Though Hatfield had been her sanctuary, Hever Castle had been her haven. As a girl she would dream of the building itself being the very idea of splendid intimacies woven into sweet meats and generous attentions. Whilst at Hatfield she was the Gloriana, the Princess and heir to the country. At Hever, under the nourishment of a Boleyn eye, she was a precious niece. And so, she could not help but favour them, her arms extended for their company, her kiss honest and sweet compared to ones manufactured to be anything but.
“You must tell her how tall I sit,” she cheered, laughing a little over the dream of the situation, as if she had waited her entire life to sit upon that throne of Olde. But, her merriment wavered with the tilt of her mouth, the truth that was to come undone teetering on the edge — she could trust Jane Boleyn, could she not? She could whisper the news from Florence, or the missives sent from Dover. That the Queen Mary was due to make a return on English soil? Elizabeth hesitated for just a moment before leaning into Jane’s intimacy, her eyes flared with importance. “My dear Aunt, you are of my kin, the mother of my dearest cousin… I cannot help but wonder if now is the time where all shall change, that from here henceforth England enters a new age….” With the room splintering into different groups, her own Ladies fluttering around them as a veil to anyone else, Elizabeth drew herself closer, her eyes sparkling with intrigue. “They say that my illegitimate brother lives, the Seymour’s son.” @jancboleyn