The Forbidden Queen

CHAPTER NINE

‘Why should we not declare our love?’ I was eager, wanting to shout it aloud to the whole world.

We had returned to Windsor, Edmund travelling openly with me as one of my escort, my preferred companion. Why should he not? His protection, as cousin to my son, was quite unexceptional. It was impossible not to watch his lithe figure astride his burnished mount as he paced beside my litter. I was so full of exuberance that it was hard to pretend that there was nothing between us but family ties, friendship and formal courtesy.

This was the man I would marry. Why should we not be seen to love and be loved? Was it not now more than a year since Edmund had wooed me at Windsor in a frenzy of evergreens and old traditions made new, cloaked in velvet and winged in silver?

‘What need for secrecy?’ I demanded. ‘Who would possibly object?’

Edmund was well born. His blood could be no better, the slur of illegitimacy having long since been laid to rest. Who could take exception to his wooing of the Queen Dowager?

‘Wait a little, my love,’ he murmured against my temple, his lips a fleeting caress when he tucked me into my litter for the return journey.

But I gripped the front of his tunic. ‘I don’t understand why.’

Carefully he detached my hands, folding them one upon the other in my lap. ‘Because it wouldn’t do to cause political tongues to wag,’ he stated, smiling down into my eyes, willing me to see the future as he saw it. ‘Not yet. You must trust me.’ Even though his voice remained unemotionally cool, as if we were discussing the arrangements for the journey, Edmund remained implacable. No one would suspect the heated tenor of his reply as he leaned over me, arranging the cushions for my comfort.

‘One day you will be mine. I will take you to my bed as my wife, and there I will open the windows into heaven for you. You must be patient, my loved one. First I must make my intentions known to Gloucester and Bishop Henry. To the Royal Council. You are Queen Dowager and I am a Beaufort. Ours will be a political alliance, as well as one grounded in true love. It will not be done in secret.’

Which made good sense.

He reached up to untie the curtains, to shield me from the sharp wind. ‘Exercise patience, Queen Kat, and hold on to the fact that my love for you is infinite.’ And the curtain was dropped into place.

But how difficult it was to be patient. What possible obstacle would there be for the marriage of a widowed queen and a young man of royal blood? It would harm no one. Young Henry liked Edmund. And I was tossed in a sea of longing, to be with him and know the happiness of fulfilment.

I will take you to my bed and open the windows into heaven.

I could not wait.

But wait, Edmund had advised. Wait for a little time. So that was what I must do. I settled back against my cushions. I was too happy to be concerned, too secure in his love, anticipating the day when we would be together.

Back at Windsor, leaving Edmund to stable his horse and a tight-lipped Master of Household to organise the dispatch of my litter and escort, I went straight to the royal accommodations. And there was Young Henry in a creased tunic and hose, his fingers sticky with some sweetmeat, his hair clearly not having seen a comb for some hours. He ran to me and I lifted him into my arms. He was growing heavy at almost five years.

‘Have you brought me a gift, maman?’

‘I have.’

‘Can I eat it?’

I enclosed his hand in mine to prevent him smearing honey on my bodice. ‘I don’t think you can.’ A creak of the hinge on the door and a soft hush of skirts caught my notice. ‘Look who’s come to find you, Henry. What do you think, Alice? I think he has grown in even a short few weeks.’ I turned my head, smiling my welcome. ‘Do you?’

It was not Alice who had entered. In the doorway I saw that the woman had not Alice’s upright carriage or robust figure; rather my visitor was fragile and moved with care over each separate step. And then she moved forward into a stripe of sunlight and my visitor was plain to see. Letting my son slide to the floor, I walked to meet her as I smiled, my heart warming, silently admitting that the blame was mine for the distance that remained between us.

‘Madam Joanna!’

It had been too long—Henry’s funeral, in fact—since I had last found time to sit and talk to her.

Young Henry ran to her, but, seeing her involuntarily drawing back, I caught him before he could hang on her skirts. The lines gouged beside eye and mouth, more cruel than I recalled, told their own tale.

‘Will you sit? You are right welcome.’ Keeping Henry at bay I took her hand and led her to a settle that was not too low, where I helped her to sink slowly back against the upright support.

Joanna sighed, a sound that was almost a groan.

‘Thank you, dear child.’ She managed to summon a smile. ‘Now you can kiss me.’

I did, shocked by the quality of her skin at close quarters for it was dry and as thin and yellow as old parchment. The pain in her limbs was clearly great, the malaise gaining strength with each month’s passing. Acknowledging that she would not wish me to talk of it, I merely kissed her cheek again.

‘When did you arrive?’ I asked.

‘Yesterday. I came up in easy stages from King’s Langley.’

‘To see me? Then it is my fortune that I returned today.’ I enfolded her gnarled fingers with their swollen joints very carefully in mine.

‘They said you were at Leeds.’

‘Yes.’ I whispered in a restless Young Henry’s ear and sent him off at a run to bring wine for our guest, nodding to my page Thomas, who would follow him, while I sat at Joanna’s side. She shuffled in discomfort and I could not but ask, ‘Madam Joanna, are you quite well? Should you have travelled so far?’

‘My joints ache, but I expect no less.’ The movement of her lips was spare. ‘I thought I had to come.’

‘Well, of course.’ Not quite understanding. ‘Why should you not visit me? Although it would have been more thoughtful of me to come to King’s Langley. Forgive me, madam. Will you stay? If only for a few days? Henry will enjoy showing you his new skills with a wooden sword. As long as you stay well out of reach, of course.’

But Madam Joanna no longer smiled, rather withdrawing her hands from mine. In that brief gesture I had the impression that if she had been able to do it easily she would have stood and walked away to put some distance between us.

‘What is it?’ I asked. ‘Has something happened to upset you?’

Madam Joanna’s eyes were old, full of knowledge, full of past grief, but her gaze was uncomfortably direct. ‘I have come for a purpose. When you have heard me out, you may not wish me to stay long.’

It was a disturbing disclosure, but still I did not follow. ‘I’m sorry, why ever would I not wish you to stay?’

‘Is Edmund Beaufort here?’

‘Why, yes. Yes, he is.’

‘Was he with you at Leeds Castle?’

Now I saw the direction of her questioning. ‘Yes.’ I raised my chin at the first trickle of apprehension that tightened just a little round my heart. But I was not perturbed. Perhaps she did not truly understand, and when she did—for surely Edmund would have no compunction about my telling Madam Joanna—why, then, she would wish me well for she had nothing but my happiness at heart. ‘Yes,’ I repeated, ‘he was at Leeds.’

Startling me, she raised her hands to cup my cheeks as if I were a child to be cosseted, shielded from some unpleasantness. Then let them fall into her lap and her words drove straight through all my new-found happiness.

‘Oh, Katherine! Will you take some advice from an old woman who has seen much and suffered grievously at the hands of ambitious men?’ And for the first time I saw that her lack of ease was more than swollen and aching joints. She was sick to her soul, and my suspicions were grave. ‘I am not your mother to give you advice, but I’m the nearest you’ve got. I think you should be wary of too close a friendship with Edmund Beaufort.’

I kept my reply even, though my heart quaked. ‘Do you not like him?’

‘Liking him or otherwise is not the issue. It is a dangerous liaison, Katherine.’ How gentle her voice, how compassionate her eyes, but how ominous her choice of words.

‘You do not approve of our friendship.’

‘It is not wise.’

‘How can it not be wise?’ My replies were becoming more and more icy. ‘He is cousin to my son.’

‘If friendship is all it is, then I must ask your pardon.’ She tilted her chin, as if she could read my mind. ‘But I suspect it to be more than that, my dear girl.’

I looked away, quick to dissemble, fearing her displeasure, as I had always feared the displeasure of those around me. ‘I don’t understand.’

‘Be honest with me, Katherine. How much is between you?’

I looked down at my clasped fingers, white with tension.

‘He makes me happy.’

‘Happy?’

Abruptly I stood and walked across the room until I came to a halt in the centre, keeping my back to her. I could not bear to see the reproof in her face. I concentrated on the leaping flames in the hearth as I chose my words to express all that I thought and felt from this miracle that was Edmund Beaufort.

‘Yes, Edmund makes me happy. Is that a sin, Madam Joanna? I think it is not. Do you know? He makes me smile and laugh and enjoy all that life can offer. He makes my heart sing for joy. He has lifted a weight from my shoulders so that I feel young again. No one has ever done that for me. No one ever cared enough about me. Before I knew him, after Henry’s death I was dragged down by loneliness and misery. I felt so old and superfluous. I was wretched indeed. Perhaps I should be despised for lack of will, of character. But so it was.’

I drew in a breath. Joanna waited, sensing that I still had things I needed to say.

‘Then Edmund Beaufort came into my life with such energy, such immeasurable elation. Such skill in forcing me to see what I might be if I was brave enough to take the steps. I have never known anyone like him. He has saved me from my black humours, he has dragged me back into life. Can you understand that?’

‘I too know what it is to be lonely, Katherine.’

And guilt flooded through me. Spinning round, I flung back to kneel at her feet, searching her face for some understanding.

‘Forgive me. Forgive me. Of course you do—but then you must know how much I value…’

‘Katherine! How much is between you?’ she repeated.

‘He loves me,’ I replied simply.

‘He has told you this, has he?’

‘Yes. And I love him.’

‘Damn the boy! He would, of course.’ She touched my hair, tucking a wayward strand beneath my veil, and her question was soft but I heard the bite. ‘I hear he seduced you in the heat of Twelfth Night revels.’

‘Who told you that?’ I demanded, displeased.

‘It doesn’t matter. James should have warned you, but I expect he was too taken up with his freedom and his new bride.’ She eyed me. ‘How unfortunate that he has gone back to Scotland. He’s an astute young man and you might listen to his advice before you listen to mine.’

‘But they are friends,’ I objected. ‘Why would he warn me against Edmund?’

‘So they might be friends. But James has a keen nose for self-preservation and power-brokering.’ For a moment she paused. ‘Have you been foolish enough to be intimate with him?’

I flushed to the roots of my hair.

‘Have you?’

‘No. I have not.’

‘Did he try to persuade you? I wager he did.’

I shook my head, turning my face away. ‘I would not,’ I whispered.

‘Then you are fortunate. The Beauforts have more charm than is good for them, and Edmund more than most, while you are beautiful and lonely and…vulnerable.’

‘Am I vulnerable? You make it sound as if Edmund tried to persuade me against my will. He did not. When I refused, he did not pressure me. He understood my reticence.’ My voice became sharp as anger flamed. ‘And you have no right to take me to task.’

‘Is that what I was doing?’ Her lips curved into what might have been a smile but there was a weight of sadness over her. ‘Perhaps so. But I must speak out before you become even more entangled in this relationship. It will bring you nothing but grief. Has he asked you to wed him yet?’

‘Yes.’

‘What did you say?’

I smiled from the pure delight of it. This would surely make her understand. That Edmund was serious in his intent. ‘I said I would.’

‘My child, it cannot be.’

‘I love him,’ I said. Could she not see how right it was?

‘As if love makes all right with the world. And you have been starved of it for so long. I am so very sorry.’ She leaned awkwardly to place a kiss between my brows. ‘They’ll not let you wed, you know. They’ll move heaven and earth to prevent it.’

Was I not Queen Dowager? I would not accept such interference. ‘I cannot believe that anyone would deny me my right to choose the man I wish to wed.’

‘Then you are a fool, Katherine,’ she announced. ‘You have not thought this through at all. And what Edmund Beaufort is planning! Gloucester will object, for sure. Bedford too when he returns from France. Even Warwick. Bishop Henry might be persuaded to give some lukewarm support if he sees an interest for himself in your union, but even he might have qualms.’

‘They cannot stop me.’

Joanna sighed. ‘Tell me this, Katherine,’ she ordered, stern at my wilful intransigence, and leaned forward, willing me to listen and accept. ‘Has he asked you to keep his proposal secret?’

‘Yes, but only for a short time until—’

‘Until when?’

‘I don’t know.’ I sounded sullen even to my own ears, because it echoed my own fears.

‘Use your wits, my dear.’ She looked frustrated rather than angry. ‘I’m the last woman to condemn you to a sterile widowhood. Do I not know better than most? And God knows you had little pleasure in your marriage to my stepson. He would have tried the patience of a saint. But Edmund Beaufort cannot be the man for you. Even he does not quite see his way forward, so he orders you not to speak of it.’ She took a painful breath. ‘You can’t rely on this proposal, Katherine.’

‘But why not?’ I asked, suddenly thinking that Joanna’s reasoning might be political. ‘Am I wrong in my understanding of this very English situation? Has Edmund’s family not been fully legitimised?’

‘Yes, yes.’ Joanna brushed aside my question with an impatient gesture. ‘But have you thought about the possible repercussions from your marriage to this boy? Haven’t you thought at all beyond Edmund’s ability to seduce your senses? If you wed—what then?’ Her brows drew together in a sharp winging angle. ‘If you carried a legitimate child of your union, such a child—particularly if a boy—would have a volatile mix of Valois and Plantagenet blood in his veins. Anyone with an eye for mischief might consider his claim to the English throne to be as good as Young Henry’s.’

‘No!’ My thoughts whirled. ‘That cannot be. Young Henry is his father’s heir.’

‘And children die young, far too many of them.’

‘It will not happen. Henry is strong and well cared for.’

‘Still, a child borne by you from Beaufort’s loins would be a risky proposition for the stability of this country. Any man with rebellion in mind might consider such a child a useful pawn in a very dangerous political game.’

I thought about this. Then shook my head. ‘No!’

‘Very well. Then consider this as a reason for your match being anathema to many: how much power would it give Edmund Beaufort, to wed you and become stepfather to the King?’

Horror washed over me. I felt as if I were sinking into a quagmire. My breathing was difficult, a constriction tightening around my lungs. Were there so many obstacles in my way that I, in my innocence and ignorance, had never considered? But then, knowing what I did of Edmund, I pushed them aside.

‘He would wish no harm to my son,’ I stated firmly. ‘How could you suggest that?’

‘Of course he would not. That was not my meaning. But such a position would allow him to make a bid to control the reins of power. Could he not demand to be made Regent in the Young King’s name, with you at his side as Queen Mother? Could he not demand to be appointed the child’s Governor in Warwick’s place? Of course he could. And how much power would that invest in Edmund Beaufort, a young man not yet into his third decade, if I read it right. And don’t, Katherine…’ Her lips almost curled. ‘Don’t tell me that that young man is not ambitious.’

The accusations drove deep, but I drew on all my self-possession.

‘I know he is ambitious. I expect he might demand a role in Young Henry’s upbringing. But would that necessarily be a bad thing? Is not Gloucester too ambitious?’

‘Yes—and therein lies the danger for you. Gloucester wishes he had been born the eldest son. He resents having to share power with Bedford. For sure he will not willingly hand over even an inch of his power to Edmund Beaufort!’ I sat at Joanna’s feet, eyes wide, absorbing all that she said, as she stroked my hand. ‘It is not good for you to be seen in a liaison with a young man who has so vast an amount of power in his own right.’

My thoughts were awry.

‘Think about it, my child. The Beauforts have thrust themselves into every nook and cranny of state and church. Who would have thought it possible, descended as they are from an illicit liaison between John of Lancaster and the Swynford woman? And yet it is so. Now they are legitimate: they are gifted, with a distinct presence at court. But they will never be satisfied and their ambition is a force to be reckoned with. It means that they are not to be trusted.’

‘I don’t know that.’ It was a cry that came from my heart. ‘I can trust Edmund. I am certain of it.’

Madam Joanna struggled to her feet, as if delivering her final thrust at my happiness had robbed her of all her energy. At the door she stopped to look back over her shoulder to where I still sat.

‘You are a very desirable woman, Katherine. And not only for your looks. You cannot put too high a price on your connection with both the English and the French crowns. Your Valois bloodline and your position with the Young King are inestimable. Never forget that. Not that you will ever be allowed to. They will beat you about the head with it for the rest of your days, I’m afraid. As for Edmund…’

She lifted her shoulders in a painful little shrug.

‘You don’t like him.’ I sounded like a child.

And at the last a smile lit her face, giving life to the beauty she had once had. ‘Actually, I do. He’s difficult to dislike, and he knows how to get into the good graces of an elderly woman. But I’d still be wary of him.’ She lifted the latch of the door. ‘Before you pin all your hopes on him, ask yourself this. Are you so certain that he…?’

Footsteps approached. Young Henry, I thought, at last bearing the wine that we no longer needed.

But it was Edmund who appeared in the doorway.

‘Madam Joanna.’

He bowed as she turned, and saluted her hand. They exchanged smiles, greetings, both excruciatingly polite, before Joanna made her excuses. ‘Think about what I said.’ And she was gone.

Edmund grimaced, having read all that had not been said. ‘So she knows.’

‘Yes. I told her, but she already suspected.’

‘Has she been warning you about me?’ For a moment he frowned after her departing figure.

‘Yes.’ I could not lie when my very soul cried out for reassurance in the face of such a deluge of warnings. ‘She warned me about the difficulties of our marriage. About Gloucester and Warwick and…’ I felt tears of weakness, of disappointment, prickle behind my lids.

‘You must not weep, my golden Queen.’ Immediately he was across the chamber to my side, lifting me with strong hands so that I stood within the circle of his arms.

‘She implied that you do not love me,’ I remarked flatly.

Madam Joanna’s final unfinished question remained in my mind. Are you so certain that he…? And I knew what she would have asked. Are you so certain that Edmund wants you more than he wants power? Are you sure he loves you, or does he have an eye to the door you can open for him, to allow him a supreme position in the kingdom?

‘How would she know?’

‘She does not.’

‘Did she tell you that I seduced you so that your rank would enhance my own status?’

‘Yes.’

‘Do you believe her?’

I looked into his eyes, so full of understanding, of light and love for me.

‘Have I not sworn that my devotion to you outranks all earthly power? How can power weigh in the balance with the overwhelming love that I feel for you?’

And there was all the reassurance I desired. Madam Joanna did not understand. His love for me was true. Nothing could undermine my certainty. As if he read it in my face, Edmund pressed his lips tenderly to my brow, and when he spoke, his words held the reverence of a vow.

‘I know you have faith in me. As I have in you. We will win this battle. I will bring happiness and fulfilment into your life, such as you have never known.’ The strength of his arms, the vibrant assurance in his face, the shower of kisses across my cheeks chased away my fears. ‘I’ll speak with my uncle.’ Edmund’s smile lit all the dark corners of my heart; delight bloomed as the reverence vanished and his lively humour returned. ‘Bishop Henry will enjoy putting a spoke in Gloucester’s wheel, if nothing else. Have I convinced you?’

‘Yes.’ I sighed. ‘Forgive me my lack of faith.’

‘It is not easy for you,’ he murmured against my lips. ‘But always remember. I worship at your feet, my dearest love.’

And there was Young Henry, carrying a flagon of wine with fierce concentration. While Edmund accepted his enthusiastic greeting and poured the wine, Madam Joanna’s warnings dissipated as matters of no moment. Happiness settled on my shoulders and my mind quietened.

My conversation with Warwick was far shorter and more to the point than that with Madam Joanna. He did not mince his words. He did not even make an excuse for seeking me out, merely drawing me away from my damsels in the interest of privacy.

‘I don’t like to see Edmund Beaufort prowling around Windsor like a cat on heat.’

‘Edmund does not prowl,’ I replied, stiffening at the implication.

‘A matter of opinion. He has a predatory air, Katherine. And a possessive one, so I’m told.’

He bent his stern gaze on me. He was Warwick today, not Richard. I drew myself up to my full height so that our eyes were on a level. ‘He is here at my invitation.’

‘I know.’ The lines on Warwick’s face, instead of being amiable and smiling, resembled the carvings achieved by a stonemason’s chisel.

‘We cannot forbid him to visit his cousin. My son enjoys his company.’

‘I know that too,’ Warwick snapped. ‘And I don’t like that either.’

‘Edmund Beaufort is welcome in my household, and will continue to be so,’ I stated.

‘And I cannot stop you. But take some advice.’ Warwick was as brusque as I had ever heard him. ‘Don’t become embroiled in a predicament that will bring you more pain than pleasure.’

I raised my chin. I would not listen.

‘I am going to Westminster,’ Edmund announced the next day.

‘Don’t go,’ I pleaded.

‘You know I must.’ Although he smiled, I read raw impatience in his eyes, in the set of his jaw. ‘The sooner I see Bishop Henry, the sooner we can be wed.’

He kissed my hand with admirably restrained courtesy since we were in my solar under the eagle eye of Beatrice. All my fears were smoothed out, like a length of faultless silk, and I accompanied him down to the main door, where my Master of Household waited with Edmund’s outer garments.

‘Look for me within the week,’ Edmund promised me, shrugging into his coat and drawing on his gloves, before leaping down the steps two at a time to where his groom held his horse.

‘Thank you, Master Owen,’ I said, as Edmund in his hunger to be gone had not.

‘My pleasure, my lady,’ he replied, watching Edmund ride from the courtyard with a jaunty gesture, hat in hand. But Master Tudor’s tone caused me to glance up at him, and the dark reproach—or perhaps even contempt—in the gaze that followed Edmund startled me. Then it was gone, a mere shadow, as the Master bowed to me. ‘Do you require anything, my lady?’

I shook my head. Only that Edmund return soon with a date for our marriage.

‘Are you entirely witless, woman?’

It was not Edmund but Gloucester.

How I wished that Edmund stood beside me. As it was, I was forced to face the battering ram of Gloucester’s wrath alone. He arrived within two days of Edmund’s departure, a virulent tempest, raining invective down on my unprotected head when he marched into my private chamber as if about to do battle. At his side came Bishop Henry in clerical splendour, stolid and smiling despite the uneasy flicker of his eye away from mine when I raised my brows. At least Edmund’s uncle bowed, kissed my hand and asked after my health. All Gloucester could do was glower and fume as he launched his first tirade.

‘Have you not even the sense you were born with?’

I gasped at his discourtesy, standing slowly, letting my embroidery slide to the floor.

‘I won’t ask you if the rumours are true. I’m quite certain they are.’ He gestured at my damsels. ‘Dismiss them!’

So I did, quivering with nerves.

‘All of them!’

‘No. Alice remains.’ I needed some support, and since I was fortunate to have her company I would keep her with me.

‘I suppose I should have expected nothing less from a daughter of Isabeau of France. A woman raised in the dissolute stews of the French court!’ Gloucester’s fury reverberated from the walls, hammering in my head. Never had I heard him address anyone with such ferocity. Usually icily polite in my presence, this was hot temper, and lethally personal. ‘What are you thinking of?’ he continued, flinging out his arms as if to encompass the length and breadth of my sins. ‘To allow yourself to be drawn into this farce—’

‘A farce? I don’t take your meaning, sir.’

My anxiety was swept away by resentment quite as strong as Gloucester’s ire. I walked forward to reduce the space between us, clenching my fists and pressing my lips together against his slight on my birth and my parentage, for I knew it would do no good to rant and return insult for insult. My blood and birth were as good as Gloucester’s. I was Valois, daughter of King Charles VI. I would not bow before this man, however much he might be a royal prince. I would play the Queen Dowager with all the skill I had acquired in recent years.

‘I deplore your accusation, my lord,’ I announced, before Gloucester could tell me exactly what he meant. ‘I think you should consider well how you address me.’ Oh, I was haughty. And Edmund’s love had given me a confidence I had previously lacked. My words were well chosen, my manner a perfection of regal disdain. ‘You have no right to address me in such a manner.’

Not expecting such retaliation, Gloucester’s face became suffused with blood, veins red on his cheeks as if he had been riding for long hours into a high wind. His next words bit hard. ‘Are you really so empty-headed,’ he accused, ‘that you think you’ll be allowed to wed Edmund Beaufort?’

‘I think the choice is entirely my own. If I wish to wed him, I will. I am not under your dominion, my lord.’

‘So it is true. You are considering an alliance with Edmund Beaufort. Ha!’ Gloucester stalked to the coffer and flung his gloves and sword there, so furiously that they slid to the floor, causing my dog to skitter out of his path. For a little while Gloucester stood with his back to me, as if marshalling his plan of campaign, and I waited. I would not conduct an examination of my private life at a distance.

‘Well?’ He swung round and marched to within a sword’s length of me. ‘What have you to say about this mess?’

I refused to retreat, even though he used his height and breadth, and his fury, to intimidate. ‘Edmund has asked me and I have agreed,’ I stated. ‘We plan to marry.’

‘It will not be. You will break any agreement you have made.’

‘Will I?’ I looked towards Bishop Henry. ‘What do you say, my lord? Do I wed your nephew?’

The cleric’s wily eye again slid from mine, under pretext of focusing on his rings. ‘I have to agree that it is a matter of concern, my dear Katherine.’

‘A matter of concern, by God!’ Gloucester’s hands clenched into fists. ‘How can you be so mealy-mouthed? It will not happen.’

‘I will do it,’ I reiterated, as if expressing a simple desire to travel to Westminster. Although sharp fear was beginning to undermine my composure, I braced my knees and spine.

Gloucester huffed out a breath. ‘It is unheard of. An English Queen, crowned and anointed, taking a second husband on the death of the King…’

I allowed myself a little laugh. Was this the best he could do? A matter of precedent, and it seemed to me not a strong one. Why should a widowed queen not remarry? I was nervous no longer.

‘Has there never, in hundreds of years of kingship in this country, been a royal widow who has chosen to remarry?’ I asked. It sounded beyond my comprehension.

‘No. There has never been such—and there will not. The Council will not permit it.’

Bishop Henry cleared his throat. ‘Well—yes—in fact, there has.’ He smiled self-deprecatingly, as if he was enjoying himself. ‘Adeliza of Louvain remarried.’

‘Who?’ Gloucester demanded, momentarily baffled.

‘Adeliza. Wife of King Henry the First.’ The bishop’s smile remained fixed when Gloucester flung up his hands in disgust. ‘It pays to be a reader of history, does it not? Although it has to be said that Adeliza was Henry’s second wife and was not the mother of the heir to the throne. Still, if we are speaking of precedents…’

‘Before God! If she had no connection to the royal descent, she has no importance. This is an irrelevance, Henry. If you’re thinking of supporting your damned nephew in this nonsense…’

I raised my hand to stop yet another diatribe against Edmund, even as horror returned to drench me from head to foot. ‘Are you saying that I must never remarry?’

‘Not exactly,’ Bishop Henry offered.

‘There is no precedent for it,’ glowered Gloucester.

‘I understand.’ A bleak landscape, terrible in its vastness, opened up before me. ‘So I must remain alone.’

When Gloucester nodded, I sensed relief in him that he had won his argument, and his voice became appallingly unctuous. ‘Many would envy your position, Katherine. You have your dower lands in England, your son, an assured place at court. It is all eminently suitable for a royal widow.’

Eminently suitable. But, in my mind, lacking one essential perquisite. I knew in my heart at that moment that it was a lost cause, that I would never rouse sympathy from Gloucester, but still I asked.

‘So I have every comfort, every show of respect, but I am not allowed to love?’

‘Love!’ Gloucester’s lips curled as if such an emotion were a matter for distaste. ‘Private amours are for foolish women of no standing. If you were not the Queen Dowager, then why not, if that is what you would seek? Why not find some innocuous nobleman to wed you and take you off to his country estate where you can devote yourself to raising children and good works? But you are not free to make that choice.’

‘It is not right,’ I said, clinging desperately to the last vestiges of hope as Gloucester stripped away all chance of happiness in marriage.

‘Madam Joanna has found no difficulty in remaining a respectable widow.’

‘Madam Joanna is fifty-seven years old. I am only twenty-five and—’

‘And quite obviously incapable of ruling your carnal passions.’

So harsh a judgement! I could barely believe that he had used those words against me, and I froze.

Gloucester’s eyes raked me from head to foot. ‘You are too much your mother’s daughter.’

It gripped me by the throat. Was my mother’s reputation to be resurrected again and again, to be used in evidence against me? And by what right had Gloucester of all men to accuse me of carnal passions? Anger rolled in my belly, dark and intense, until it boiled up to spill over in hot words, scalding the space between us.

‘What right have you? What right have you to accuse me of lack of self-control? I say that you have no right at all to besmirch my mother’s name, as you have no cause to castigate me. Have I not played my part perfectly, in every degree that has been demanded of me? I have accompanied my son, I have stood by his side, I have carried him into Parliament when he was too small to walk. I have never acted with less than dignity and grace, in public and in private. Will I do any less, will I destroy the sanctity of my son’s kingship if I am wed? No, I will not.’

All my resentment surged again, and my will to make my own choice. ‘I do not accept your decision. I will wed Edmund Beaufort. There is no law that says I cannot.’

Gloucester’s ungloved hands closed into fists at his sides. ‘Why the temper? This should come as no surprise to you. Did I not explain what was expected of you when you returned to England?’

‘Oh, you did.’ Fury still bubbled hotly. ‘I remember. Your timing was impeccable. In the week that I had stood beside Henry’s body in Westminster Abbey, you told me of your wide-ranging plans for me that could only be altered by death.’

‘It needed to be said. Your importance in upholding the status of a child king is vital to all of us. Of preserving the claim of Young Henry to be King of England and France. I cannot stress enough how important your role is to England.’

‘And I will do nothing to damage that. Have I not said so? How would I do anything to harm my son’s position as King?’

‘You must remain untouched, inviolable.’

‘I know, I know. A sacred vessel. Untouched until the day I am sewn into my shroud.’ Against my will, my voice broke.

‘Listen to me, Katherine.’ Gloucester exhaled loudly, rolling out a new argument with fulsome confidence. ‘Have you not thought of how this marriage would be seen? By the curious and the prurient? Our saintly Queen suddenly wed to a new husband, younger than she, whose social status is inferior to that of her own? The whole of Christendom will say that you took the first man you set your eyes on to your bed simply to satisfy your physical lust.’

‘Lust?’

‘It would prejudice your honour and your judgement,’ he pressed on. ‘It would defile your reputation. It would undermine the sanctity of the Crown itself.’

I was struck dumb by the enormity of this judgement.

‘His social status is not so inferior,’ Bishop Henry murmured, picking one comment out of the many. His voice seemed to come from a great distance. ‘Edmund is not some peasant discovered by Katherine in the palace gutter. He has, after all, the same royal blood in his veins as you, my dear Humphrey.’

‘I’ll not argue against it,’ Gloucester snarled, swinging round to face Bishop Henry, face livid with rage returned. ‘That’s the point, isn’t it? Your nephew has too much royal blood. And I’ll not allow a Beaufort marriage with the Queen Dowager.’

And there it was, Gloucester’s determination to stand in the way of any Beaufort aggrandisement. No Beaufort would be allowed to rise to power clinging to my silk damask skirts. Gloucester turned back to me, now giving no thought to his words, or to the degree of offence he would give to his uncle the bishop.

‘What role do you intend to give him, your new husband? Regent? Protector of the Realm? To replace me? Is that where the pair of you have set your sights? Oh, I’m sure Beaufort has. He would like nothing better than to lord it over the kingdom in your son’s name.’

‘Gloucester—’ But Bishop Henry’s intervention fell on stony ground.

‘Your marriage to Beaufort could destroy all we have achieved to preserve a kingdom with a minority rule. Do you not see how vulnerable we are with a King not yet five years old? We must do all that we can to preserve the strength of my brother Henry’s legacy, to strengthen the people’s respect and loyalty to the child king. Nothing must be allowed to undermine the God-given sanctity of kingship. And your selfish behaviour threatens to undermine all we have done. A liaison with a man known for little but low buffoonery and high ambition! Is this the man you would choose to stand beside you, as stepfather to your son? It is an entirely inappropriate match.’ He came to a halt, his breathing ragged.

And I, smarting from every criticism he had made of my character, my judgement and of the man I loved, summoned up a smile. Falsely demure, I asked, ‘An inappropriate marriage? If we are to speak of inappropriate marriages and relationships, my lord…’

And I let my gentle-sounding words hang in the still air, conscious of Bishop Henry stiffening in awe at my side.

‘How dare you!’ Gloucester blustered.

‘I think, my lord, that there is an English saying: about the relative blackness of pots and kettles. Am I not correct?’

Storm clouds raced across his face. The bigamous union between Gloucester and Jacqueline of Hainault had provided a short-lived attraction. And while he had set in motion an annulment, he had taken Eleanor Cobham to his bed, lady in waiting to the rejected Jacqueline. Oh, it was well known, but perhaps not tactful to mention here. I did so with a frisson of triumph as Gloucester’s narrow features became rigid with rage.

‘Your marriage has been far more inappropriate than any I might contemplate, Humphrey. Neither Edmund Beaufort nor I would engage in a bigamous relationship. Neither, I swear, would Edmund consider taking one of my damsels to his bed.’

Gloucester was beyond mere fury. ‘You will not discuss my private affairs,’ he snapped through closed teeth.

‘Yet you are free to shred mine to pieces.’ How bold I was.

‘You will not wed Edmund Beaufort.’

‘I don’t accept that. You cannot prevent us.’

‘Can I not? We’ll see about that.’

And, scooping up gloves and sword, Gloucester stalked out, his brow blacker than ever. I heard his voice harsh, intemperate, echoing through the antechamber as he summoned his servants and horses. I pitied his retinue on the journey back to London.

‘I suppose there is little purpose in my trying to make amends and asking Lord Humphrey to dine with us,’ I remarked to Bishop Henry, who still lingered, thoughtfully, at my side.

His regard was quizzical. ‘That was not wise, Katherine. What did you hope to achieve? Antagonising the man, however satisfying, as I know from my own experience, will not help your cause.’

But I shrugged, unregretful. ‘It was eminently satisfying. I enjoyed the expression on his face. Nothing I say will win him round, so I have destroyed nothing that could be made to work in my favour.’

But Bishop Henry frowned. ‘Be discreet. Compromising behaviour will bring you to the public eye, and who’s to know the result.’ Surprising me, he seized my hand. ‘I beg of you, Katherine. It’s not too late. Draw back from this.’

But I tugged my hand free. So he was not my friend either.

‘I have no intention of flaunting my love in public as if it were some deplorable scandal. It is not. I have brought no ill repute to my son or the English Crown.’ I eyed him. ‘Have you spoken with your nephew yet?’

‘No.’ Head bent in thought, as if he would see the answer in the extravagantly floriferous tiles beneath his episcopal boots, the bishop was already making his way to the door, although I doubted it was to catch up with Gloucester. ‘I’ll try and get to him before Gloucester does, and beat some sense into him.’

‘Sense? Do you think to persuade him to withdraw?’ All the energy that had driven me into defiance against Gloucester began to fade in the face of this new opposition. It hurt that Bishop Henry should stand against me too. ‘So you agree with Gloucester,’ I said sadly. ‘You would advise me against it.’

‘I don’t know.’ At the door he paused, with troubled eyes. ‘All I know is that Gloucester will stop at nothing to destroy the rise of the Beaufort star in the Heavens.’ His smile was dry and brittle. ‘It is my wish, of course, to see our star rise. And until I see my way to it, my advice to you, my dear Katherine, is that you remain…’ he hovered over the word ‘… circumspect.’

A word that could mean anything or nothing.

‘And unwed,’ I added despondently.

He shrugged. ‘Don’t give up hope, my dear.’

Alice, silent throughout, walked at last to stand beside me as the bishop departed and placed her hand on my arm, which now trembled. ‘Madam Joanna did warn you, my lady.’

‘So she did. And Warwick, in his way.’

What would Edmund say in the wake of this denunciation?