Fanfic: An Endless Supply of Rubies Ch 3, Tudors | FanFiction

A/N: A History Lesson – Charles Brandon and Catherine Willoughby married on the 7th of September in 1533. His only surviving son from his previous marriage died in 1534. For the purposes of this story, Charles has not married Catherine, and Henry does not exist. Since Charles's four daughters (Anne, Mary, Frances, and Eleanor) are not mentioned in the show, they will not be making appearances in this story.

"When may I visit my mother's tomb?" Amelia asked as Charles led her down the hallways of the palace. Since the woman sitting as Queen was not the same woman that Amelia had a small portrait of, Amelia assumed that she had passed away some time ago, maybe in childbirth. Did she have another sibling? Nobody had ever given her any news of her mother. When she had been informed that she would be returning to England to "save her mother," she assumed that it was because her mother was dying, and reuniting her with her youngest daughter might give her the strength to be well again.

Charles was startled by the question. "Your mother is very much alive, My Lady," he responded. "Your parents' marriage was annulled on the grounds that your mother was once married to the King's brother, the Prince of Wales, may God rest his soul."

Amelia contemplated Charles's words. She supposed that if the church had decided that her parents' marriage was not valid, then she would follow along. "Will I get to see my mother then? And my sister?"

"That is up to His Majesty," Charles responded.

The walk continued in silence, with the occasional courtier or staff bowing and murmuring a greeting. Amelia smiled and gave a nod to each one of them, regardless of their rank or station. She had never seen this amount of people before in so short a period of time. Growing up, she was often left alone with only Barbara for company, being raised separately from the other children. As a result, she could only speak to the siblings if Margaret wasn't paying attention to them, which she often was. Amelia often spent her time outside in the gardens during the beginning of the family's exile. At Margaret's estates, she spent her time doing needlepoint or riding Margaret's horses, since her governess was now raising Hans, Dorothea, and Christine.

The rooms Charles brought her to were some of the most elegant she had ever seen. She had her own sitting room and her own bedchamber, as well as a stool closet. A small room with a small cot off of her sitting room was what she could only imagine as a servant's quarters, although it looked similar to the room she had occupied while with Margaret.

"His Majesty apologizes about the size of your chambers, my lady, and he promises that he will have new ones prepared for you by the end of the month," Charles stated, watching the girl with an amused expression on his face.

"I am completely satisfied with these chambers, and I do not wish for my father to go through all the trouble of setting up new ones," Amelia said, a wide smile on her face. She paced around the sitting room, her hands running over the elegantly carved furnishings. Her expression was one of awe and bewilderment. She drew back the curtains separating her sitting room and bedchamber to marvel at the size of her bed.

A gasp came from within the bedchamber. A chambermaid dressed in her black uniform fell into a deep curtsey. "I apologize, my lady. They did not tell me that you had arrived," she said.

Amelia smiled. "Do not worry, I take no offense. Please, call me Amelia when we are in private. What may I call you?"

The young maid looked surprised as she stood. No titled person had ever spoken to her like that before. "My name is Constance FitzThomas and I am nothing more than a bastard daughter of Baron Lumley, my lady, it would be inappropriate for me address you as such," she responded.

"I insist," Amelia replied in a low voice. "If there are only two of us, then what need is there for titles. Besides, I am not quite sure what title I even hold anymore."

Amelia sat on the right hand side of her father at the feast, her plate filled with more things that she imagined that she would be able to eat. Everything that was served tasted absolutely amazing, and she ate until she was sure that another bite would make her stomach burst.

"How are you finding England, Amelia?" her father asked.

"It is absolutely lovely, father," she responded, taking a sip of wine. "Everyone has been so kind. It is a welcome change."

"Tell us about your time in Denmark. I am very curious," Henry said. "We wanted to visit on many occasions, but Christian always wrote to say that you were ailing."

Amelia frowned. "I cannot recall ever being sick as a child. And we only lived in Denmark for a few years before Christian was deposed. We moved to the Low Countries and have lived there ever since."

It was Henry's turn to frown. "Why did you never write to tell us this?"

"I wrote to you every week," Amelia replied, rather confused. "Even though I never received a response, I still wrote. Until Lady Margaret forbade me from sending letters to anyone, I wrote."

"Who is Lady Margaret?" Henry asked.

And with that, Amelia launched into her life story. Charles, who sat on Amelia's other side, felt the sudden urge to hold the girl in his arms. It explained why she had acted the way she did, why she had been so easily impressed by the small chambers she was given. She was simply a lonely teenage girl thrown into an unfamiliar world.

Anne, on the other hand, felt conflicted. The mother in her made her heart ached for Amelia. Even Anne and her siblings had grown up with a much better life than the princess. At the same time, she knew that loneliness would make Amelia more vulnerable. Marriage was most likely on her husband's mind, and who better to marry the King's daughter than her own brother?

As if on cue, George approached the table and asked to dance with Amelia. She smiled and graciously accepted. "You will have to forgive me, my lord, for I do not know English waltzes very well," she said with a smile, taking George's outstretched hand.

"Not to worry, my lady. I am sure you will follow just fine," he replied. According to his father, it was his job to seduce the young girl, to make her fall in love with him as Anne had done with the king. If Amelia fell in love with George, it would be easier to get the king to agree to have them married.

Amelia did not like dancing with the man who had asked her to dance. His touches were too rough and harsh. Instead of leading her, it felt like he was trying to control her. She tried to keep a smile on her face, but she knew that her eyes were betraying her. He chatted with her as they danced, keeping light conversation about how she was finding England and what her thoughts were on various things, but he did not mention his own name.

"Has His Majesty spoken to you about marriage yet, my lady?" George asked.

She froze, and her mouth gaped slightly, unable to form a response. Henry hadn't mentioned marriage at all, save for asking questions about her deceased fiancé. Why was this man, this total stranger, asking her about marriage? He hadn't even told her is name, as if he assumed that she knew who he was!

"Her Majesty wishes to speak with you, Lord Rochford," said a voice from behind Amelia. She turned to see Charles standing behind her, and she nearly sighed in relief.

With a frustrated look on his face, George bowed to his partner, and Amelia curtsied in return. "Until later, my lady, Your Grace" was all he said before hurrying over to his sister's side.

Charles offered Amelia his hand, and she accepted it with a small smile on her face. "It looked like you could use someone to rescue you," he said as they began to dance.

"Thank you, Your Grace," she responded. "I am not quite sure who that man was, and I certainly did not enjoy dancing with him, especially when he brought up the subject of marriage of which I have no idea as to what the thoughts of my father are."

Charles laughed. "That man was George Boleyn, the Lord Rochford, my lady, the brother of the Queen. He likely brought up marriage because his father hopes to arrange a marriage between you and him."

"I see," was all Amelia could think of in response. She appeared to be deeply contemplating Charles's statement. Would her father really marry her off to the brother of his wife? Surely the affinity was too close. After all, he had annulled his last marriage after marrying his brother's widow. But on the other hand, she had been betrothed to the son of her mother's niece, her own first cousin once removed. Who would the King choose to have her marry this time? She was little more than a pawn, and she knew this. Would her husband be old or young? Could she grow to love him?

During this time of thought, she could not help but notice how dancing with Charles was much nicer than dancing with George. She felt as though he led her through the steps, and allowed her to follow his lead on her own accord, instead of dragging her across the floor. Instead of forcing her to follow him while simultaneously keeping her from falling over her own feet, Charles's touch was light and gentle.

Charles enjoyed dancing with Amelia. She seemed to learn the steps quickly. When her hands were in his, something felt right about it. He had seen the look in her eyes when George had asked her about marriage, the combination of fear and confusion that had finally made him step up and cut in. In his heart, he felt the urge to protect her. It was obvious to him that she had grown up lonely and felt unloved. Charles became determined to make her feel loved at any cost, even if it meant going against the Boleyns and seeking her hand in marriage.