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got my game together; tag: the snake of norfolk!
Topic Started: Nov 11 2010, 05:15 PM (251 Views)
Cecily Seymour
Unregistered

Cecily was still undecided about Court. She could remember clearly the day when Edward had ordered for their things to be packed. The Duchess had, at first, laughed at him... there was no way she was leaving for Court. But no matter how much she could refute her husband, Cecily could not deny the King. And as a Duchess, it was her duty to oblige and, much to her distaste, make appearances. Her home estate had been her sort of personal queendom, but Court... she was surrounded by idiots. Idiots she constantly had to remind of their.. well, their idiocy.

The marble floor beneath her heels acted as her sort of outlet as she stomped through the halls, her stride long and hips and shoulders strictly aligned. The dark mahogany of her eyes fluttered carelessly above the faces she passed, virtually ignoring them as she, quite frequently, did. Her expression was practically unapproachable, her neck straight and sharp jaw held unquestionably high. Though Cecily, for the moment, didn't exactly have a destination, she always carried herself as if she did. As if she had purpose, reason, and determination within each of her strong, loud steps.

Refusing to ever look aimless, Cecily took a sharp turn through Clock Court, Base Court and eventually into the gray sunlight and chilled December air. Her stomach growled for midday supper, but she ignored it without thought. With an uninterested stare she studied the gardens, the amount of courtiers lingering uselessly within them, the way the horticulture hovered with rot, and... well, well, well.

"Look at what the wind must have brought in," she smirked, swooping into a shallow, quick curtsy for mere tradition. "If it isn't the Duke of Norfolk himself." Her tongue paid no certain care to these syllables, the very syllables this man probably endeared closely to himself.. just as she did as the Duchess of Somerset. A slow smile spread across her coral lips, carving symmetrical dimples into either sides of her lightly-colored cheeks as she studied him inquisitively. Challengingly. "Busy with secret matters in an oh-so secret alcove, Your Grace?" There could have been knowledge behind those words, or there could have been sheer, naive innocence... but for now, that remained beyond just a simple mystery.

"Oh, I've forgotten.." she continued, still eying him. "Congratulations, on your marriage to the Marchioness Cambridge. Quite the wealthy selection, if I dare say myself, Your Grace.." there was no fooling Cecily, but unfortunately or not, there was fooling the poor Isabella Clyde. Or, Howard. How the Duke of Norfolk could even make appearances with that dullard of a woman was beyond the Duchess, but for the sake of what sort of wealth the ugly duckling brought, Cecily supposed she'd take it without a single ounce of reluctance. "Forgive me, for not attending what I hear was a very lavish celebration."
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Thomas Howard
Unregistered

The Duke of Norfolk ventured out into the gardens not on some silly whim. Thomas Howard had no silly whims, at least not silly, and not often. He was just coming back from a conversation with a messenger, hush tones and swift commands – very cloak and dagger, some could say, while in fact he was taking care of some lesser of his matters. But for people believing in his star cast above court, whatever the man dabbled in was secret and dangerous – murders, betrayals, blackmails; Norfolk had only a contemptuous smirk for such opinions. He was not strolling but also not overly hurrying. A gentleman walks, never runs. He firmly agreed with that covenant. Norfolk step was always prideful, dignified and purposeful, that he shared with Cecily Seymour, as well as little attention to unimportant people, flatterers and dull-wits. But he did not walk loudly. No, it was not the Duke’s way to announce his presence by stomping wildly about; he liked his shadows, though he also liked to show who was in charge, and impress with his attire; such as the splendid doublet made expensively from the finest silk with areas made of cloth of gold.

The last person he expected to see among this scenery of decrepit nature Norfolk happened to stumble upon: Cecily Seymour, the Duchess of Somerset. Their was a strange relation. He certainly didn’t dislike her as he did other Seymours, especially her husband. Well, she was only married to the name, but she came of the Stanhopes, a good family, and her own disregard for the grouchy Edward, their fabled battles warmed Thomas up towards her. He had no illusions: she would still back Somerset for the sake of their children advancement, but that was not her fault. He would not want this scornful woman as his wife, but where she was, a constant thorn in his enemy’s side, he nearly adored her. And, although she was certainly snobbish, she knew how a duchess should behave. On top of which she had a certain malicious wit, and a fair face and body (from what he could assess in the gowns), and also he suspected that she held him in some peculiar sort of favour; she noticed him and spoke to him, indeed a rarity for her. But then, the Duke of Norfolk was not an inch short from grand and impressive, so no one could resist him. If Jane had not been occupying his mind and body so undividedly, Thomas might consider trying to seduce her into his bed, just to play Seymour for stag and fool. It would be a just payment for Seymour’s sticky fingers on Norfolk’s mistress. Granted, Jane Popincourt wasn’t his mistress at that time, yet the Duke was vindictive, and though now the two men were supposed to be allies, sooner or later Edward Seymour would pay.

But the fleeting images of Cecily as his lover were absurdness, and Somerset penance was far away. He invited the Duchess’s opening remark with a quizzical quirk of a brow. Lady Cecily was a smug person, and he learned to take her words with a bit of a leash. Still, her mentioning of secret matters was both amusing and irritating. She was digging in the wrong patch, stepping on perilous grounds, and he hoped to divert her from such topics. Nevertheless, he decided to play her game, and she would soon find again that he was more than a match for her irony. Your Grace Duchess of Somerset,” he also gave her just a very curt nod, just to keep the semblance of propriety, blow for blow. ”Many thanks. Indeed, it was a great celebration. I trust you will give us the honour of your attendance the next time,” he said all that with a smirk, understanding the Duchess was actually thinking very different things than what she said. He knew, because where his wedding was concerned, he was thinking something entirely else then he let on as well. ”What brings you out into the cold, barren scenery, Your Grace? I took your disposition would rather wait till snow and ice show up,” he played his contratempo. The Duchess, with her often sour face and demeanour, seemed indeed more inclined to frost and deep cold. Norfolk continued to stare at her, the usual puzzling smirk in the corner of his lips, although now it was playful too.
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Cecily Seymour
Unregistered

Thomas Howard. Howard. Cecily's tongue felt peppered with disgust, perhaps her natural ferocity to defend her Seymour name when it came to the family rivalry. But the third Duke of Norfolk seemed to have what his fathers before him did not, he seemed to be a concentrated, intensified result of what pride and nobility could ensue. And for that, Cecily respected him.. if not admired him. She could not underestimate the ambition of this single Howard, and now with a pregnant, dullard wife at his side, the Duchess could only imagine what was to come. And, she knew, that her family would be right there on the other side of the battlefield. Exciting thought, was it not?

The grin across her coral lips never lowered as the Duke approached, the idle dip of his head hardly going by unnoticed. "Your Grace, the Duchess of Somerset." Cecily could be, at times, undoubtedly selfish... especially when the sound of her own name, her own title, left the lips of another. She nodded in response, generally accepting his greeting as the russet hues of her eyes studied what was the Duke of Norfolk. "I trust you will give us the honor of your attendance the next time," her eyes flashed with a sort of inquisitional light, testing his words, the weight behind them and the mischievous glint in the Howard's stare. Next time? Cecily smirked. Whether or not the Duke had ulterior motives when it came to his most recent marriage, Cecily had to praise him for the way he maneuvered himself throughout the cardtable.

"I took your disposition would rather wait till snow and ice show up," such an amusing man, was he not? The edges of her mouth lifted even further in humor, even so much as letting out a light, womanly chuckle. But her posture remained rigid, firm and confident and perhaps stubborn in the presence of the Howard. "And you, Your Grace?" She eyed him closely, still smirking maybe somewhat evilly. "I can see none other place than the barren deserts of Africa to befit your disposition." And by the good grace of God, your wife's too, she thought, briefly perturbed by the memory of the Isabella Cly- Howard. Cecily lifted her chin, dismissing the thought, and gazed quickly out amongst the brown, fungal Grounds behind the Duke. "But now that I think of it," she went on, her eyes flitting back to his equally confident stature. "Perhaps rot and decay is where you seem most comfortable."

Oh, the Duchess was relentless. Merciless, even. But the smugness of her grin perhaps betrayed the intentional malice in her words, or.. maybe it only supported the pride and snobbery the Seymour nee Stanhope herself had been born with. Her territory breached right through the Duke's, her lack of fear evident in simply everything about her person. The way she held herself, the way she gazed and spoke to the Howard without pause, the words she used and the tone that erupted from her elegant throat. "But if Your Grace must know," she exhaled quietly, "I'm simply expecting a letter, surely that is not a surprise."

"I trust you share the same intentions?"
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Thomas Howard
Unregistered

How could she be a Seymour? Whatever Edward Stanhope had thought when marrying his only child to that insufferable snot, Edward Seymour, couldn’t stand in Norfolk’s head. Cecily was by far the only member of this wretched family that Thomas found somewhat worthy of his company. Even though she stood firmly behind her husband, and dared to treat the Duke of Norfolk with such impertinence. But it was all in jest, he understood. This was how Cecily, obliged by her marriage to disdain any Howard, showed her fondness for the Duke. Why, if she had no good opinion of him, then she would not stop to speak to him first, out of her own unforced will. Indeed, this Duchess of Somerset, so different than her dull, colourless husband, brought some spice to the cold war between Norfolk and Somerset. Thomas’s own wife, Isabella, oh if she were at least half of Cecily…

But this thought would only darken him, so Norfolk abandoned it without ever showing that is crossed his mind. He had now a spar with the Lady Cecily, and intended to come out on top. Norfolk had plenty of practice in words, he enjoyed the banter, the duels of wits, as he often exchanged with his mistress, Jane Popincourt. Was that why the French became so close to him, so embedded in the fabric of his days, apart from the obvious physicality? He did briefly wonder what Cecily would be like between the sheets. She certainly had the personality which promised a lot, and probably too much for that boring Edward Seymour. How they managed so many children was beyond Norfolk, but it proved her fertility. If his father had only known what a gem was Cecily in the matter of childbearing – who knows, maybe the misfired marriage of Thomas to Anne of York would be scraped in favour of the Stanhope dowry.

The sting he dealt made the Duchess smile in the same darkly way he did. Oh, they were enjoying themselves, weren’t they? Though he remained unchanged, Norfolk felt a desire to bite his lip in the expectation of Cecily’s retort. He knew it would come and be sharp like the throw of a bullwhip. He wasn’t mistaken, in fact he was almost thrown of. Barren deserts? For him? Oh, this was a deep insult. She certainly had her way about words, this Duchess. Howard’s lips transgressed a smirk and showed a row of his teeth. She had lifted her chin, but she was still shorter than him, especially when he rose on the wings of his pride. Unwittingly, Lady Cecily had given him a cue to a response, although mud and rot were possibly less pleasant than African deserts.

”Only when the rot is of the bodies I rightly smote down, and decay of my enemies, who seem to grow even at my backyard,” she would certainly understand what he meant. The Seymours were still enemies, although Somerset recently offered, and Norfolk accepted, an alliance against Wolsey. It was a welcome change, the proponent of vile Cardinal offering hand in friendship to Norfolk. And Thomas accepted it, not without smug satisfaction, and with musings of the future. There wasn’t place for the Seymours in the world after Wolsey, the realm of the Duke of Norfolk’s planning. But perhaps he would spare Cecily from utter humiliation. For sheer amusement of hearing more of her poisoned remarks. It was said in the Bible, “eye for an eye”. Even if it didn’t involve poking real eyeballs out, the Duke enjoyed paying back to whoever deserved so. Cecily Seymour was spite and malice, in the end she might have been exactly what Edward Seymour deserved. Thomas imagined him getting back home to an angry wife full of bile and remorseful tales, and his smile became even more deadly.

At long last, the Duchess show fitness in telling what brought her out into the cold. But if she expected her interlocutor to give relent and give her peace, then she was sorely mistaken. Of course he understood well what she meant, for he himself had just dispatched a courier out with a missive to one of his estates. But an opportunity to stick a needle in the proud Cecily’s neck was something he couldn’t pass. ”No, no surprise, Your Grace. I take it that you can read, so letters may come,” he said in such a light tone that it surely sounded like he was having a laugh at her expense, which he was. ”But me? No, I make no choice of expecting letters in the great outdoors, they simply arrive at my chamber. Does the messenger know not your address, Your Grace?” The last question he stated without a smile and in such amazing mockery of concern that a witness would have to stop and laugh at the great comedy.
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Cecily Seymour
Unregistered

If there was anything the Duchess of Somerset could possibly like about the Duke of Norfolk, it would be his relentlessness. His confidence, a confidence mirroring hers. He stood there, naturally taller than she, but just as strong and proud and refusing to turn away from this little... game. Cecily's eyes narrowed by the slightest, surveying him as her thoughts pondered further on what was Thomas Howard. Admittedly, the Duchess was actually enjoying the Duke's company. Much to her surprise, no less. "...and decay of my enemies, who seem to grow even at my backyard." The edges of her lips tugged quietly in amusement. Touche. "T'is always smart, Your Grace, to keep your enemies so close." Cecily's expression morphed into something more mischievous, but otherwise stood there unmoving, her chest rising and falling with her subtle breaths.

The Duke of Norfolk was equally unmoving, though, yet he went onwards with what seemed to be a verbal game of chess. She smirked somewhat devilishly at him at his remark of reading, her composure still stoic but a little loosened with humor. Yes, yes, she most certainly enjoyed this Howard's company. "Does the messenger not know your address, Your Grace?" Cecily expelled a soft, breathless chuckle and shook her head. "I do what I can, Your Grace, to keep control over the matter as long as possible. In my chambers, perhaps I could be missing something once my letter leaves my doors.." she eyed him, suddenly wondering just how many pieces of parchment were floating out there with Thomas Howard's signature. How easily could they be found?

"And when they concern that of my son, I am more than compelled to see first-hand the messenger depart Court with it. In this case, I'm expecting to see it arrive..." She lifted her chin marginally then, the darker chocolate of her eyes never leaving the light forest ones of his. "Messengers are still servants, you see.. could trust a hungry snake in the tall grass more than you could a blasted servant." Cecily had learned this well. Though it wasn't particularly her hand that dealt within the card table, there was no denying she still had her eyes focused strictly on the game. "Surely you can understand the disposition of a mother." She smirked subtly, lifting her arms and hands to fold them just beneath her breasts. "For I hear your dear wife is pregnant, yes?" As a duchess, the child would hardly remain by their mother's side.. but still, Cecily wondered what sort of parent Isabella Howard could be. Would be. For the Duke of Norfolk's sake, Cecily hoped the child inherited the natural blood of the Howards, and not whatever it was that was Isabella nee Clyde.
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Thomas Howard
Unregistered

Thomas questioned in his mind the reason Cecily Seymour approached him in the first place. She seemed to enjoy his company, or at least the verbal exchange that was happening. The Duke of Norfolk was an entirely amusing man, when he wanted to appear so, yet he remained unsure the Duchess of Somerset simply wanted to be amused. She was a curious woman, this Lady Cecily, certainly the more so in the matters of her husband, the Duke. Could it be that she discover her husband allying himself with Norfolk for the overthrowing of Wolsey? It would not surprise Norfolk to discover that Thomas Seymour had told her everything, judging that keeping anything from her was useless play, doomed to failure. So far however, she did not make a mention of it, not in the slightest. What she did mention wasn’t void of its hilarity. Norfolk always thought that of the Seymours all, Cecily was the easiest for him to swallow. Had to do with the fact she was only married to the clan, a Seymour by name but a Stanhope by birth.

Since Cecily gave him opportunity to practice his witticisms (he would never admit, but she had a fair share of malicious skill herself), and he was done with the necessary, having dispatched his own emissary, Norfolk didn’t quite mind staying for a moment. Perhaps the Duchess would say something interesting about her husband. But he would even consider his time worth it if she just kept being entertaining as she was. And, he had to admit she had a point about the letters; didn’t he just intercept the courier here in the open, and sent him back on his way without staying at court? She was, perhaps, a wiser woman that he ever anticipated, the Duke needed to remember this if ever Cecily Seymour was to stand in his way. ”Indeed, you could think some of these hire hands were made only for accepting money. A loyal servant, person of honour and trust, seems rare nowadays,” Thomas gave Cecily his assent in the matter. He had seen, after all, ample proofs and proportions of incompetence. But he wasn’t the man to greatly suffer from a servant’s betrayal. He chose them with care, limited their access to his secrets, and disposed off them at the slightest sign of unworthiness. England had enough men and women to satisfy his want of manpower for more than a lifetime.

”I can endeavour to try, Your Grace, albeit I fear I will never be one myself,” he jibed, one of his mischievous smiles shining, as he reminded Lady Cecily of his sex. He could never be a mother, even if he offered all his riches in return. But, as a man, he could and would be a father soon, which he counted far above the role of a woman. A mother pampered her child, saw that the babe was fed and warm, and received its share of sleep. It was the father that nurtured his son with the truly important issues of governing, fighting, and promoting oneself as well as his family. It seemed to Norfolk though, that Cecily harboured more ambitions about being a mother than the usual simple tasks. He wondered just how much interested she was in his own child, and what she meant by bringing Isabella’s babe to the conversation. ”Yes,’tis true, the Duchess and I are expecting a son this summer or autumn. Your Grace’s regard is most appreciated. I should instruct my wife to ask Your Grace for advice. You have, after all, given your husband many healthy babes. I am sure you have much wisdom to share on this subject.” Norfolk chuckled internally at this picture. He was sure Duchess Somerset would do her utmost to rid herself of the Duchess Norfolk. Isabella was but a child in a woman’s skin, and a very irritating one, he should know; an entirely different person Cecily would like herself associated with.
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Cecily Seymour
Unregistered

Hmph. Cecily's legs were beginning to tire, bored, even, of standing there in front of him. She remained unwavering, despite how her thigh muscles yearned to shift back and forth in lack of occupation. But the smirk was constant spread across the color of her flaming lips, though failed to reach the dark mahogany hues of her eyes as she studied the Duke. Accused him, even. Of what, the Duchess was yet to figure out. But in her book, everyone was guilty until proven otherwise. Much like the servants... no, especially the servants. She could assume Thomas Howard had his own personal pen, but even his padlock could not keep the snakes out. Or rather, in. "This is the year fifteen-eleven, Your Grace. Loyalty died perhaps even before Richard the Lionheart." Cecily inhaled a small breath, her breasts rising beneath the low square cut of her gown. Even if the Duke put as much time and choice as he could into the choice of his servants, the Duchess remained unfazed. Even with his particular tastes and sharp eye, again, loyalty only came when the money did. Much like wives...

"I seem to have forgotten," she went on, smirking at him as he declared he'd never be able to be a mother. "The Duke of Norfolk fails to see much beyond the bridge of his own nose." Yes, like any good Duke, Thomas Howard was selfish. Self centered and incredibly self serving. How could a man of his stature not be? As a matter of fact, it was those very things that got him into his seat of nobility in the first place. Or, at least his grandfather's. Cecily Seymour would know best. As he spoke of his expecting son, she could only grin. Confident, was he? Good. He should be. Perhaps if he and his wife willed it enough, God would give them a son. Doubtful, laughable, even, but Cecily actually hoped for it. With Isabella as his Duchess, a son was literally the only thing she could possibly use to compensate. For her sake, for the appearance of the Norfolks' sake, Cecily hoped a son was on the way for them.

Her chin tilted upwards as he mentioned her own children, the two boys healthy in their infant youth and promising with their bloodlines. Yes, they would grow up to be fine, fine men. Though pride had chiseled into her otherwise smooth features, Cecily's upper lip curled if only by the slightest as he spoke of Isabella needing her.. advice. She scoffed quietly, almost chuckling, as she shook her head and smiled. "My husband makes sure our children are well tended to at their homes, away from Court's prying eyes and fluttering illnesses. Being a mother comes second to being a Duchess, perhaps that is what I shall tell your dear wife." She shook her head, trying her hardest to picture Isabella Howard as a dutiful mother. The thought was, again, laughable.. but she bored of it quickly and she leveled her gaze back to the Duke. "For Her Grace seems to have yet gain sight of what that means."

That should have come as no surprise to Thomas. He knew what his wife was, how she acted, how the public eye viewed Norfolk's newest Duchess. Maybe they, too, were praying she would deliver a son.. for the dukedom of Norfolk could not bear any more humiliation. Isabella Howard, in Cecily's eyes, was enough for a few generations. Her eyelids narrowed; she expected the Duke to say something about how she, Duchess of Somerset, had also yet to truly know what being a Duchess meant. But Cecily was prepared to laugh at him, to throw -metaphorically speaking- the dirt right back into those sly green eyes of his. She was, by definition, everything a Duchess should be. Perhaps even moreso. And she would forever take pride and snobbery in that. "I pray your son is given God's lifelong grace, for I know the late Duchess, God rest her soul, seemed to have run short of it."
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Thomas Howard
Unregistered

The Duke was, honestly, getting tired of standing about in one place. While his hands were not quick to wander senselessly, his legs were quite the other way around. He always liked to walk, to pace about while his thoughts unfolded. But he would not invite the Duchess of Somerset to a walk, oh no, he had no desire to. She couldn’t accept anyway, could she? She was tending to her precious messengers with letters of unmatched importance. Your Grace, your younger son broke another milk tooth, he imagined what sort of secret knowledge the news contained. What else could it be but emotional drivel about her family, or the state of the rooms in the Seymour’s estate? Surely Edward was not allowing his wife to interfere with anything of true import? He was an insolent, overbearing man with a bulging sense of achievement and unquenchable thirst for money, offices and power. His pride would not allow him to give Cecily reign over politics, and for once that was a good thing in the Duke’s books.

The Duchess was a spiteful woman, perhaps she matched her husband in more ways than the couple imagined. Better born than him for certain, she carried herself snobbishly and uncaring of her surroundings until in her trips over dung she came over something shiny like the Duke of Norfolk. And then she pecked. But Thomas had a beak of his own, as sharp as St. George’s sword and the dragon’s tooth. ”The Duke of Norfolk sees enough. The Duchess of Somerset should worry more about her own husband’s sight. Until recently his nose and entire head had been wrapped in a cloth of red.” The message was curt and unsubtle, just as duchess’s remark had been. Wasn’t Edward Seymour in Wolsey’s servitude till that affair with Francesca of the Medici broke out? The dealing of the Cardinal himself, this marriage of the King to an Italian nobody, a bastard more delusional than Edward Stafford with his dreams of the crown. Somerset regained his senses much too late, and for the wrong reasons. He took it as a slight that his sisters weren’t offered to the King? Well, rightly so, for his sisters were also nobodies. He’d do best to remarry that widow, and see that his precious hen Jane was also shipped off to the country seat of some baron, or an earl if one could be found with dull enough senses.

Norfolk lifted his chin and listened to Seymour’s wife’s next words defiantly. He knew that she was mocking, and she was in the right. Isabella was no material for the Duchess of Norfolk. Yet his pride and his honour disallowed him of agreeing. He had to make a brave face and pray that indeed she delivered him a strong boy to take over his duchy when Thomas was away from the world. ”Tell her then, it sounds like splendid advice. And I can see you heed it, being cooped up at Hampton instead nursing your babes. But I understand, tolerating His Grace’s ill tempers and wicked humours comes easier than listening to the mewling of children,” he dealt a strike of his own, pointing that her own marriage wasn’t perfect. Edward and Cecily Seymours were an incomprehensible torrent of clashes, strife, dire straits and sharp turns. They gave many a gossiper something to gloat about.

He shifted the weight of his body from one foot to the other and back uneasily at the mention of his first wife. Why did Cecily drag Anne of York into it? It was an old and done matter. But he felt it his duty to respond to her accusation. ”Duchess Anne had God’s grace well enough. Mayhap good Lord has done her a kindness to take her away after long illness. She was a good and pious lady, and of royal blood.” He hoped to have the mention of her finished. ”As to my coming heir, thank you, Your Grace. That is most kind of you. In return, I’ll pray for the good health and long life of your two sons. Fate can be cruel, even away from court. May the bad tides steer well away from the innocent.”
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Cecily Seymour
Unregistered

Her corset, a much obvious symbol of defiance for the Italian Queen, was beginning to stiffen as she stood there. Though her eyes had entertained themselves enough with the man before her, they had all-too anxiously flickered past his shoulder to another man, dressed noticeably modestly compared to the pair he was approaching, and whilst the Duke spoke of her husband and his unfortunate ways, Cecily appraised the messenger with a brief nod and stepped if only marginally to the side. "His Grace is quite.." she began, having dropped her eyes from him yet still withheld the conversation as if the messenger were but a buzzing fly. "Distracted, I would have to agree. For all the wrong reasons, I'm afraid." She extended her arm then, the messenger having neared and receiving the parchment with a low bow. He quickly left then, turning sharply and heading back through the Grounds and to his waiting horse.

"I do endeavor, though, to perhaps try and redirect the density of his focus." She smiled innocently then, her mahogany eyes flitting back to the Duke of Norfolk with merely lifted eyebrows. She shook her head, though, still humorously at his later comment. "I am my childrens' charge, and though I wish to oversee every moment of their care and upbringing.." her eyelids narrowed then, briefly but noticeably. "I am indeed instead to bear the painfully vague Duke of Somerset." Oh, how she despised Edward's lack of ambition for the heart of his family, instead only saw to it that his skin remained by the King's and not by the better interests of his family. Jane was still unmarried, much to Cecily's disappointment, and still she seemed to be overlooked by the Duke's scarred pride. So, she had concluded long ago, it was up to her to advance such things. And she would withstand easily his ill tempers and wicked humours.

The mention of his late Duchess Anne only caused her to lift her chin, though perhaps unnoticeably, in what could have been agreement or respect. Silently she praised Thomas Howard for securing such a marriage, advantageous in the York's regal blood and royal heritage. If only she herself had been blessed with such a match. But, suppose it was not meant to be... for both she and the heirs she carried for him were gone. The Duke of Norfolk's hope now rested on the inexperienced shoulders of the Isabella Clyde, ridiculous and nearly obscene in her nature. If any man could be yearning for a healthy heir, it was the man standing before her, nearly fifteen years her senior with much, much power to give his noble offspring. Yet nowhere quite to give it. "I shall see to it, Your Grace," she began with an idle smirk, "That such ill tides are far, far from the likes of my succession."

With her letter gone and her first intention now fulfilled, Cecily seemed now to be less interested in her company. Thomas Howard had been an unexpected though welcomed distraction while she waited for the messenger, but with him now having come and gone, the Duchess was left open for her further priorities. Her priorities that did not include paltry conversation with the Duke of Norfolk, her respected and perhaps even admired adversary. All for ancient, ancestral reasons that the both of them would never fail to neglect. "But my position as the Duchess of Somerset comes first, as Your Grace would know best, and I believe it quite obvious our time has grown stale. Perhaps another day, Your Grace, we can refresh what has gone stagnant." She smirked subtly then, lowering into a quick curtsy and rising to meet his eyes a last time before turning on her heels and floating, dignified, back into Court.

END?
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