Mary Howard may not be as widely recognized as Anne Boleyn or Catherine Parr, but her story is one of the most compelling in Tudor history. As the teenage bride of Henry VIII’s only acknowledged illegitimate son, Mary Howard found herself at the center of royal power plays, court scandals, and dangerous dynastic ambitions.
Yet unlike many women in her position, Mary refused to be a pawn. She fought for her independence, rejected a second politically motivated marriage, and ultimately survived the turbulent reigns of Henry VIII, Edward VI, Mary I, and Elizabeth I. In an era when noblewomen were expected to obey and disappear, Mary Howard stood her ground—and quietly rewrote the rules.
Transcript of The Teen Widow Who Said NO to Henry VIII: Mary Howard’s Untold Tudor Rebellion
What do you do when you’re 15 years old, your royal husband drops dead, and the king wants to use you in his next political scheme? If you’re Mary Howard—daughter of the powerful Duke of Norfolk, teenage bride to Henry VIII’s only acknowledged illegitimate son, and unexpected Tudor survivor—you write letters, dig in your heels, and say, “Oh no, no, no. Absolutely not.”
Mary Howard might not be a household name like Anne Boleyn or Catherine Parr, but her story is packed and juicy, filled with all the Tudor essentials. You’ve got royal marriage games, inheritance battles, and a girl who refused to be passed around like a pawn. And unlike most Howard women, she managed to survive on her own terms. So let’s go back to the beginning—to a girl whose family thought they had just married her into the future of the Tudor dynasty.
Mary Howard was born into one of the most powerful families in Tudor England. Her father, Thomas Howard—yes, that Thomas Howard—was the third Duke of Norfolk. He was always playing the long game, and he had no shortage of daughters, nieces, and cousins to offer up in marriage to further the family’s ambitions.
In 1533, Mary was about 14 years old when she was married off to Henry FitzRoy, the illegitimate son of Henry VIII and Bessie Blount. Now, Henry FitzRoy had been treated almost like a legitimate heir. He had been created Duke of Richmond and Somerset when he was only six years old. He’d been given lands, a household, even a coat of arms.
All of this suggested a possible path to the throne—especially since, at the time, Henry VIII had no legitimate sons. His only child was his daughter Mary, so it wasn’t out of the realm of possibility for Henry FitzRoy to become king.
Marrying Henry FitzRoy was no small thing. For the Howards, it was a strategic move to place themselves one marriage away from the Crown. And if we look at what else was happening in 1533—Henry VIII had just married Anne Boleyn, who also happened to be the Duke of Norfolk’s niece—then it’s clear that Norfolk was covering all his bases. One niece was Queen of England. Another was married to the king’s only son. We’ve got a daughter now who’s married to the King’s potential heir.
Anyway, there was a problem with this plan. Both Mary and FitzRoy were incredibly young, and while the marriage went ahead, Henry VIII explicitly ordered that it not be consummated. He was obsessed with his son’s health and worried that any physical exertion—particularly in bed—would weaken him further.
He remembered what had happened to his brother Arthur, who married somewhat young and died, and he was very, very concerned about history repeating itself. So despite the fact that they were married, Mary and Henry FitzRoy lived separately. They wrote to each other and participated in formal court events together. They were treated like one political unit—but not a romantic one.
And behind the scenes, it was all about power. The Howards hoped that FitzRoy would be legitimized and that Mary would become queen. But the Tudor court, of course, had a way of flipping the table just when the game looked won.
Three years later, in July 1536—just a few weeks after Anne Boleyn, who was Mary’s cousin, was executed—her husband, Henry FitzRoy, died. He was only about 17 at the time. The likely cause was tuberculosis, though at the time it was chalked up to vague “consumption” or general weakness.
For Mary, the timing could not have been worse. She was suddenly a widow, and she was still just a teenager. She had no children and no real political allies left at court. The Howards, of course, were falling from favor.
Another issue damaging their position—something fans of Wolf Hall or Mirror and the Light will remember—is that Thomas Howard’s half-brother had become involved in a disastrous romantic entanglement with Henry VII’s niece, Margaret Tudor. So the Howards were not very strong or powerful at this point. Mary had no idea what her future would look like—and things got even worse very quickly.
Henry VIII had orchestrated the marriage in the first place, but now he refused to acknowledge it as legally binding. He did that because if the marriage were recognized, Mary would be entitled to her dower lands—a widow’s income taken from her husband’s estate. And Henry, of course, wanted that land back.
Mary’s father, the Duke of Norfolk, tried to fight the decision. He argued that the marriage had been valid and sanctioned by the King himself—but it didn’t matter. Henry had made up his mind. He wasn’t giving anything to the Duke of Norfolk at that point.
So Mary is now an orphaned wife in all but name—and she’s cut off. She had no income, was excluded from court, and was told, essentially, to disappear quietly. But Mary wasn’t finished.
In the years following FitzRoy’s death, Mary was expected to marry again—not for love, of course, but for politics. This time, the match that Henry VIII had in mind was with Thomas Seymour. Yes, that Thomas Seymour—the charming, dangerously ambitious younger brother of Jane Seymour, future husband to Catherine Parr, and future troublemaker with Elizabeth I.
By this point, Henry had married Jane and was looking for ways to strengthen the Seymour family’s influence. Mary Howard, as potentially the Dowager Duchess of Richmond, was a useful piece on the board. But she rejected the idea of remarriage entirely. She said she wanted to remain single. This was a radical stance for a young woman, especially one without a powerful protector—and she put it all in writing.
Now, we don’t have her original letters, but accounts of them describe Mary defending her independence, arguing that she had no interest in being pushed into another political marriage. She claimed she had no desire to marry again—and she meant it.
This was a calculated act of self-preservation. By not aligning herself with the Seymours, she was avoiding the messy entanglements that came with families whose fortunes could fall at any moment. She already had one of those—her own.
And by refusing to remarry, she avoided giving any new husband legal control over her life—or potential claims to FitzRoy’s property. Mary chose obscurity over obedience—and in doing so, she survived where many of her relatives—Anne Boleyn, Katherine Howard, Thomas Seymour himself, and her own brother—did not.
Mary Howard lived through the rest of Henry’s reign and through the reigns of Edward VI, Mary I, and part of Elizabeth I. That alone is a feat for any woman connected to the Howard family. She never remarried. She never returned to court in any real capacity. She chose a quiet life, and she stayed alive—and kept what little independence she could claim.
We don’t know much about her later years—no surprise. She faded from the records, perhaps by design. But what we do know is that she outlived most of the people who tried to control her life. She never bowed to pressure. She never handed over her agency to another man—even when it would have made her life more comfortable.
In a world where women—especially noblewomen—were routinely married off to strengthen alliances or pay political debts, Mary Howard wrote her own ending. Not a dramatic downfall, not a tragic execution, but a quiet act of rebellion that let her keep her dignity—and her name.
Mary Howard may not have worn a crown, but she handled herself like an absolute queen—one who saw the danger of ambition and chose survival instead. In a dynasty built on drama and downfall, Mary slipped through the cracks by sheer force of will.
Honestly, she is my hero. If I lived during the Tudor period, I would want to be Mary Howard. I think she’s pretty awesome.
Related links:
Bessie Blount and Henry FitzRoy: The Mistress Who Gave Henry VIII a Son
Henry VIII’s Illegitimate Children: Truth or Tale?
Episode 056: James Boulton on Bessie Blount
Episode 266: Medieval and Tudor Mistresses
Heather Teysko is the creator, writer, and producer of The Renaissance English History Podcast, the original Tudor history podcast, started in 2009. She's been writing about history online for over 25 years, since her first site on Colonial American history became number one in history on Yahoo in 1998. In 2019 she created Tudorcon, which is now a yearly event, in addition to writing books, and running TudorFair.com - a whimsical Tudor Merch shop.
She has been passionate about Tudor England since she first read Alison Weir's The Six Wives of Henry VIII 30 years ago, and subsequently moved to London after college to spend her time immersed in Tudor history (how exciting when she got to interview Alison for the first time!). In addition to history, she is passionate about travel, and has lived in 3 countries and 4 states (not counting her perpetual state of confusion), and her family (who help her host her YouTube channel occasionally).
