He had begun by being mildly astonished; and now he had accepted his happiness as a natural state.

She was different from other women; she was unique. It was in her capacity for happiness and her genius for choosing those gifts from life which could give her true contentment.

Little Eleanor had been born. Another daughter. But it seemed that Mary had wanted a daughter. And as she said to Charles once, the fact that from time to time they must show themselves at Court only increased their appreciation of a quiet life in the country.

Rarely had Lords of the Manor been loved as they were loved. It was a strange situation, Charles often said: A Queen who longed to be a simple country lady; a Duke and Duchess who sought to retire from Court instead of making their way there.

He had watched her when Charles of Castile had come to England. Perhaps that was one of her most enjoyable visits to Court. Then she had seemed like the young Mary who had loved to dance and flaunt her charm. Charles of Castile had been betrothed to her and had sought another match; and how she delighted in letting him know what he had missed! She had set out to charm him and she had succeeded. Poor Charles of Castile had watched her open-mouthed, had sought every opportunity to be at her side, and was clearly furious with those who had advised him against marrying her.

Henry was amused at his sister. He laughed with his friends to see the poor young Prince of Castile fascinated by the girl who had once not seemed a good enough match for him.

“By God,” said Henry, “where Mary is, there is good sport. She should be at Court more often.”

Later they accompanied Henry to France for his extravagant meeting with François; and François, while his eyes followed the radiant woman who had taken the place of the beautiful girl he had known, was as regretful as Prince Charles.

It was as the King said—where Mary was there was amusement.

“You should be more often at Court,” he constantly repeated.

“Your Highness,” was Charles’s answer, “since I married your sister I have become a poor man. I cannot afford to live at Court, and my wife and I must needs retire to the country from time to time when we can live most cheaply.”

Henry scowled at his brother-in-law. If he thought he was going to be excused his debts he was mistaken.

But later he conferred with Wolsey, and one day summoned Mary and Charles to his presence; and as he greeted them his blue eyes were shining with pleasure.

“It grieves me to see you two so poor that you must needs leave us from time to time,” he said. “But do not think I shall excuse you your debts. I have been lenient with you, and it is not meet and fitting that my subjects should disobey me and be forgiven.”

Mary smiled at her brother. “Nay, Henry, we do not ask to be forgiven our debts. We are content to pay our debts.”

“Then you admit they are your debts.”

Mary smiled demurely. “I forced Charles to marry me, and you thought we acted without consideration of our duty to you. You therefore imposed fines upon us which have made us poor. You were kind to us, brother. You might have sent us to the Tower. So we do not complain although we do at times have to retire to the country.”

“I miss you when you are away,” said Henry. “But I’ll not let you off your debts for all that.”

“Most right and proper,” Mary agreed.

He dismissed them soon afterward, and as they were leaving he thrust some documents into Charles’s hand.

“Look at these and let me have your opinion,” he said.

Charles, surprised, bowed his head and Henry waved them away. When they were in their apartments Charles unrolled the documents while Mary watched him.

“What is this?” asked Mary.

Charles stared at the papers. “Buckingham had estates in Suffolk,” he murmured.

“Buckingham!” Mary’s face was set in lines of horror. She was thinking of the Duke of Buckingham whose claim to be as royal as the King had angered Henry. Poor Buckingham, one of the leading noblemen in the country, had been unlucky enough or unwise enough, to offend Wolsey. The result was that he had been sent to the Tower to be tried by his peers who dared do nothing but obey the King, and the proud Duke had been taken out to Tower Hill where his head was severed from his body.

Mary shivered when she thought of Buckingham, because his death was symbolic. In commanding it Henry had shown himself in truth to be a King whom his subjects must fear.

“Yes,” Charles was saying, “your brother gives to us estates in Suffolk which belonged to Buckingham. You understand?”

Mary nodded. “We were too poor to stay at Court, and it is his wish that we should be there more often. We can no longer speak of our poverty, Charles.”

She laughed suddenly, but it was not her old happy laugh. There was a hint of bitterness in it.

“So now we are rich, when we would rather be poor.”

She threw her arms about him and held him tightly to her. She was fanciful that day; she could imagine that the axe which killed Buckingham threw a shadow over Charles’s head.

For, she told herself, any who live near the King must live in that shadow.

Peace had fled from Westhorpe as Mary had known it would when Henry presented them with the Suffolk manors. There was no longer the excuse of poverty. It was no use for two people in such prominent a position to plead the need for retirement. Henry wanted them near him, and near him they must be.