In the pique of his life, Henry Stanford had always been a vivacious man. His passion and his courage was hardly rivaled and his gung-ho ways were unmatched by the men who surrounded him. But, now Lord Stanford had lost his will, his spirit. The loss of two of his children had certainly changed the man. Gone now were his youthful ways, hid broad grin. They had been replaced with a vacant sort of stare, a blank slate of a face that failed to capture the pain he felt behind it.
His confrontation of the young king had silenced the throne room in an eerie manner that had, surprisingly, hardly phased his father-in-law. Henry Stanford knew what he had done, what he had said, had all been just. Charles had been slandering his flesh and blood and, if there was one thing to note about Henry, it was that he took such words to heart. Already he had had two disgraces in the family. He did not need the king declaring his wife another one, especially so soon after they'd lost Lizzie. The death had seemed to pass uneventfully over Henry. This was, however, certainly not the case. The robust man, though powerful in physical appearance, had wept too for the loss of his first grandchild. But, his grieving did not last as long as the others. Perhaps it was because he was already numb to the pains of loss. Either way, he had missed his granddaughter greatly, but that did not shed any light on Charles's use of "bitch" and "whore" to describe Harriet. His Harriet, his little girl...Henry had managed to keep his anger at a minimum. In fact, he hardly ever got fired up over anything nowadays. He was much more docile, though certainly not submissive.
As Charles rode away, murmuring had begun at a dull roar in the throne room as the gathered men slowly dispersed, all shooting glances at Lord Stanford. Surely, their king would do something about the man, said some of the whispers. Henry had by then however, tuned out the comments and had moved into the hallway.
Without his wife or his daughter or the court assembled, he truly didn't have anything to occupy himself. Therefore, he took to aimlessly wandering the long hallways while he let his mind wander. Not once, in those hours between the departure of Charles and the present, did his mind slow at least once. Instead, it raced wildly, thinking of, well, everything. In fact, his mind was still racing when Mary Rayleigh approached him. Perhaps he would not have noticed her if she hadn't gestured respectfully toward him and caused him to blink quickly.
"How are thing on your end?" he managed to catch as he he turned his attention to her.
"Duchess Rayleigh," he returned, bowing down at the waist before her. "Forgive me, I hadn't heard you approach me..." He had never been a fan of the woman. In fact, his dislike for her ran strong and deep. Yet, he knew the woman would not approve of him using a tone with her or speaking disrespectfully toward her. Mary Rayleigh, unfortunately, possessed a higher rank than him. Words could not even begin to describe the annoyance this created for Henry. And yet, even though he should not have spoken out in front of her, he still felt the need to instigate her. "I do hope His Majesty was not too upset before he left. You understand, don't you? Protecting ones family from harm, both physical and verbal, is a priority, no?" He had clapsed his hands neatly before himself, head tilted slightly to prompt her as he waited for a response.
His confrontation of the young king had silenced the throne room in an eerie manner that had, surprisingly, hardly phased his father-in-law. Henry Stanford knew what he had done, what he had said, had all been just. Charles had been slandering his flesh and blood and, if there was one thing to note about Henry, it was that he took such words to heart. Already he had had two disgraces in the family. He did not need the king declaring his wife another one, especially so soon after they'd lost Lizzie. The death had seemed to pass uneventfully over Henry. This was, however, certainly not the case. The robust man, though powerful in physical appearance, had wept too for the loss of his first grandchild. But, his grieving did not last as long as the others. Perhaps it was because he was already numb to the pains of loss. Either way, he had missed his granddaughter greatly, but that did not shed any light on Charles's use of "bitch" and "whore" to describe Harriet. His Harriet, his little girl...Henry had managed to keep his anger at a minimum. In fact, he hardly ever got fired up over anything nowadays. He was much more docile, though certainly not submissive.
As Charles rode away, murmuring had begun at a dull roar in the throne room as the gathered men slowly dispersed, all shooting glances at Lord Stanford. Surely, their king would do something about the man, said some of the whispers. Henry had by then however, tuned out the comments and had moved into the hallway.
Without his wife or his daughter or the court assembled, he truly didn't have anything to occupy himself. Therefore, he took to aimlessly wandering the long hallways while he let his mind wander. Not once, in those hours between the departure of Charles and the present, did his mind slow at least once. Instead, it raced wildly, thinking of, well, everything. In fact, his mind was still racing when Mary Rayleigh approached him. Perhaps he would not have noticed her if she hadn't gestured respectfully toward him and caused him to blink quickly.
"How are thing on your end?" he managed to catch as he he turned his attention to her.
"Duchess Rayleigh," he returned, bowing down at the waist before her. "Forgive me, I hadn't heard you approach me..." He had never been a fan of the woman. In fact, his dislike for her ran strong and deep. Yet, he knew the woman would not approve of him using a tone with her or speaking disrespectfully toward her. Mary Rayleigh, unfortunately, possessed a higher rank than him. Words could not even begin to describe the annoyance this created for Henry. And yet, even though he should not have spoken out in front of her, he still felt the need to instigate her. "I do hope His Majesty was not too upset before he left. You understand, don't you? Protecting ones family from harm, both physical and verbal, is a priority, no?" He had clapsed his hands neatly before himself, head tilted slightly to prompt her as he waited for a response.