Some claim her eyes are as judgmental as her tongue, and she does watch as the French princess takes her seat. Margaret notices when Georgette finds pain in her steps, and then pales as if she matches her shade, aside from the lovely red, with the glimpses of white light through the windows. Reflections of snow, no doubt, more than the sun…yet the spring draws nearer now. Margaret hadn’t been outside to check today, but maybe the weather has simply affected Georgette. In her heart, Margaret wants to think that it’s temporary if James has truly favored her. In her mind, she knows it’s not a good sign. Scotland can’t afford a weak Queen. James needed a strong wife to bare him children, to help manage the throne, and a wife who can survive the harsh journey across the sea. But Margaret has always followed her heart, hasn’t she?
Her thoughts’ warnings fade behind a genuine smile. “Nonsense, your company is always welcome. You may join me any time you wish,” she offered, waving the doubt away. The Dowager Queen couldn’t very well play cards by herself, or gain much enjoyment playing with a passing ghost. They were hardly worthy opponents, and it sounded like Georgette’s ladies tired of the game far too fast. Hands busied themselves with a shuffle, contemplating for which game she should make the deal. The uncertainty, the gamble. Did risks ever have a happy ending? Margaret thought they did sometimes, as she’d ended up alright in Scotland those first few years. “Aye, it’s as with life. Full of uncertainties.” She started to deal. “My mother and father taught me as child. We would often play as a family,” she remembered those days fondly, even if she’d thrown several fits at Henry for ‘cheating’. Arthur would let her win. “I hear most of yours has been arrived to Hampton as of late? I’ve been meaning to meet with your father.”
–– Scrutiny was a necessary component in the lives of Europe’s royalty. Kings and Queens were anointed, not appointed; ordained in an abbey, not selected in an election. They were reflections of absolute sovereignty and stapled to that was an enormous responsibility. Georgette was more than able to swallow the Queen Dowager’s icy scrutiny, having endured a similar treatment the majority of her life, with only flickers of fear and an urge to flee kindling in her marrow akin to the preliminary sparks of a flame. Even so, the compulsion to draw comparisons was difficult to stifle once born. Margaret Tudor embodied the woman few had the luxury of becoming; willful, autonomous, surrounded by a throng of kings willing to declare war on the first man to harm a single stand of scarlet hair upon her head – her son included. Georgette eyed her warily, an uncertain brew of envy, respect and apprehension fermenting in the pits of her stomach.
“ As did my family. ” Georgette gracefully gathered her cards in one hand and began to organize them by rank – the irony of doing so was not lost on her albeit – and hue. As Margaret spoke, warm memories flooded the princess’ senses, recollections of her brother, father and mother huddling around the hearth and dishing out game after game. She gripped these memories close to her chest, knowing that once they left her, they would be gone forevermore. “ Indeed, I fear what began as mere business negotiations between my father and the new king has morphed into a grand... ah, sojourn. ” Her grasp of the English language frail, Geo glanced up at the dowager beneath a thicket of red lashes, “ this is to be my first winter away from home. I could not have anticipated how cold England would be in February. Is Scotland much colder, your grace? I could scarcely imagine such a reality! ”
