The Other Henry VIII

A Chance at Happiness

27 May 1526
"How do I look?"
Edmund Westover, Earl of Surrey, gazed at the man he loved with adoration etched upon his face. "Handsome as ever."

"I have no doubt," agreed Daniel, adjusting his doublet for the eleventh time. "But the Lord only knows why my father forced me to wear such heavy silk from head to toe on the cusp of summer. I think I shall collapse from the heat, quite honestly."
"He wants to impress your bride, I presume," replied Edmund. "She will probably be clad in a gown fit for a Queen. There are the rings your father wishes you to wear."

He gestured to a dish balanced atop a chest, carrying a small mound of bright silver and gold bands. The jewels gleamed appealingly, illuminated by the steady stream of morning sunlight. Daniel snorted. "I suppose I shan't be able to lift my hand long enough to put the ring on her finger." He turned towards the door, still fiddling with his sleeves. "Come. I fear if we take any longer, my father might just  dispose of my mother and marry her himself."

"Wait." Edmund cleared his throat. "Just a moment." He strode over to the chest and selected a single ring from the platter, a slender silver band. "This one is not too ostentatious, I think," he smiled, taking the other man's hand. The sensation of the smooth metal as it slid onto his finger sent shivers down Daniel's spine. "Think of me. When your wedding ring sits alongside this one and outshines it as a princess does a pauper. Think of me, always."

"Do you know, I think I am a little nervous," admitted Daniel sheepishly.
"You would be mad not to be," replied Edmund. He planted a gentle kiss on the other man's lips, enough to bring colour to his pale cheeks. "I will always be your friend and confidant, but you must try to love your wife. Love her faithfully, with out question, as I never loved mine."

Daniel grinned. "That may prove somewhat difficult, though I am up to the challenge. She is charming, at least. I think we shall be friends." He bowed his head, gaze fixed upon their clasped hands pensively. "But I do not think I shall ever stop loving you."

"Footsteps," returned Edmund abruptly, releasing Daniel and marching towards the window.
The two men fell silent as a page entered. Any servant who answered to the Duke of Norfolk was about as trustworthy as a drunken sailor. "Sir, His Grace wishes me to remind you that you do not have all day to get ready."
"I do not require all day," said Daniel quietly. Sighing, he drew himself up to a wide, confident stance and re-positioned his doublet one final time. "In fact, I am as ready as I shall ever be."

Even Edmund had to admit that Daniel and Bianca were a good match. They were equally handsome, well-dressed, and good-humoured. As he often did at weddings, including his own, Edmund allowed his mind to wander freely during the ceremony and paid little attention to the words being spoken. He positioned his face into a mask of complete fascination, a talent which he had perfected over the years, but behind the facade he was vacant and thoughtful. What a very odd idea it was, he mused, that a ring placed on a finger in a chapel, before a man of God, was legally binding, while his own exchange in the bedchamber with Daniel had meant nothing at all.

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Edmund arose on the first day of June, rubbing his sleep-filled eyes, to the muted sound of humming next door. His wood-panelled chamber glowed yellow around him, steeped in sunlight. Groaning softly, he clambered out of bed and sloped over to the chair by the fire, where a freshly-laundered shirt awaited him.

As he clothed himself lazily, he found he could not recall the last time he had woken up in his own bedchamber. There were always so many of his relatives swarming about the place that no-one ever noticed his absence, and if they did, they probably assumed he had nodded off in a brothel somewhere. That was the expectation of male courtiers, it seemed, but better they think he was in a prostitute's arms than Daniel's.