Earning the Love of a Princess-Chapter 145: What Remains Behind

26 February, 1360. Westerhaven Palace, Islia

The palace turned into a quiet, dreary place after the Islian army had departed. There were no boisterous dinners, no flirtations or entertainment. It became a shadow court of anxious women, many clutching rosary beads wherever they went.

Without William’s presence, Camilla felt like the colour and vibrancy had been stripped from her life, one grey day simply merging into the next. She tried to stifle her sadness as much as possible through, because she knew many ladies were suffering even more.

Princess Blanche had literally had to drag herself from childbed to watch Prince James depart, when he’d only spent a couple of days with their new child. Elizabeth Taunsen would have to give birth her own baby without her husband at her side, as no one expected the army to have returned by April. Even the queen carried the weight of knowing her husband and five beloved sons had ridden out to face danger.

Camilla found herself sitting in her presence chamber that afternoon, staring blankly into the dancing flames in the fireplace. She was stitching an altarpiece with her ladies, though she doubted she had completed even a dozen stitches.

Outside, fierce winds made the heavy windows rattle slightly. The cloudy sky added to her dreary mood.

Camilla picked up a piece of bread and took a little nibble. She had found that small bites of dry bread throughout the day helped settle her stomach.

"Don’t you want some cheese or meat with your bread, my lady?" Katerine asked from a nearby spot on the richly carpeted floor. "I can fetch some from the kitchens if you like."

The thought of cheese or meat almost made Camilla gag in revulsion. She pasted on a smile and responded, "No, thank you. This is perfectly fine."

The ladies spoke little as they stitched, each absorbed in her own melancholic thoughts. Camilla looked up at Elizabeth’s downcast expression.

"Are you alright, Bess? Do you need another cushion for your back?"

Elizabeth gave Camilla a tired smile as she rubbed her rounded belly. "Thank you, my lady but I’m as comfortable as can be. The little one just refuses to stop kicking me."

Meg handed Elizabeth a cup of warm ale and patted her back. "At least you know it’s not too much longer to wait now, even though I’m sure these last few weeks will feel like an eternity for you."

Elizabeth’s face crumpled for a brief moment, then she sighed and smiled. "I just wish Archibald could be here for it. He has been so excited about the baby."

Jealousy, sharp and stinging, prickled in Camilla’s chest. She squelched it quickly, hating herself for feeling that way. "Are the midwives still convinced it’ll be mid April, then?"

Elizabeth nodded, her face showing both intense fear and excitement. Sipping her ale for a moment, she then spoke again. "Archibald has been calling the baby his merry little spring lamb. He says he’s happy whether it’s a boy or a girl."

"That is so sweet!" Katerine melted.

"I just don’t want to do this alone." Elizabeth’s pretty face turned pale. "And I’m scared of giving birth. I’ve heard so many horrible stories, especially from the midwives themselves."

"You’re not doing this alone, Bess. You have us." Meg’s voice was firm. "We’ll accompany you wherever you want, even in the birthing chamber if you need us there."

The other two young women nodded in agreement. Then Camilla scowled. "What kind of person shares horrible childbirth tales with someone expecting their first child? Especially the midwives. Those crones should know better."

The very same crones into whose hands I’ll have to put my own baby’s life in a few months, Camilla realised. Her nerves twinged.

Elizabeth gazed at Camilla. "And when is your baby due, my lady?"

Meg and Katerine turned to stare, wide eyed.

"Late August, I believe." After a moment of hesitation, Camilla gave her a tiny smile. "What gave it away, Bess? My refusing to touch Queen Celia’s gift of venison the other day?"

Elizabeth laughed. "That and the sight of you being violently sick into the bathtub. Also, you seem to only eat plain bread these days."

"Congratulations! The prince must be so pleased, my lady!" Meg beamed.

Camilla’s smile fell away, replaced by worry. "He doesn’t know yet. I only realised a few days ago and when I planned to tell William, my uncle’s forces invaded and with all the war preparations, there wasn’t even a minute alone between us for me to tell him." She felt her shoulders slump.

"Well, he’ll be glad of it when he returns." Meg concluded awkwardly.

Camilla shook her head. "I actually don’t know if he will, Meg. William doesn’t like children at all."

Elizabeth gave her a puzzled stare. "What do you mean? We’re talking about his own child, not some random urchin he comes across out on a street. Don’t you think that would make him happy?"

"No." Camilla hastened to explain to the three shocked faces around her. "William had a very hard childhood. Wealthy of course, but deeply unhappy. He had no mother and he had an ugly relationship with his late father. I don’t think he’s ever wanted a child of his own. Maybe he fears history would repeat itself."

There was something possessive about William’s love for her, Camilla had often mused. He often spoke of wishing to never have to share her with anyone. In the past, it made her feel like the most cherished woman alive. But now, she feared his possessiveness meant he wouldn’t want to share her even with their own child.

"But...but things would be different now!" Katerine argued. "He’d be a better father than his own was. And you’d be around, my lady-"

Katerine abruptly shut her mouth. No woman could know for sure whether she’d survive the perils of childbirth and be around to raise her baby. There was no point voicing the bleak sentiment though, especially in front of Elizabeth.

Silence overtook the room again as each young woman mulled over unhappy thoughts.

- - -

That night, Camilla lay in her cold, empty bed. She’d gotten so used to William’s presence - his warmth, his voice as they’d whispered late into the night about anything and everything, the way he liked to sleep with her pressed up against his hard body.

Yet another reason to hate her uncle.

Her eyes throbbed with tiredness but the time passed and sleep refused to arrive. In a fit of pique, she sat up against the headboard and tried to picture the next few months. She then tried to picture herself as a mother.

She came up completely blank.

What did she know about children? Absolutely nothing. She’d never handled a baby or even looked at one properly. She’d never had the opportunity to watch her own mother with an infant because she’d been the youngest child of her parents.

How would she know what to do? How to hold a baby, how often to feed or wash it? What would she do if the baby became ill or wouldn’t stop crying?

Camilla tried to tell herself that every woman expecting her first child would feel the same way, have the same doubts - but would they really? From what she’d seen, mothers carrying their babies in arms always appeared so serene and sure of themselves.

Maybe she wasn’t suited to the role at all.

She could feel her heart starting to race with anxiety. She didn’t want to parent alone. She wanted William at her side to help, even if he didn’t know what he was doing either. At least he’d actually spent time around small children, with his cousins’ numerous babies.

Then again, Camilla thought ruefully, he tended to avoid those children like plague ridden rats.

She watched the fire slowly dying in the fireplace. Placing her hands on her belly, she whispered, "I’m going to do my very best for you, I promise. I’ll learn as fast as I can and try not to make too many terrible mistakes. You’re a little blessing. And I’ll convince your father of that too."

- - -

The queasiness churning through Camilla the following morning was strong, though not as terrible as it had been other times. She touched nothing on her breakfast tray apart from the dry bread. Even the fruit preserved in honey made her stomach turn a little.

"Which gown would you like to wear, my lady?" Bonnie asked her as the other two maids prepared the bath in the dressing room. Camilla felt overwhelmingly sad whenever she stepped into that room and saw William’s formal outfits still hanging there. Seeing his bare armour stand was like a blade in her heart.

Maybe she could ask Tession to come up with a tonic that stopped her from feeling weepy every waking moment, Camilla grumbled to herself.

To her maid, she replied, "Oh, you can choose, Bonnie. It’s all the same to me at the moment."

She knew would be another long day of anxious silence.