Chapter Text
His heart had been stone until the visit paid to Wolfhall. Her death was the path to his happiness and pleasure, happiness at seeing justice well served, and the pleasure he would have by taking Jane as his wife and placing her upon the throne, to await the heir she would bear him, the one she could not.
Pale and golden, Jane was not what Anne was, obedient where Anne was tenacious, shy where Anne was bold, sweet where Anne was vicious. Jane had not been raised to be a queen, a marriage to a Lord the highest her station could have hoped to grant her, but by virtue of her unassuming and pleasing nature, a good Queen she would be.
Anne languished in the Tower now, awaiting execution two days hence. It was no more than she deserved, and she deserved much less, damn her. He had loved her, fought for her, and she had repaid him with a daughter who might very well not be his, and a string of lovers paraded under his very nose. He had wished to put her aside as nearly as he had saw Jane, thinking of nothing but her innocent beauty. Her purity had come as a breath of fresh air to a choking man, he had been a prisoner to the darkness of Anne for well nigh ten years, and was now only emerging from that prison, stretching his arms out to the sun. To Jane.
How he ached for her innocence and sweetness! She was so willing and eager to please, she would surely be a woman who would be...
...as so many of the others.
The thought came suddenly and unbidden to him, of the other women, other mistresses before. Some golden-haired, some not, but all deferential, all so willing. So readily available to his whims.
No. Jane would be different, he reasoned with himself. For he had found a woman worthy of his love and capable of bearing his heirs. A woman whom God had surely led him too, for how else cold such a virtuous woman be found?
If only he had known the truth!
He had sent word in the morn to Jane, to tell of his wish to visit and dine with her and her family. He not indented to ride until noon, but the want for her was too great. He sent out for Wolfhall after breaking his fast, riding hard and with only three men. Once he had rode like this, full of burning intent and passion, only to be scorned. Jane would not scorn him, not now, nor ever.
He had bid the servants to not raise an outcry when arrived, intending to present himself to Jane and her family unannounced. How her eyes would brighten in joy when she saw him!
Bidding his men to wait, he went to seek out Jane. He brought no gifts, no gaudy shows of devotion. Jane was not one to expect such things though, there was no greed, no ambition in her heart. It was simply his presence that satisfied her, and brought her joy.
The Seymours unknowingly awaited him in the courtyard, and he hastened there. She stood in the sun with her brother and father nearby, her hair crowned with light. Such angelic beauty, such grace! She appeared to be in deep conversation with her father, and he stopped among the shadowy pillars of the courtyard, intending to wait til' she had finished, that he might have her undivided attention. A soft breeze blew, rustling the tendrils of her hair and bringing their voices to him. Too enthralled in the vision of her, he hardly heard what was spoken, had he not heard himself addressed in their exchange.
"Soon, everything will be secure. There will be nothing, and no one who will hinder the King taking you as his wife." The eldest Seymour spoke earnestly, reaching out to comfortingly clasp his daughter's hand. "There is nothing to worry for, Janey."
Worried? Why should Jane worry? His love was apparent, his desire to crown her his Queen everything but announced. Jane was no simpleton despite her simpleness, she was not ignorant of his intentions. Did she doubt his love? His honor? What were her worries she had confided to her family, and yet not to him? Him who had singled himself out to serve her?
"Yes, father." Came the soft reply, demure and sweet, a balm immediately soothing his rousing temperament. Jane's brother stirred at her side, casting a look at her father before addressing Jane in tone more stern to his ears.
"It was fortunate indeed that his eye fell on you at the waning of the Queen's grace. You must not forget that." Edward Seymour admonished. A silence, and then Jane's voice again, still sweet and demure, but now laced with confusion.
"Waning? Brother, the Queen's crimes would have been discovered and punished, if not at this time, then another."
"Perhaps." Edward Seymour's voice was light, but there was something other in it, a string of darkness. Then a silence that Henry fancied was Jane making sense of her brother's words, as did he. He liked not what he was hearing.
He liked Edward's next words even less. "The queen's miscarriage was even more fortunate, and you may thank yourself for that." Anne had accused Jane of being the reason for the loss of their son, claiming her rage and grief at the sight of Jane on his lap. He had given no credence to her accusation, but to hear it validated from the mouth of her rival's brother sent a chill through him, even in the warmth of the day.
"I had no wish to bring harm to the Queen, and I wish it was not so, brother." Jane said softly, pressing a hand to her chest, her eyes wide. If she was shocked by her brother's words, she kept herself well in check.
"You are sweet." Edward said, his voice near a purr. "But if the babe had lived longer, or yet had been a son, any chance of you becoming Queen would been gone."
"...But the Queen's crimes..." Jane began.
"It is doubtful the King would have given any noticed to the rumors against her if she had borne him a son. The child had to die." A gasp from Jane, both hands clasping on her breast as her eyes darted between her father and brother.
"...I...what? Edward..." she said, faltering. She was truly shocked now, her eyes wide in earnest. Then a whisper, as if she spoke of unlawful and heretical things, which might very well be the case, if what he gleaned from her brother's words was true. "..What did you do?"
"Shh, Janey, Shh." it was her father now, whispering reassurances. "Do not worry. Simply do what you have to do, and all will be well." Edward nodded, bestowing a brotherly caress upon Jane's face.
"You must cultivate a friendship with Cromwell," he instructed. "He will secure your position at the King's side."
The Seymour patriarch spoke up again. "If not for him, it is doubtful that the Queen would have been found guilty. Remember this." Jane nodded, though understanding was not evident on her face. Her brother sighed, his tones clipped as he began again.
"It is doubtless that the Queen was innocent of all charges, and by Cromwell only was she found guilty. You may be so to, if you are ever in a position to warrant the King's displeasure. So make Cromwell your friend, and you need not fear." Jane only nodded, as she always did, accepting this without question.
Tight-lipped and sullen, he sunk back into the darkness. The shadows closed over his face, sealing him from the sun. He had come here seeking a lamb, and had fallen instead into a pit of vipers!
...the child had to die...
...what did you do?...
...the Queen...innocent of all charges...
What could these words mean, but the vilest of intentions? Had Edward Seymour conspired to slay his child in the womb? This might be done through the use of poisons and tonics, and Edward had resided at court when Anne had miscarried. Miscarried a son. Lincare had said it looked to be a male child, though he cited many deformities upon the small form. It had only served to rouse his anger against Anne at the time, for how could he sire a deformed child? Yet now he had reason to think that the deformities may have been a product of poison, some bitter substance that had burnt the child in the womb.
And Anne. He had not contemplated her innocence before, all too assured of her guilt. But now, but now...could she indeed be innocent? Edward Seymour had spoke with such surety of her innocence, and declared with such brazenness Cromwell's hand in her downfall. Henry himself had not lifted a hand in Anne's trial, but Cromwell had brought him the tidings he had wanted. That Anne was guilty. But she was! Declared guilty before god and a jury of her peers, found guilty of unforgivable crimes against her King.
Unless...unless...had Cromwell become disenchanted with Anne, he was in the position to tear her down. As it was plain that he himself was disenchanted with the lady, would not the courts and Cromwell himself seek to follow his example, and rid him of Anne has he had made so plain that he wished? Could the Seymours have conspired with Cromwell, offering bribe or promises?
His love for Anne had waned under Jane's influence, and rumors of her infidelity had only served to strengthen his resolve to put her aside. He would spare no grief when she was gone, caring only for her who would be his wife.
But now, what type of wife was this! A wretched girl, ignorant that her brother was a murderer and her father a schemer. Anne's father and brother had made no secret that they enjoyed the attention lavished upon them by the King, and openly flaunted it, pretending to no false pities, while Thomas Seymour humbled himself in the King's presence, and plotted to supplant the throne behind his back
And now what? If he visited with Jane as he had intended, would she smile in his presence, now that it was known to her that her place at his side was paid for with the blood of his child?
He remembered Anne as she was after her miscarriage, with her hands full of blood, her face twisted in grief, and his heart panged with sudden sorrow, a sudden thawing of the frost that had long enclosed it.
Was she truly innocent? A woman of her station could not very well acquit herself with many in private, being attended hand and foot by many maids. A man had confessed to being her lover, but many things would a man confess to under duress.
And she had loved him. He remembered once how he saw in her eyes what he had saw in Jane's, simple love and adoration. She had loved him still, she had said, pleading with him as she held their child in her arms. She would not have taken to the bed of another if she loved him as she claimed!
But yet...did he still love her? His feelings he had not examined, until this moment, keeping them solely for Jane, but there was darkness in his heart that was the memory of her hair, the turn of her lips, the curve of her neck.
A part of him was tempted to forget what her had heard, and venture forth to take Jane his arms. But the suspicions the words of the Seymours had raised were too great. They were but schemers, traitors and plotters, dancing their sister before him as a cheap whore to tempt him, while they spirited his child from the belly of his wife. He would leave, and see his wife. He may now not bear love for Anne, but he would not put her aside at the whim of the Seymours, or Cromwell, or any other man that wished to further their own interests. He had ordered the investigation into the Queen when chance had allowed him to do so, he had wished to be rid of her, he admitted to the privacy of his heart, but his heart had still stung when the allegations against her had been voiced. He had felt betrayal's lance, the fury of a spurned lover.
He felt worse now. He believed Jane would never scorn him, and yet she had. She was not what she had seemed, no sweet virtuous maiden, but a whore placed in his path to tempt him to sin, to the murder of an innocent woman. Oh yes, Anne's execution was now not to happen. He would not suffer her to die for the sake of the Seymours' want for a few titles. He would ride to the Tower and free his wife, and offer her comfort for the deaths of her brother and the men accused beside her. He could not restore her brother to her, but her father would have his titles once again, and the Seymours would pay for their crimes.