#12 Elizabeth's first impressions
Elizabeth didn’t like the Saxon boys who had joined the court. While the Elector and his wife were nice enough, their sons were pompous and rude. For one thing, they refused to be given nicknames. When Elizabeth had asked John Wilhelm if she could call him Will or Johnwill, he had dismissed her with a snooty “do not refer to me at all” before running off to play at war games with his brother. But if the younger boy was annoying (and apparently a surprise arrival), John Frederick was significantly worse.
Flaxen haired with a heavy mouth, Elizabeth had initially thought him quite handsome. It was nice to know that one of the boys her father considered for her was actually in her presence. But within hours of meeting, he had soured the mood.
It wasn’t just that he was snobbish. Elizabeth knew her…situation, if you wanted to call it that, was complicated. But she was his new cousin, and she had expected some level of decency, and maybe even affection. Instead, he took one look at her, one at Mary, and then didn’t look at them again. Not a glance. Didn’t respond when she asked him questions. Ate beside her silently, staring out at a court that clearly wanted some indication of warmth between them.
He'd been even worse to Mary, although Elizabeth didn’t quite understand how. The Bavarian Duke had arrived later than the rest of the party, having stayed behind to secure a gift for her sister. Elizabeth had seen the gleam of rubies and pearls only briefly, but knew it was a costly set of jewels. But shortly after they’d been handed to her, the little princeling had come to pull him away, and whispered something that had made her sister angry. Nobody was quite sure what – Mary had made it clear it wasn’t to be repeated – but it was something harsh enough that she had completely shut down.
That had been two days ago.
Maggie Douglas had been tasked with entertaining her while Mary shut herself in her rooms and the Queen finished preparations for her lying in. Elizabeth didn’t find her very fun. While Mary loved their cousins dearly, the younger Tudor girl found Maggie a little scary. It was nice to be in her orbit when times were good, but after whatever had happened with Charlie Howard, Elizabeth remembered the screaming. The dramatics came easily to her.
Which was why the arrival of the Electress was such a welcome surprise.
She wasn’t a tall woman like the Queen was. In many ways, Elizabeth had expected the two to look similar. But while Anne had a round, happy face, Lady Sibylle looked like a fox. Her eyes in particular stood out – long, grey and always moving. Elizabeth prided herself on the ability to hold someone’s attention, but this was a woman who made her work for it. Even as she curtsied for her guest, the woman’s gaze had already strayed to Maggie’s frayed skirt hems, the pile of books by the fire that Elizabeth had spent her night pouring through for good poetry, and back to Elizabeth, who never stopped watching her. Then she smiled and pretending like she hadn’t just scoured the room.
“Ma chère fille, levez-vous, nous sommes tous une famille ici.”
Elizabeth’s French was good enough to know she was putting it on, but it was nice that somebody cared enough to do that. It helped that she was sure her accent was better than this adult woman’s. So, smiling, she said a simple “merci” and took the lady’s hand. Maggie had warned her this morning that she wasn’t to complain to anyone else about the Saxon boys, and she held her tongue when asked if she liked them.
“Comment aimez-vous mes garçons ?”
“Ils ont l'air courageux.”
“Courageux?”
She nodded. Brave was the nicest word she could come up with, after John Wilhelm had bested a boy three years his senior in a practice fight yesterday while Elizabeth had been watching. He, at least, acknowledged her presence with a glance.
Maggie, meanwhile, scurried behind them, furious her accent would mark her as a formerly terrible student, and thus she had to stay quiet.
Flaxen haired with a heavy mouth, Elizabeth had initially thought him quite handsome. It was nice to know that one of the boys her father considered for her was actually in her presence. But within hours of meeting, he had soured the mood.
It wasn’t just that he was snobbish. Elizabeth knew her…situation, if you wanted to call it that, was complicated. But she was his new cousin, and she had expected some level of decency, and maybe even affection. Instead, he took one look at her, one at Mary, and then didn’t look at them again. Not a glance. Didn’t respond when she asked him questions. Ate beside her silently, staring out at a court that clearly wanted some indication of warmth between them.
He'd been even worse to Mary, although Elizabeth didn’t quite understand how. The Bavarian Duke had arrived later than the rest of the party, having stayed behind to secure a gift for her sister. Elizabeth had seen the gleam of rubies and pearls only briefly, but knew it was a costly set of jewels. But shortly after they’d been handed to her, the little princeling had come to pull him away, and whispered something that had made her sister angry. Nobody was quite sure what – Mary had made it clear it wasn’t to be repeated – but it was something harsh enough that she had completely shut down.
That had been two days ago.
Maggie Douglas had been tasked with entertaining her while Mary shut herself in her rooms and the Queen finished preparations for her lying in. Elizabeth didn’t find her very fun. While Mary loved their cousins dearly, the younger Tudor girl found Maggie a little scary. It was nice to be in her orbit when times were good, but after whatever had happened with Charlie Howard, Elizabeth remembered the screaming. The dramatics came easily to her.
Which was why the arrival of the Electress was such a welcome surprise.
She wasn’t a tall woman like the Queen was. In many ways, Elizabeth had expected the two to look similar. But while Anne had a round, happy face, Lady Sibylle looked like a fox. Her eyes in particular stood out – long, grey and always moving. Elizabeth prided herself on the ability to hold someone’s attention, but this was a woman who made her work for it. Even as she curtsied for her guest, the woman’s gaze had already strayed to Maggie’s frayed skirt hems, the pile of books by the fire that Elizabeth had spent her night pouring through for good poetry, and back to Elizabeth, who never stopped watching her. Then she smiled and pretending like she hadn’t just scoured the room.
“Ma chère fille, levez-vous, nous sommes tous une famille ici.”
Elizabeth’s French was good enough to know she was putting it on, but it was nice that somebody cared enough to do that. It helped that she was sure her accent was better than this adult woman’s. So, smiling, she said a simple “merci” and took the lady’s hand. Maggie had warned her this morning that she wasn’t to complain to anyone else about the Saxon boys, and she held her tongue when asked if she liked them.
“Comment aimez-vous mes garçons ?”
“Ils ont l'air courageux.”
“Courageux?”
She nodded. Brave was the nicest word she could come up with, after John Wilhelm had bested a boy three years his senior in a practice fight yesterday while Elizabeth had been watching. He, at least, acknowledged her presence with a glance.
Maggie, meanwhile, scurried behind them, furious her accent would mark her as a formerly terrible student, and thus she had to stay quiet.
