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| Reading between the lines; tag;; Thomas Wyatt | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Dec 30 2010, 05:50 AM (141 Views) | |
| Margaret Percy | Dec 30 2010, 05:50 AM Post #1 |
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Much of the beginning of Margaret's time at court had been spent learning her responsibilities as one of the queen's ladies or visiting with the various family members that walked Hampton's halls, but now that she had a free moment, she was off to explore one of the places she'd longed to see since before she came - the library. It almost felt like a place she shouldn't be visiting, though she knew it was open to all courtiers. Libraries felt like sacred places where you shouldn't be speaking above a whisper, and even whispers fell like shouts against the still air. Oh, but they were the places where she could taste dreams in the air. Margaret was well-read for a young lady, thanks to the education she had received from Henry's Flemish tutor. Reading wasn't a problem for her - she could write fairly well, if anyone could decipher her handwriting. Thankfully she would not be writing in any of the books she chose to read today. And she would have to be very careful indeed with the titles that she chose, if she didn't want to be slapped with the wrong sort of label. Margaret was going to great lengths to see that her reputation at court was just as good as it had been while she was at home, and she certainly had no desire to be branded a heretic like some of the Queen's ladies. The thought of being sent to the Tower scared her more than anything else at the moment, though William had said she shouldn't be afraid. Well, all she wanted from here was a good book, and she would take her selection and go sit in a quiet, secluded corner and read until it was time for her to be somewhere else. With this thought in mind, she was quietly browsing some of the shelves, eying up titles as she went along. What was she in the mood for today? Perhaps something comical, or adventurous, or historical, or... thoughts drifting, she ran her fingers along the spine of one before plucking it off the shelf, looking down on it in her hands. This might do. Now, for somewhere to read it. Glancing up, Margaret looked 'round and accidentally met the eyes of a young - and very handsome - man. She lowered her eyes and looked away again, forever modest. She had yet to truly understand or master the art of flirtation. It made her nervous. But she was all right with conversation, should it arise. "It is a good day for reading," She remarked quietly with a glance toward one of the windows. Outside, snow was falling and the wind was blowing. A good day for reading indeed, and not going anywhere at all. She returned her eyes to the library's other occupant. "Have you found something to occupy your time?" It was posed innocently enough. |
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| Thomas Wyatt | Dec 30 2010, 06:24 AM Post #2 |
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It was no use. He sat in Hampton Court Palace, in the library to be sure, writing thought after thought as it came, but when it came to writing for his Lady Love Mary Shelton, the ache of a thousand knives piercing his heart straight through started within his chest and he found that he could no more sort through his thoughts than he could go to her and make her understand precisely what it was that he loved so much about her. The piece he was working on, he was trying to write for happier moods. He was through mourning her loss and though a goodly portion of his poems had been made famous through the loss of Mary Shelton to the higher classes, he was prepared to move on and find some semblance of peace. And then she had showed up again. His heart knew not whether to flutter out of his chest in sheer joy of the fact or stop dead in his chest and mourn the fact that, despite her being so close to him now, he would likely never have that one taste of paradise. Wyatt was contemplating ripping up the piece of parchment in front of him and tossing it to the hearth when he caught sight of a lady entering the library. Almost instantly, he straightened up in his seat. She was young, to be sure, but ever a beauty. He tilted his head to the side a moment as he regarded her. The sheer joy he saw mirrored in the eyes of the lovely lady was enough to spark his curiosity. He watched her as she glided from one side of the room to another and a small smile creased in his lips. Before he realized what he was doing, he was writing. He was writing for her and not for Mary Shelton. He was not lamenting the loss of his Lady Love. He was not professing his sorrow, pain and utmost malcontent. He was merely writing for her. He was writing of one Lady's beauty and he had yet to know her name. He would though. Just as soon as his thoughts took form in ink on parchment, he would learn her name. Finally, he set his quill down and lifted his eyes to meet hers. She looked nervous for a moment, almost as if she were a hart with an arrow trained right at her throat, bowstring taught. She knew very well who was stalking her and yet knew not when the killing blow would come. Involuntarily, Thomas found himself glancing at the pale curve of her neck. Lovely a young woman she was indeed. "It is a good day for reading," He smiled at that and nodded. "It is." he commented. "Not nearly so lovely a day for reading as it is for sharing the company of a beautiful Lady." He confessed. "Have you found something to occupy your time?" He glanced down at the parchment in front of him and a wry smile twisted his lips for a moment. "I should imagine I have." he commented. He gestured to a seat across the large table he sat at. "Please, would you join me a moment?" he asked her. Regardless of whether or not she took the seat, he spoke again. "I had the beginnings of a sonnet started when you happened upon me and graced me with your radiance. I do believe that you were all the muse I needed to finish my sonnet, My Lady. Would you care to hear?" he asked of her. |
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| Margaret Percy | Jan 17 2011, 07:12 AM Post #3 |
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For a moment, Margaret worried that she had unfairly interrupted the man that wrote so quickly with a quill that danced over the parchment before him. He looked caught up in his work, and she was only looking for conversation. If only her heart weren't beating so quickly. She tried to say how it was a good day for reading without tripping over her own tongue, and he smiled. That didn't do her poor little heart any good at all. "It is," He replied, and she smiled back, a little shy. "Not nearly so lovely a day for reading as it is for sharing the company of a beautiful Lady." That made her cheeks flush slightly, and she looked down at the book in her hands. "You are very kind, sir." The smile was still teasing her lips upward as she glanced up through her lashes at him. She didn't know the first thing about flirting, but for the first time part of her wished that she did. "Please, would you join me for a moment? I had the beginnings of a sonnet started when you happened upon me and graced me with your radiance." Margaret's eyes widened slightly in surprise. He was a poet. His involvement in literature only endeared him further to Margaret. "I do believe that you were all the muse I needed to finish my sonnet, My Lady. Would you care to hear?" Margaret took very little convincing. With a nod that was almost too eager, she moved toward the empty seat, her eyes trapped on the man's face. If his verses were as beautiful as his eyes were, she was going to enjoy listening. She thought she might anyway, even if his writing was poor. A small voice in the back of her head warned her not to be so foolish, but it was very hard to listen when her stomach was flipping itself over into pleasant little knots. "I would be honored to listen," She said, but it felt like more of a confession. "I love poetry." The book she'd held in her hands was placed aside on the table next to her so she could straighten the skirts of the dress she wore. It was very difficult to take her eyes away from the man - the poet, now - who sat across from her. Curious, her gaze strayed to the parchment before him, but only for a moment. Trying to read upside down gave her a headache and at any rate, she didn't want to spoil the pleasure of hearing the words come from his mouth. "Do you write very often?" Oh, and there she went asking her questions again. "Forgive me - please don't answer that. Sometimes I don't know when to hold my tongue." Feeling rather flustered now, she tried to ignore the heat rising in her cheeks. "I'm very eager to listen." |
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10:53 AM Jul 11