Genre Fiction
![Alison Weir - [object Object] author](https://res.cloudinary.com/readsomnia/image/upload/authors/a_B000AQ41I6.jpg)
The Last White Rose: A Novel of Elizabeth of York
New York Times bestselling author Alison Weir explores the turbulent life of Henry VIII's mother, Elizabeth, the first queen of the Tudor dynasty, in this stunning historical novel.
Elizabeth of York is the oldest daughter of King Edward IV. Flame-haired, beautiful, and sweet-natured, she is adored by her family; yet her life is suddenly disrupted when her beloved father dies in the prime of life. Her uncle, the notorious Richard III, takes advantage of King Edward's death to grab the throne and imprison Elizabeth's two younger brothers, the rightful royal heirs. Forever afterward known as "the Princes in the Tower," the boys are never seen again. On the heels of this tragedy, Elizabeth is subjected to Richard's overtures to make her his wife, further legitimizing his claim to the throne. King Richard has murdered her brothers, yet she feels she must accept his proposal.
As if in a fairy tale, Elizabeth is saved by Henry Tudor, who challenges Richard and defeats him at the legendary Battle of Bosworth Field. Following his victory, Henry becomes king and asks Elizabeth to be his wife, the first queen of the Tudor line. The marriage is happy and fruitful, not only uniting the warring houses of Lancaster and York-the red and white roses-but producing four surviving children, one of whom, Henry VIII, will rule the country for the next thirty-six years.
As in her popular Six Tudor Queens series, Alison Weir captures the personality of one of Britain's most important consorts, conveying Elizabeth of York's dramatic life in a novel that is all the richer because of its firm basis in history.
Elizabeth of York is the oldest daughter of King Edward IV. Flame-haired, beautiful, and sweet-natured, she is adored by her family; yet her life is suddenly disrupted when her beloved father dies in the prime of life. Her uncle, the notorious Richard III, takes advantage of King Edward's death to grab the throne and imprison Elizabeth's two younger brothers, the rightful royal heirs. Forever afterward known as "the Princes in the Tower," the boys are never seen again. On the heels of this tragedy, Elizabeth is subjected to Richard's overtures to make her his wife, further legitimizing his claim to the throne. King Richard has murdered her brothers, yet she feels she must accept his proposal.
As if in a fairy tale, Elizabeth is saved by Henry Tudor, who challenges Richard and defeats him at the legendary Battle of Bosworth Field. Following his victory, Henry becomes king and asks Elizabeth to be his wife, the first queen of the Tudor line. The marriage is happy and fruitful, not only uniting the warring houses of Lancaster and York-the red and white roses-but producing four surviving children, one of whom, Henry VIII, will rule the country for the next thirty-six years.
As in her popular Six Tudor Queens series, Alison Weir captures the personality of one of Britain's most important consorts, conveying Elizabeth of York's dramatic life in a novel that is all the richer because of its firm basis in history.
Editorial Reviews
Praise for Katharine Parr, The Sixth Wife
"Like its predecessors, this is a detailed and convincing portrait of an extraordinary life. Taken as a whole, this series is a serious achievement."-The Times
"Weir delivers engaging historical characters, filling the white spaces of their lives with believable interests, convincing motivation, and realistic daily routines. . . . The conversations are sparkling, gripping and word-perfect. . . . This masterly novel seamlessly blends history into the story's fabric. A superb read and a remarkable end to a brilliant series."-Historical Novel Society
"Engaging and deeply researched . . . [Alison] Weir brings her expertise of the Tudor era to bear with rich detail and historical perspective on politics and religion, and the many intelligent conversations between Katharine and Henry VIII add to the charm. With a mercurial, captivating king as hook, Weir serves up a sharp and lucid blend of grim fact and stylish fiction."-Publishers Weekly
"A solid choice for Tudor enthusiasts looking for a well-researched, entertaining novel."-Library Journal
"With Katharine Parr, The Sixth Wife . . . Weir cements her well-deserved renown as a novelist and historian who elevates both genres far beyond expectation. . . . . Perhaps most poignant and memorable is Weir's creative entry into the depths of a Tudor queen's heart and mind. Katharine's personality seems no mere fantasy, but an honest and empathic embrace of feminine power and vulnerability that is deeply relatable for women of every historical era."-Bookreporter
"This brilliant series has brought Henry VIII's six wives to life as never before. This novel will enthrall and inspire, just as much as it will break your heart."-Tracy Borman, author of The Private Lives of the Tudors
"Like its predecessors, this is a detailed and convincing portrait of an extraordinary life. Taken as a whole, this series is a serious achievement."-The Times
"Weir delivers engaging historical characters, filling the white spaces of their lives with believable interests, convincing motivation, and realistic daily routines. . . . The conversations are sparkling, gripping and word-perfect. . . . This masterly novel seamlessly blends history into the story's fabric. A superb read and a remarkable end to a brilliant series."-Historical Novel Society
"Engaging and deeply researched . . . [Alison] Weir brings her expertise of the Tudor era to bear with rich detail and historical perspective on politics and religion, and the many intelligent conversations between Katharine and Henry VIII add to the charm. With a mercurial, captivating king as hook, Weir serves up a sharp and lucid blend of grim fact and stylish fiction."-Publishers Weekly
"A solid choice for Tudor enthusiasts looking for a well-researched, entertaining novel."-Library Journal
"With Katharine Parr, The Sixth Wife . . . Weir cements her well-deserved renown as a novelist and historian who elevates both genres far beyond expectation. . . . . Perhaps most poignant and memorable is Weir's creative entry into the depths of a Tudor queen's heart and mind. Katharine's personality seems no mere fantasy, but an honest and empathic embrace of feminine power and vulnerability that is deeply relatable for women of every historical era."-Bookreporter
"This brilliant series has brought Henry VIII's six wives to life as never before. This novel will enthrall and inspire, just as much as it will break your heart."-Tracy Borman, author of The Private Lives of the Tudors
Short Excerpt Teaser
Chapter 1
1470
"Wake up, Bessy! Wake up!"
Elizabeth stirred, roused by the unfamiliar whisper. What was her mother the Queen doing here, shaking her? It was usually Lady Berners who came to wake her with a smile and a "Good morning, my lady Princess." But Mother was not smiling, and Lady Berners, holding a candle aloft, was standing in the doorway with Mistress Jakes, the wet nurse, who had baby Cecily in her arms. With them was Grandmother Rivers, holding a sleepy little Mary by the hand. They were all dressed for outdoors. But it was still dark and, beyond the narrow window, there was no sign of dawn breaking.
"What's wrong?" Elizabeth asked, instantly awake.
"Shh!" the Queen hissed, putting a finger to her lips. "We must all be very quiet. Get up and I'll put you into some warm clothes."
Mother was dressing her? Her lady mother, whose queenly hands never deigned to do everyday tasks? Something must be badly amiss.
Mother gave a faint smile. "I and my sisters had to shift for ourselves before I became queen." She lifted Elizabeth's night-rail over her head, put on her smock and her green woolen winter gown and wrapped her cloak around her, pulling the hood down over her face. Then she took her own cloak from Grandmother Rivers and wrapped herself in it, concealing her swollen belly. She turned to the other women. "Let us go." There was an urgency in her lowered voice.
"My lady, what's happening?" Elizabeth asked, completely bewildered.
"Hush! I will tell you later. Now, not a word. We all have to be very quiet."
The four women hurried the children through the Lanthorn Tower, holding their breath as they passed the open door of the room where the sentries, who were supposed to be on watch, were-luckily-snoring soundly. And then they were out on the wall walk and hurrying down the stairs and along Water Lane, to the postern gate of the Tower of London, which had been left ajar.
"Thank God for a loyal guard," Mother breathed. Tightly holding Elizabeth's hand, she led her down the Queen's Stairs to the wharf, where several small craft were tied up. Lady Berners hailed a boatman.
"Westminster Stairs!" she said.
"Right-ho," he answered, taking the baby from her as she boarded. The Queen and Elizabeth followed, with Grandmother Rivers, the wet nurse, and Mary climbing on deck last. The boatman adjusted his oars and pulled out into the Thames.
The water was black and sinister. Elizabeth shivered with fear and the chill of the early-October night. Around them, London slept. From the darkness came the distant voice of the watch: "Three o'clock, and all's well."
"If only it was," Grandmother whispered.
Elizabeth was desperate to know what was wrong, but she obeyed her mother and kept silent, wondering why they were going to Westminster at this time of night.
"It's late for you good ladies to be out," the boatman observed as they passed Baynard's Castle, where Elizabeth's Grandmother York, who was far sterner than Grandmother Rivers, lived. Did she know about this adventure they were having? Maybe she was asleep, like everyone else.
"We are going to my daughter, who is travailing with child as we speak," Lady Berners said. "I've had word that things are critical."
Elizabeth was surprised, for Lady Berners's married daughter Anne had only just had a baby, while the other daughter was as yet unwed-and Lady Berners had always impressed on her that it was wrong to tell lies.
"We'll get you there quickly, then," the boatman said kindly, and began rowing harder. Elizabeth saw the women exchange glances.
Soon, she could make out the sprawling bulk of the palace of Westminster looming ahead. The boatman pulled in at the jetty and then they were hurrying up the stairs, huddling together as they hastened alongside the wall that enclosed the palace yard. Elizabeth was disappointed when they did not enter the gate, but instead moved away from the palace; she had been entertaining fond notions that they were going to her father the King, who would make whatever was wrong right again. It was a long time since she had seen him. She and her two little sisters had been staying with Mother in the Tower palace for what seemed like ages.
They were passing Westminster Abbey now and walking through St. Margaret's churchyard. Soon it became appallingly clear that Mother was heading for the great sanctuary building that stood opposite. It was grim and stark, like a church in form, but exuding menace, not holiness. Young as she was, Elizabeth knew that bad people lived there, murderers and thieves. Once, after she had had a nightmare about being trapped in there, Lady Berners had explained that anyo...
1470
"Wake up, Bessy! Wake up!"
Elizabeth stirred, roused by the unfamiliar whisper. What was her mother the Queen doing here, shaking her? It was usually Lady Berners who came to wake her with a smile and a "Good morning, my lady Princess." But Mother was not smiling, and Lady Berners, holding a candle aloft, was standing in the doorway with Mistress Jakes, the wet nurse, who had baby Cecily in her arms. With them was Grandmother Rivers, holding a sleepy little Mary by the hand. They were all dressed for outdoors. But it was still dark and, beyond the narrow window, there was no sign of dawn breaking.
"What's wrong?" Elizabeth asked, instantly awake.
"Shh!" the Queen hissed, putting a finger to her lips. "We must all be very quiet. Get up and I'll put you into some warm clothes."
Mother was dressing her? Her lady mother, whose queenly hands never deigned to do everyday tasks? Something must be badly amiss.
Mother gave a faint smile. "I and my sisters had to shift for ourselves before I became queen." She lifted Elizabeth's night-rail over her head, put on her smock and her green woolen winter gown and wrapped her cloak around her, pulling the hood down over her face. Then she took her own cloak from Grandmother Rivers and wrapped herself in it, concealing her swollen belly. She turned to the other women. "Let us go." There was an urgency in her lowered voice.
"My lady, what's happening?" Elizabeth asked, completely bewildered.
"Hush! I will tell you later. Now, not a word. We all have to be very quiet."
The four women hurried the children through the Lanthorn Tower, holding their breath as they passed the open door of the room where the sentries, who were supposed to be on watch, were-luckily-snoring soundly. And then they were out on the wall walk and hurrying down the stairs and along Water Lane, to the postern gate of the Tower of London, which had been left ajar.
"Thank God for a loyal guard," Mother breathed. Tightly holding Elizabeth's hand, she led her down the Queen's Stairs to the wharf, where several small craft were tied up. Lady Berners hailed a boatman.
"Westminster Stairs!" she said.
"Right-ho," he answered, taking the baby from her as she boarded. The Queen and Elizabeth followed, with Grandmother Rivers, the wet nurse, and Mary climbing on deck last. The boatman adjusted his oars and pulled out into the Thames.
The water was black and sinister. Elizabeth shivered with fear and the chill of the early-October night. Around them, London slept. From the darkness came the distant voice of the watch: "Three o'clock, and all's well."
"If only it was," Grandmother whispered.
Elizabeth was desperate to know what was wrong, but she obeyed her mother and kept silent, wondering why they were going to Westminster at this time of night.
"It's late for you good ladies to be out," the boatman observed as they passed Baynard's Castle, where Elizabeth's Grandmother York, who was far sterner than Grandmother Rivers, lived. Did she know about this adventure they were having? Maybe she was asleep, like everyone else.
"We are going to my daughter, who is travailing with child as we speak," Lady Berners said. "I've had word that things are critical."
Elizabeth was surprised, for Lady Berners's married daughter Anne had only just had a baby, while the other daughter was as yet unwed-and Lady Berners had always impressed on her that it was wrong to tell lies.
"We'll get you there quickly, then," the boatman said kindly, and began rowing harder. Elizabeth saw the women exchange glances.
Soon, she could make out the sprawling bulk of the palace of Westminster looming ahead. The boatman pulled in at the jetty and then they were hurrying up the stairs, huddling together as they hastened alongside the wall that enclosed the palace yard. Elizabeth was disappointed when they did not enter the gate, but instead moved away from the palace; she had been entertaining fond notions that they were going to her father the King, who would make whatever was wrong right again. It was a long time since she had seen him. She and her two little sisters had been staying with Mother in the Tower palace for what seemed like ages.
They were passing Westminster Abbey now and walking through St. Margaret's churchyard. Soon it became appallingly clear that Mother was heading for the great sanctuary building that stood opposite. It was grim and stark, like a church in form, but exuding menace, not holiness. Young as she was, Elizabeth knew that bad people lived there, murderers and thieves. Once, after she had had a nightmare about being trapped in there, Lady Berners had explained that anyo...
