bearing a small diadem tops Elizabel's wavy brown hair, and knots of gold roses embroider her gown. Her dress, of the v-shaped neckline, fits tightly from the tops of the shoulders. She is so innocent, but I know William will by vying the buxom girl.

For William Bourchier and my own kinswoman Elizabel de Vere are to be wed. I am entrusted with the task of preparing my cousin, the daughter of the Earl of Oxford, ready for the day. It brings back memories of my own wedding day, almost... ten years, next year! Nine years, and what has become of our marriage, with no living children?

I remember my silk dress, the feast- and William trying to... put his hands up my skirts. I shudder. Should I tell her, this sweet little maiden? Here is another Elizabeth- although she is nicknamed Elizabel- marrying at thirteen, as I did, my own cousin, sent off to be used for her inheritance by William. I want to warn her, yet I cannot ruin her happiness, and tell her that her husband, over a decade her senior, will be unfaithful to her; he frequents the brothels still. I look at her giddy little face and swallow. I know she is just a political pawn to create peace between the warring sides, but she is so young, she does not know, and I cannot shatter her heart by telling her the cold truth. Tonight, she will bed my brother-in-law, the boy who dived his hand up my skirts.

It seems none of us will forget it, for yester-evening, when William came swaggering into the solar wearing his cocky grin, he remarked to Henry beside me:

"Ah brother, I am to be wed. At last! And to your kinswoman." He shot me a grin, "Now we both shall have an Elizabeth. Two Elizabeth Bourchier's, aye!"

"You desired my Elizabeth at one point," Henry had muttered, as William moved on to talk to his father. My chest had twisted, and I drew a short breath, wondering if I should remark on his comment. Nine years on, the memories are still fresh...

A knock comes upon the door, and Elizabel calls in her wavering, excitable voice, "Enter!" There stands her mother, also called Elizabeth- Izzy Howard, Countess of Oxford, holding herself proud, and her younger daughter Jane, who bounds in and throws herself at her sister.

"My word, you look simply beautiful, Elizabel," Izzy gabbles. I suddenly feel most nauseous; they have come, for it is time to go to church, and I have to throw Elizabel into the lion's den, and she will soon face the harsh reality. What if a war does break out? I do not care if her father fights for Lancaster, as mine does. She is my cousin, even if I have only encountered her briefly when she was a small child. For her mother, standing next to me smiling and tweaking a fold in her daughter's skirt, and also Elizabel's eldest brother, are some of the co-heirs to my estates if Henry and I do not ever produce a child. Henry's wound has improved most greatly, but he is very dull and does not talk nor smile. I find I am still married to a stranger.