Elizabeth Tudor, the fifth Tudor child and sister to the fearsome and noble King Henry VIII sat in the great grounds of the French palace. She was set to be married to the Dauphin of France, but he had died of consumption two nights before they were due to be wed. Today she should have been a bride, but instead she sat waiting for her escort. Elizabeth was not upset about the ordeal, on the contrary she was most happy to return to her beloved England. The French court was very different; the women were brasher and had a different way to the English. Elizabeth was a true English rose and so she was not sat with a heavy heart as she awaited her escort. 

Elizabeth looked down to the letter that was sent by her own brother’s hand. It was addressed to Bessie, the affectionate name that Henry had given her. The Kingdom called her The Tudor Rose, for her exquisite features and being labelled the most beautiful of the Tudors. She was tall for a female, standing at five foot and six inches, and had a feminine figure of plump breasts and curved hips. She had high cheek bones and almond shaped eyes, surrounded by lengthy lashes. Her eyes were a clear blue colour, one of the features many adored about her. She had waist length golden hair that carried a natural wave with it, which was beneath the low, fashioned French hood. Her skin was polished and blemish free, with a natural blush to her cheeks. Today she wore a purple gown; the colour of royalty. 

Her ladies sat doing their embroidery and reading, whilst Elizabeth sat on the wall of the fountain. She watched the fish swim beneath the surface, lost in thought. Rumour carried that her brother had taken a liking to Anne Boleyn, and was seeking a divorce from Queen Katherine. Elizabeth did not agree with this, being of Catholic faith, and harbouring a strong love for the Spanish Queen, Elizabeth would not believe any marital union between his majesty and the whore Boleyn. Elizabeth sighed and turned away from the water, and she saw one of the French groomsmen come toward her. “Ladies” Elizabeth said and they stood as she took to her feet, to greet the man. 
“Votre altesse royale” Said the man who bowed, and Elizabeth inclined her head. “Sa Grâce le duc de Buckingham est arrivé” He said in French. 
“Merci monsieur” She replied before she followed the man from the grounds. Elizabeth had heard distant stories of the Duke of Buckingham, and she had to question why the King would send him. He had a way of taking maids and quite the reputation. He was a treasured friend of her brother, but she knew little else. Elizabeth had not spent much time in court, her age had kept her at Richmond Palace and was betrothed quite young. She was now 18, and was to go back to Court. 

Entering the halls, the Duke stood in conversation with King Louis, and Elizabeth bowed before him. She straightened up and looked to the Duke, and was instantly startled by how handsome he was, with an almost dangerous air to him. She did not show this as King Louis spoke. “My dear Elizabeth” He spoke in broken French. “What a daughter you’d have made… and such beautiful heirs” He spoke sadly, still dressed in black. “My fondest farewells” he said kissing her. 
“I leave with a heavy heart, Majesty” Elizabeth spoke, although it wasn’t exactly true. She only missed the fact that she would have one day been Queen of France. They bid their farewells, before Elizabeth followed the Duke out to the carriages. She was going home.