Her fingers traced over the letters, she sighed as she looked to the miniature. Her beloved Thomas Culpepper, the man she had hoped to spend her life with and bare children too, gone. The King, who himself had become infatuated with Catherine, had stolen the Courtier along in his personal entourage in the campaign in France, and Thomas had died along with his Majesty. The news had crushed her and she adorned herself in black ever since. Of course, everyone believed the Queens cousin to be in mourning for the King, but it was more personal. Catherine opened the drawer of the table and placed the letters inside, but not before pressing them to her lips. Pushing the drawer closed, Catherine stood and turned to her ladies who held a black gown up. “I think today… the blue” She said, and that infectious smile spread itself across her porcelain face. The ladies smiled and applauded, happy to have their old Mistress back. They rushed forwards to dress her in the periwinkle blue gown with ivory embroidery and beading, a colour that matched her colourings so well.

She left the rooms she occupied at Court, having not returned to her own residence, and walked down to the large halls. Catherine had been made Duchess of Cambridge, lands bestowed on her by the King. She had also been given rights to lands in Norfolk, a gift her uncle strongly disliked. She still found it so odd to think herself a Duchess, she had not long been at Court, and now had gifts, land and a Duchy, simply because the King took a fancy to her and strived to make her his, and because she was a cousin to the Queen, a member of the family who was yet to bring shame against the Howards. Hadn’t George Boelyn been rumoured to lay with Mark Smeaton? The Queens favoured musician? And dear Mary, a rumoured bastard child and ridden by Kings, both English and French. There was a lot of scandal around the Boleyn and Howard name, but the families were powerful enough to rise above it.

She walked down accompanied by her retinue of Ladies, her golden hair in curls beneath the small, fashioned French hood at the back of her head. She looked her finest and had her smile upon her face, and she neared the halls she inclined her head. “Her Grace, the Duchess of Cambridge” Called the male and Catherine entered the already noisy hall. She made straight for her cousin and she paused before the royal table. “Your majesty” Catherine said in her crystal tone, lowering down into a courtesy. “Cousin” She added as she straightened up. “I offer sincerest gratitude to you, for allowing my extended stay at Court” She said to her cousin as someone offered her a cup of wine. She raised the cup to the queen and took a sip before moving away. She would not dine at the royal table; she had little appetite as it was, but preferred to be at a more social stand point. She drank deeply from her cup as she spoke with her ladies, laughing and observing the men within the hall. Another cup was handed to her and she sipped from it, before the ladies turned giggling.

“Your Grace” came a voice, and Catherine turned and her fingers moved to wipe away the wine that spilled from her lips. A silky broken French voice had purred to her, and she smiled to the courtier. He offered his hand as music began and Catherine giggled and gave her cup to one of her ladies.
“My lord” she said placing her hand into his palm and followed him to the centre of the room. She stood opposite him and into his handsome features and she curtseyed as he bowed, before walking forwards and twirling round him. The dull ache of losing her precious Culpepper still throbbed in her chest, but as she slipped into the merry court life, and the happiness that dance gave her, the ache subdued. She placed her thin hand upon his shoulder as he placed his on hers. They stepped forwards and then back, side and then to the other, moving as the dance called for it. In a swirl of curls and skirts, she spun around, being the accomplished and fluid dancer, many had stood and clapped their hands to the dance.