1

When I was 17 years old, my father told me that I was to marry George Boleyn. None of us had been at court long, but he and his siblings had already made quite an impression. There was something about the Boleyns that made people talk, that made people take notice- be it positively or negatively. George Boleyn was my slight inferior, as my father was a member of the peerage while his was simply a knighted ambassador, but they were Howard kin, and the Howard name is far more powerful than the Parker name. George is the grandson of the 2nd Duke of Norfolk, nephew to the Earl of Surrey, who was set to inherit the Dukedom upon his father's death. I, being the daughter of Henry Parker, 10th Baron Morley, come with the offer of a pleasing dowry. So I have found a suitable match- or, rather, my family has.

I have no complaint. He is handsome, with a straight nose, fine dark blue eyes, thick chestnut hair, and an athletic, lean form. It isn't as though I've any other man in mind, and if I did, it wouldn't matter. I don't think I will mind it so much. Maybe once I get to know him he'll be pleasing. I know it is laughable to believe so, but some tiny part of me wonders if we could love. I know that happy marriages rarely have anything to do with love, but I've never understood why that has to be. The vows exchanged sound entirely romantic, nothing at all like the business deal I'm told marriage must be.

This thought brings a cynical grin to my young face. I may be young, but I have heard many things. I'm a good listener, and I have learned from listening that even the most loving of marriages are flawed. All men cheat on their wives. If marriage is a deal, then women get the bad end of it. Bearing children, dying or losing one's looks in the process, while all while the husband heaps rewards: wealth, title, and other lovers. I feel like I have no control of my own life when I consider this bleak picture. What is there for me? If a woman's number one duty is to be a good wife, but her husband is doomed to be a bad husband, why bother? I guess it all depends on one's definition of failure. Perhaps it is not marriage that is flawed, but my idea of it, my definition.

I try to forget these thoughts when my betrothed glances my way, and his face is so pretty that this is rather easy.

I was the one to initiate first contact. King Henry and Queen Katherine were in the king's bed chamber, trying desperately to produce a male heir, and so the courtiers, usually separated during the day due to the strict nature of Katherine's rooms (male courtiers are expected to make only brief appearances in her room, and lingering is quite rude) were out in the gardens mingling. George is charming and popular, made even more so by the fact that Mary, his eldest sister, seems to have caught the eye of the king, and so he is usually surrounded by plenty of people. He was playing a game of bowls and when he lost (he came in third behind his sister Anne and Francis Weston) he stepped aside and sat down on a bench. He was finally relatively alone, so I decided to approach him.

It took more courage than I expected, and was made much harder by the way that he didn't look at me until I was standing right in front of him. I could tell that he was avoiding looking at me, and I realized with a jolt that it was because he didn't wish to speak with me. Well, I would just have to give him a reason to look forward to speaking with me next time.

"Good day." I said in a voice that I prayed hid my uncertainty.

"Good day." He returned in monotone. I think I may have been blushing, but he wouldn't have noticed because he was looking away from me again, watching Francis and Anne finish. I cleared my throat, wondering what to say next. I'd come up with plenty of things on my way over to him, but now I was drawing a blank.

"Excuse me, did you want something?" He asked, looking at me again with those disconcertingly beautiful eyes of his. I stared at him for a moment, quite mortified. Did I want something? Why were his eyebrows arched so perfectly?

"No. Well, yes. I just wanted to speak with you a bit. Rumor has it we are to be betrothed." I said, nearly wincing at how pathetic I must have been coming off.

"Rumor has it." He said sarcastically. I looked away from him, not wanting him to see the tears of embarrassment I was fighting back. What had I done to earn his disdain already? Weren't we still supposed to be in the Honeymoon phase?

"Excuse me." I said, turning to go who-cares-where, just anywhere but next to my soon-to-be betrothed.