Читать книгу Virgin Widow - Anne O'Brien - Страница 13

ISABEL retched over the bowl held by the indomitably cheerful Margery. ‘I wish I could die,’ she gasped when she could.

‘No such thing,’ Margery soothed. ‘My lord of Clarence has performed more than well. Such a potent man beneath all that pretty gold hair.’ From my position at the far side of the room I smirked at her less-than-respectful observation. ‘An heir! And so soon!’ she continued. ‘Let us give thanks to the BlessedVirgin.’

Isabel pressed a square of linen to her mouth as another spasm gripped her. I might have escaped, but the Countess swept in, followed by a serving girl and a covered platter.

‘We will soon put you to rights. Drink this, Isabel.’

I had to admire her. As if she had no thought beyond Isabel’s ills, as if the Earl was not engaged in armed rebellion against the King, the Countess took my mewling sister in hand.

Isabel gulped, swallowed desperately. ‘I cannot—’

‘Don’t be stubborn.’ I could smell the infusion, the sharp, fresh aroma of mint steeped in boiling water that pervaded the whole room. When Isabel obeyed, the Countess nodded, satisfied. ‘Good! You are not ill, Isabel. Merely breeding. For which you should be grateful, within weeks of your marriage.’

‘I don’t want this…’ Isabel whined.

‘Why not?’ I could no longer keep silent as envy of my sister’s Plantagenet husband once more coated me in shameful malice. ‘It’s what you wanted, well enough, when we were at Calais! A husband and a Plantagenet heir. Now you have your wish! You have both.’

I might scowl at her, but I was not truly so heartless, merely troubled and un-bendingly hostile to the man who had put her in this situation and then, it seemed to me, unfeelingly abandoned her. Isabel had not set eyes on her royal husband since that brief interlude in Calais, now two months since. The bridal rejoicings had been cut short when the Earl and his fellow conspirators left immediately to return to England as an invading force, to raise men in Kent and march on London. From there the plan was to continue north to force Edward to come to terms. Meanwhile we were ensconced in Warwick Castle waiting for events to settle around us. At least Isabel’s condition took our minds off other more immediate concerns, such as the bloody penalty for treason—but Clarence could have come to see his wife.

‘Where’s Clarence?’ she asked as she had asked so often. ‘Why is he not here with me?’

‘He’s in London, trying to reassure the Lord Mayor and Aldermen that the government of the realm won’t disintegrate around their ears. He holds the reins of power there in the King’s name. He’ll come when he can.’ The Countess stroked the damp hair from her forehead. ‘Come and read to your sister, Anne. It will take her mind off her belly.’

And I did because I felt sorry for her, left alone. As my heart was sore for my mother who was able to do nothing but wait on events that shook the kingdom. I feared for the outcome.

We had not been short of news. There had been a battle, destroying much of the King’s army, and the Woodvilles had come to grief in the aftermath. Earl Rivers and his son Sir John Woodville had been summarily executed. Impossibly weakened, Edward against all expectation had become my father’s prisoner. Was not the whole world turned upside down, with the Earl, once the supreme champion of the Yorkist cause, now the arch-adversary of the anointed wearer of the crown? Planning to call a parliament in York, my father took Edward north with him to Middleham under restraint. I know that the Earl assured everyone that all his actions had the approval of the King, and that he had the King’s signature on all documents with no duress, but how would we know truth from lies? I did not think Edward would make so amenable a captive.

‘I wish we’d stayed in London,’ Isabel, revived and sitting up, interrupted my thoughts and the dolorous tale of the trials of St Ursula and the Thousand Virgins.

‘You would be just as sick in London as you are here,’ I muttered. ‘There are no Court festivities to entertain you with Edward a prisoner.’

‘But think of the merchants, Anne, with their cloth and jewels and fashionable wares. Would that not be entertaining? We are in need of new gowns. You are growing by the day.’

‘Yes,’ I admitted, aware of the restrictions of my bodice. ‘And so will you be!’

Isabel laughed. ‘So I shall. Tell me that you would not wish to be there.’

‘I cannot…’ For I wished it above anything.

‘And I would see Clarence…’

Her face drooped again. All I could do was hold her hand and continue to read for I had no words of comfort. I knew the Duke of Gloucester too was in London, at liberty but impotent whilst Edward remained under my father’s hand.

Yes, I too wished that we were in London.

I would have moped excessively except for an unexpected visitor to our gates. Francis Lovell arrived with a well-armed escort en route between London and Middleham. I had missed his arrival; I would not miss his departure. So I sat in the stable yard on a mounting block and kicked my heels, as windblown and dust-covered as any of the serving girls, rejoicing inwardly at seeing him again after almost a year. I longed to talk to someone other than Isabel, someone who would tell me what was happening outside the walls of this castle. Someone who had been in London as well as at my father’s side, had experience of this country being torn in two again, York against Lancaster.

I was considering the implication of that final thought when at last he turned in through the gateway from the inner courtyard.

‘Francis! Over here!’

I raised my hand and, seeing me, he changed direction. It gave me the chance to watch his athletic lope, to assess the changes wrought by the intervening months. All I saw at first was the familiar gait, the pleasing features, the deep affection in his instant grin. But then, studying his face, I thought he looked older. Very much Lord Lovell rather than the mischievous boy with whom I had grown up. There was no mischief now lurking in his eyes. Indeed, I decided there was an altogether harder edge about him, as if he had faced things that were unpalatable and been forced to make a difficult choice…

My breath caught. My heels stilled against the worn stone. My thoughts circled around Francis’s present position, his past and present loyalties. And it thudded home, a dull blow to just below my heart. That all the ease of the past between Francis and my family could well be destroyed. I could see the muscle tension in his shoulders, the abrupt turn of his head to shout instructions for his escort to mount. I could see it in new lines in his face. He was uncomfortable in this role he was playing, in his visit to Warwick. I thought I knew exactly the reason why. I had wanted so much to see him, talk with him, but it was to prove a harsh lesson in reality for me, and one I would never forget.

‘It’s not good news.’ His first words as he hoisted himself on the stone beside me. He knew I would want to know and made no attempt to dilute the details. ‘There’s a new outbreak of rebellion in the north, this time in the name of old King Henry.’

‘Henry?’ I had all but forgotten his existence, shut away in the Tower. ‘Can the Earl not put the rebels down?’

‘Not easily. Rumours abound that King Edward’s dead, you see, since he has not been seen abroad for some weeks. So many would rather return to the old way than accept…’ His words lurched to a halt.

‘Than accept the authority of the Earl of Warwick?’ I sighed.

‘That’s the sum of it.’ His mouth snapped shut like a trap. Then, ‘The Earl is finding it difficult to raise troops. I can tell you no more than that. Loyalty is become an issue for everyone…’

I had been right in my suspicions. Dare I ask him outright? I tried a flanking action first. ‘Did you see Richard in London? Where are his loyalties?’

Francis’s face set in hard planes I could not fail to interpret. ‘He’s with Edward and will remain so committed. He’ll not consider treason.’

Treason! ‘Would he not even consider throwing in his lot with Clarence? With my father? For the good of the realm, if such a move will restore it to peace?’

‘Never! He will not.’

‘And what of your loyalties, Francis?’ We could fence around this for hours. I decided the more direct approach, at the cost perhaps of hurting him, was my only choice.

‘As the ward of the Earl, my allegiance is to him,’ he replied as if he had learned the words by rote, but with his heart not in them. I could almost see his hackles rise and his eyes bored into mine. ‘What do you imply, lady?’

‘I would never question your loyalty, Francis,’ I replied gently. ‘Forgive me…But, Francis! Honest, now! You are the Earl’s man—but have you never thought of going over to Richard?’

His answering smile so faint as to be non-existent, shadows in his face. ‘You were never one to mince words! I’m trying to compromise here, within the shades of loyalty.’ He sighed. ‘My whole life seems to be one of compromise!’

‘Is it difficult? Is it possible to do so?’ Would I ever be able to compromise if it were asked of me, to put my heart before my upbringing and sense of duty? I didn’t know. I thought it would be an impossible decision to make.

‘Difficult! Ha! I detest it! Anne…I hope you never have to make such choices.’

How terrible this choice was for him. His inclination based on deep and lasting friendship was to stand at Richard’s side. On the other side of the coin, the bonds of warmth and compassion, of family, created in our household where he had been raised remained firm.

‘I might be wary of the Earl’s policies, but as his ward I owe him fealty—and I have much affection for the Countess.’ He groaned. ‘My heart tells me to be Richard’s man.’ Francis rubbed his hands hard over his face as if he could erase the conflict, but merely left a smudge of dust of his cheek.

Now I understood for the first time the strain of being pulled apart by conflicting fidelities, when family warred with other commitments. How to choose? How to decide? I too was torn, but I had no choice. I was a Neville, and too young to take a stand against my family. I could only mourn Richard’s absence and loss. But Francis could make his own choice, and the result could be nothing but painful. No wonder he looked strained and weary.

‘Is he well?’ I demanded. ‘Richard?’

‘Yes.’ He blinked as if drawn back from some distant and painful place. ‘And there! I thought you did not care what became of him!’ For a little while the teasing lad had reappeared, and I was glad. I rubbed at the smear with the edge of my sleeve. ‘You were as cold as a January pond when he left Middleham! Enough to freeze the lot of us. And don’t deny it!’

I slid a quizzical glance. ‘Well…I thought…I thought he had no…affection for me…’

‘Silly girl! If kissing kitchen wenches is all the problem—’

‘So he did know!’

‘He guessed. The kiss wasn’t important.’

‘He kissed her more than once. I saw him!’ I didn’t know whether to be angry at Richard or relieved at Francis’s casual rejection of the matter.

‘Well, he could hardly kiss you in the stable yard, could he? Lady Anne Neville, Warwick’s heiress? It would not have been appropriate.’

‘Maude was very pretty!’ I pointed out.

‘True.’ Francis grinned, much like his old self. ‘I kissed her myself. It doesn’t mean anything.’

‘I wrote to him,’ I confessed gruffly, fishing inexpertly for information.

‘I know. He told me. He got the letter.’

‘Oh.’ I thought about this, coming to no conclusion. ‘He didn’t reply.’

Francis shrugged. ‘Of that I know nothing. But Richard told me, if I was to see you here, to tell you this. Now—’ he took hold of my hands and repeated the words, carefully learned ‘—thank you for the prayers. I am safe. I trust we can meet in London eventually. I have kissed no serving girls recently. There is nothing for me to forgive. There!”

‘Is that all? Say it again.’

And he did, and I memorised it.

‘Isn’t it enough?’ he added as I frowned over the words. ‘I had to learn it by heart!’

Conscious of a warmth within my chest that Richard should even think of me in his present circumstances, I squeezed Francis’s hands in quick gratitude. ‘What will happen now, Francis?’

‘Now I return to Middleham. I do the Earl of Warwick’s bidding.’ His reply held firm with conviction as if he had made a pact with himself. ‘The rebellion in Henry’s name must be put down by one means or another.’ He was already on his feet.

‘And then?’ I stood with him, trying to brush the dust from my skirts.

‘Then? Well, the Earl cannot keep Edward in prison for ever.’

‘Would…would he kill him?’A terrible cold lodged in my chest to replace the warmth, as we sank deeper and deeper into waters that would surely drown us.

‘No! Of course he won’t do that. That’s never his plan. Don’t even suggest it. There’s enough rumour that the Earl might not cavil at the King’s blood on his hands.’

‘I’m sorry. I was thoughtless.’ I walked at his shoulder to where the escort waited, his words on loyalty and birth tumbling over each other in my mind. ‘All we can do is to remain here until it’s over. One way or another.’

Francis must have seen my despair. ‘Don’t give up hope, Anne. Perhaps it can be put right and relations mended. Despite everything, there’s still a strong bond between Warwick and the King. If the wounds can be healed and Edward released, you’ll return to London and will see Richard again. And, I suggest—’ a wry little smile tugged at his mouth ‘—that you show him that you have grown up at last and bear no grudges!’

I could not smile at the heavy levity, but turned my face away as I stroked a hand down the shoulder of his horse. ‘My father is a traitor, and therefore, by association, so am I. What matter that I have grown up? I have no hope at all.’

King Edward is free! The King has escaped! He is marching to London.

The words were on the lips of every traveller, every merchant and common peddler who came past. I remember standing with the Countess in the shadow of the barbican at Warwick, listening, asking. Terrified. Dreading the next bout of news.

Warwick is dead. Warwick is captured. Warwick is in hiding.

We heard none of this, thank God, only: Warwick is at Middleham.

Had I thought that the world was turned on its head, with the King a prisoner at my father’s hands? That was not the half of it. Within a week of Francis’s visit, all had collapsed about us, in a quagmire of apprehension. Our security in Warwick Castle might be transformed into an imprisonment at any moment, with Edward laying siege at our door.

‘We shall all be put to the sword. Our lives will be forfeit!’ Margery knew what would happen, of course. When did she ever not? Hysteria rose in her voice like a squall at sea. ‘We shall all be imprisoned in a dungeon in the Tower for the rest of our lives.’ Margery hunched her shoulders. ‘We’re traitors. We’ll be called to account. You see if my words don’t come true!’

‘Don’t speak like that!’ the Countess snapped, her eyes on Isabel’s extreme pallor. ‘If you cannot guard your words, then remain silent. In fact, I think you should take yourself off to the kitchens.’

Margery exited with the flounce of a misunderstood loyal retainer of long standing, leaving the Countess to try to mend the harm. ‘All has been restored as it was, Isabel. Edward will not be driven to revenge.’

Empty words, as the Countess well knew. Isabel might nod in relief, grasping at straws, but I was not convinced. Only time would tell.

We were summoned, all of us, to journey to London to meet with Edward on the sixth day of December.

‘Why did you release him?’ my mother asked fretfully. ‘Why put us in this danger?’

The Earl, returned to us, his face sharpened by frustrated ambition, admitted his failure in bald terms. ‘It was simple in the end. I couldn’t rule without him. I could not raise an army to put down the rebellion without Edward’s co-operation. And, typically, Edward drove a hard bargain. No freedom, no army!’

‘And shall we pay the ultimate penalty?’

I held my breath, sick to my stomach, already imagining the edge of an axe graze my neck.

‘It depends on how essential he sees the Nevilles to his government and the peace of the realm. ‘The Earl took my mother’s arm and led her towards the stairs to their private apartments. ‘True, the Woodvilles are fewer on the ground—’ his smile as he recalled Rivers’s execution held no humour ‘—but with Hastings and Gloucester snug at his side, I would say we’re not essential to Edward at all.’

Which was in no way comforting.

We were to present ourselves—the Earl and Countess, Clarence and Isabel and even myself—before the King at a Court reception at Westminster, in the magnificent Painted Chamber used to impress foreign dignitaries. I understood what awaited us, what he was about. We all did, without words being necessary between us to explore Edward’s intentions. If Edward was intent on revenge, it was to be before the assembled nobility of England. Humiliation was the order of the day.

Fear gripping hard, my heart thudding beneath my breast bone, I wished it to be over, our fate decided, whatever the outcome. Edward had deliberately set the scene to awe and impress. Oh, yes, he was the master of such display and grandeur. It was difficult not to stumble to a halt in dismay, for the whole Court was assembled before us, all damask and silk, feathers and jewels. The crowd might be festive, but this gilded room with its high beams and stained windows was as heavy with authority as any place of law. Rebellion was a dangerous commodity that should be stamped out. I thought Edward would have no mercy.

Once I had been persuaded that Edward was in the wrong and that one day he would see the light and restore the Earl to pre-eminence. How could he now, when the Earl had raised his sword against him? What price would we pay? Exile? Death? I glanced at the Countess for reassurance, but found no help there. Her composure hid a fear as sharp as mine.

And here was Edward himself. Magnificent, towering well above six feet, his pre-eminence vaunted in cloth of gold, a gold coronet to rival the gold of his hair and a heavy chain on his breast catching the light. Whatever debt he owed to my father for past services to the Yorkist monarchy, now he stood in judgement and awaited our coming. He would make no concessions to the man who had ordered his arrest at the point of a sword, had kept him behind stone walls and locked doors. By the end of this night I too might have a taste of the horrors of the dungeon.

But then my heart leaped, breath caught. Suddenly the splendour of Edward, for me, paled into insignificance. For my attention was caught by the man standing at Edward’s shoulder. Of course, I knew it must be, that I would see him here. Was this not one of the main reasons for my dry-mouthed anticipation? He had been at Court for almost a year now, experienced enough to be at his brother’s side. Taller, more substantial, his shoulders broader beneath the gleaming tunic, but that was not the change that struck me. In those few months his ability to dissemble had hardened so that his hooded eyes and firm line of mouth revealed nothing. As St George, and in my dreams, I had remembered a dark maturity there. Now I saw that he had an authority that had nothing to do with his clothing or his surroundings, but all to do with his direct gaze and the proud tilt of his head, the set of his shoulders. Did he see me? I thought that he did, but his eye did not linger, instead coming to rest on the Earl. I was of no account to him.

We halted within the encircling ranks of the Court. I could actually hear it, the moment that the whole Court held its breath. I held mine too, aware of every sensation, every little movement in the air around me. A tight band squeezed around my ribs. Beside me, my mother straightened her spine. It seemed that the tension would break, to shatter into sharp crystal to cut and tear. I could feel it screaming through my blood. The Nevilles would pay for their defiance.

But Edward smiled. Bright and warming, like the sun from behind a bank of storm-cloud. Where he might have drawn his sword as a symbol of his righteous anger, instead he raised both hands, palms up, in open-handed acceptance. His voice might carry to every corner of that vast room, but the tone was gentle, softly persuasive.

‘My lord of Warwick. My brother Clarence.’ He stepped forwards to obliterate the divide. ‘You are right welcome. We have missed you at Court since my return here. Welcome indeed.’ He clasped the hands of the Earl and Clarence as if there had never been enmity between them. ‘You have always been my best of friends and will be again. I swear there’ll be no ill will between us…’

As smoothly as a length of Florentine silk against the skin, we slipped back into the stream of noble society. The rigid ranks opened, then closed around us as if nothing were amiss, taking the tone from their king, whilst Edward laid his plans before my father. So carefully constructed. So clever. So magnanimous in his victory. How could the Earl of Warwick do anything but accept this offer of reconciliation? Whereas Edward, cunning to the last, spoke openly of his intentions towards his dear cousin so that the whole Court might know his desire to clip the Earl of Warwick’s political wings. Alliances, dispositions of land and titles. All designed to chain the Earl to Edward’s side through slippery gratitude. But what did I care? Everything in me was caught and held by that quiet figure at Edward’s side who was wilfully, bloodchillingly ignoring me.

‘Gloucester…’ Edward drew him forwards. ‘I have been telling my lord of Warwick of my confidence in your abilities…’

He was close enough for me to touch if I had dared. If I dared…But I had grown up since we last met and not merely in the tally of months since that unsatisfactory encounter. I lifted my chin. I would prove my worth as a Neville daughter. I would apply my own new-found female skills. The long months at Calais and Warwick had been well spent by me.

Edward was formally introducing him, explaining…

‘I have given sovereignty in Wales to my brother of Gloucester.’ Edward’s smile grew even more bland as Clarence stiffened on an indrawn breath. ‘Gloucester is also Constable of England, pre-eminent in power only to myself.’

I slid a glance, full of admiration. I could never have anticipated his new status. Constable of England, in ultimate control of the security of the realm. No wonder Richard had the stamp of authority, a cool dignity that kept others at a distance. He had always been solemn, but I had always been able to burrow into his thoughts, beneath his skin, under his composure. I seemed to have lost that ability, seeing only the inscrutable mask he chose to wear. Was he, unlike the King, unwilling to forgive our bloody sins? Would he reject me far more forcefully than I had rejected him at Middleham? His present polite words, carefully chosen and reserved, gave me, to my irritation, no hint at all.

When politics claimed the general discussion, Richard turned, at last, to me. He bowed. I swept the floor with my skirts.

‘Lady Anne.’

‘Your Grace.’

Richard extended his hand to raise me to my feet, which I did with smooth poise, placing my fingers, lightly like thistledown, in his. And I remembered before everything Francis’s parting advice. I would show the Constable of England that I was no longer given to petulance or foolish embarrassments. I was gracious and dignified.

‘I would thank you for the message, your Grace.’ I lowered my lashes, my voice, I hoped, demurely soft. ‘Francis repeated it perfectly.’

‘As I valued your letter,’ he replied, without inflection.

‘I rejoice in your new office, your Grace. At your high standing with the King.’

‘My brother has been more than generous.’

And why are you being so obtuse? ‘I must apologise for the manner of our parting, sir.’ I smiled, just a little. Tilted my head, interestingly. ‘I hope we can become reacquainted whilst I am at Court.’ Now I tried a direct stare, catching those dark eyes looking at me with some unreadable intent. Curved my lips, just so. Promising much, but committing to nothing.

‘I too hope that we shall find the opportunity, lady.’

And why are you being so terrifyingly formal? Richard’s brows rose infinitesimally. I was no longer sure about the straight stare, or the sharp appraisal that he made no attempt to hide. By the Virgin, Richard! What shall I say next, to spur some impulsive observation from you?

I did not need to. The interruption to our stilted reconciliation came, as shattering as a blast from one of Edward’s new cannon, to spin my thoughts into a breathless whirl.

‘…so I have given it some lengthy thought, Warwick. The betrothal of your daughter Anne.’ My head whipped round with less than elegance. ‘I might reconsider a betrothal between your daughter and Gloucester…’

But I did not hear the Earl’s expressions of gratitude nor see the ingenuous curve to Edward’s mouth. I was hardly aware of any of my surroundings, except Richard, once more placed firmly at the centre of my world. For a brief moment I thought he looked as startled as I. Then once more the composure was hammered back in place.

‘It will give me the greatest of pleasure.’ He inclined his head in a little acknowledgement. Which he might well say if invited to sample a bowl of thick pottage on a winter’s day! What was he thinking? I had no idea.

‘Well?’ whispered Isabel when she could.

‘I don’t know. He was as lost for words as I. At least he did not spurn me as the daughter of the enemy.’

‘No…’ Isabel sounded entirely unconvinced. ‘But that might be because Edward demanded his acquiescence. How can you know his true feelings? How can you ever know?’

‘Do you see what he’s doing?’ the Earl demanded. ‘Every man at Court must see what he’s about—and probably rejoice in it. The mighty being brought low!’ Behind the closed doors of Warwick Inn, he exploded in fury, face white, eyes burning. All the pent-up emotion of that long evening erupting to bring me back to earth from the bright cloud on which I had floated since the astonishing proposal.

‘He’s isolating us,’ Clarence snarled, much as he had snarled since he had bowed himself out of his brother’s presence. ‘Handing out gifts and preferment to every grasping family who will lick his boots and promise fealty. But not to me! Not to his own brother! Gloucester made Constable of England over me…’

Despite her own misgivings, the Countess tried for peace in her household. ‘I see what Edward has not done. If not for his mercy, we might have been settling into the dubious hospitality of the Tower. With an axe hanging over our necks.’

‘So we are forgiven!’ acknowledged the Earl. ‘How generous of him!’

‘You are as powerful as you have ever been,’ the Countess countered. ‘Edward has not robbed you of any of your power or your lands.’

‘He’s walling us in on all sides with families who would glory in our downfall. Stone upon stone he’s building, until our Neville heads will not show above the parapet. The Percies in the north. Gloucester and the Herberts in Wales. The Staffords in the Midlands. Even my brother of Northumberland is rewarded above me. Now Northumberland no longer, but Marquis Montague!’ My father almost spat the words. ‘A Marquis, forsooth! To take precedence over me! Preferment to all but the Earl of Warwick. All we have, as you so aptly remarked, is our necks.’

‘For which we should be grateful. And Richard promised for Anne. Is that not what you wanted? Both our daughters to tie the knot with Plantagenet tight.’

The Earl shook his head. ‘I see the mailed fist within the velvet gauntlet. I’m not persuaded of Edward’s good faith, however fair his manner. I think he would lull us, rob us of potential allies, and then grasp the first opportunity for revenge.’

But I could find no fault. I could see nothing but pleasure. Richard was to be mine at last, with the blessing of the King. I knew it was only because I was useful to tie the Nevilles to the crown, to soothe my father’s thwarted ambitions. I could accept that because a political marriage had always been my destiny, just as for my mother. But nothing could quench my spirits, that little bubble of satisfaction. I wanted this marriage and I wanted more than a political alliance with Richard of Gloucester.

I had come to the decision as he had assured me of his great pleasure. That was not enough. I wanted his heart as well as his hand. It was not enough that he should wed me because his brother ordered him to do so. If I loved him, I would have his reciprocation. I set out to woo Richard Plantagenet, whether he liked it or not.

I applied myself to a campaign of pursue and retreat in those weeks at Court with commendable vigour. I knew I must be patient—difficult, but necessary—to attract, catch his wayward regard, and then withdraw into a chilly distance. Entice him from his chivalric manners and see if I could entrap him. I determined to coax or shock or lure him, whichever would best work, from this newly acquired and impeccably polished self-possession.

Surely it could not be so difficult?

But perhaps it could. Perhaps I had a battle on my hands. I understood his conflicting emotions, and was not without compassion, but I had not liked what I had heard. A seed of dismay had effectively been sown when I heard the stark condemnation fall from Richard’s lips.

‘Do you not, then, wish to wed me?’ I had asked, eyes decorously downcast. How weary I was of being decorous.

‘I must, lady, if it is the King’s wish.’ He wasn’t unfriendly, I decided, so much as disciplined.

‘I thought you wanted our union. Before.’ I resisted glaring at him. Instead I allowed myself to glance at his face through my lashes. Unfortunately there was no relenting in his stern mouth.

‘That was before I realised I was part of Warwick’s plot to overthrow my brother. Marriage to you would secure my loyalties to the Nevilles. Then I was too young to realise it. Now I do.’ The dark eyes settled on mine, bright with indignation. ‘I do not like to be used.’

‘Who does? It’s no better for me.’ Soft voiced, a hint of gentle suffering.

‘I disagree. It would always have been your fate to marry where the Earl decided.’

No good would come of arguing that point. ‘Well—if you choose to keep me at arm’s length, Richard, and not to make the best of a marriage between us…’ Crossly, I resorted to character.

‘Have I said that I will not?’ Good, a hint of temper there. ‘All I said was that I dislike being manipulated.’

‘I know what you said! I find you most ungracious—and will seek better company.’

And I did.

But now Richard’s sense of ill usage must not be allowed to stand in my way. I would overcome it. And if I failed…but I would not. I was a Neville. So I flirted when I could, with Francis who saw my intent and complied with a boisterous good will that I fear fooled no one. Otherwise I kept Isabel company, to the detriment of our tempers and sisterly relationship. Never had a chaperoned lady stuck more closely to her chaperon when the object of her desire came close. Never had a chaperoned lady been so bored…

But Richard appeared to be weakening.

‘Will you join me in the hunt, Lady Anne?’

‘I am gratified.’ I curtsied. ‘But I will ride slowly with Isabel. In her condition she needs my company.’ It almost killed me to refuse, committing myself to a sedate perambulation at the rear of the field, when I could have galloped at his side.

Did I see Richard laugh as he rode off to join the King?

We worked through the whole gamut of Twelfth Night celebrations, manoeuvring aside and around each other as if we were engaged in the steps of a rounddance. Were we an object of amusement for those who watched? Unaware of anyone else, I neither knew nor cared. Richard remained as perfectly well mannered as any lady could desire, but so impregnably distant that it infuriated me. As I walked along the ill-lit corridor between Isabel’s and the Earl’s accommodations, Isabel having kept me at her wretched side to bemoan her increasing girth, I was finally forced to accept the inevitability of a cold political match between us.

‘Well, lady. You took your time. I’ve been here a good hour. And damned cold it is too.’

I lurched to a halt, heart leaping. A figure stepped out. ‘Who is it?’

‘Who do you think would be waiting to waylay you?’

I smiled in the shadows, my wits returning, my declining spirits stirred into life. Two could play at that game! ‘Francis! Is it really you?’

‘Vixen! Francis has no intention of meeting with you in dark corners!’

I heard the laughter in his voice and I smiled in the shadows. So caught up was I in my plan that I had not realised. I was not the hunter, never had been, but the hunted. Richard had more patience than I. More skills. But what now? Allow him his victory? To give in gracefully or retreat behind a fortified pride and disdain…

‘What do you want?’ I managed a fair imitation of a frown.

‘You’ve been trying hard to avoid me of late. And successfully.’

‘I have not.’

‘Then you’ll not resist my capturing you.’

‘I shall.’ I would not give in to such cunning wiles, but my response made no impression. The Constable of England, I realised, had a campaign from which he would not be distracted.

‘You are my betrothed, Lady Anne.’ His teeth glinted in the flicker of light from a distant cresset. ‘I have every right to speak with you.’

‘Not without a chaperon, you don’t! Margery should be with us.’

‘But as she isn’t…’ His hands clasped lightly on my shoulders to draw me close. The kiss, which startled me, was a soft experiment of lips against lips.

‘That was a kiss a brother might bestow on his sister!’ I gasped.

‘You don’t have a brother.’

‘So?’

His retaliation was to be expected, I suppose, with a heat, an urgency that flashed along my skin. Mouth crushed beneath his, I had no breath to attack with a smart response.

‘You’ll be my wife, Anne Neville, because it is Edward’s wish,’ Richard breathed in my ear. ‘But will you be my love, because I would have it so.’

‘I might.’ I hid my face against his shoulder, holding fast to my delight. ‘But only if you would be mine.’

‘A bargain, is it? Yet how can I love someone who plots and torments?’

I did not listen to his words, only felt the strength of his arms, the warmth of his breath against my cheek. My heart, already shivering on the edge, fell at his feet.

‘You can love me because it was always intended to be so,’ I offered, speaking the truth as I saw it. ‘Because you have known me for ever, good and bad. Because you own my heart.’

‘Then I must take a care of it, mustn’t I.’

‘Will you?

‘Always.’

‘In spite of everything? The treachery and secrecy? I am still Warwick’s daughter.’

‘In spite of everything, daughter of Warwick, I love you. I think I always have. Ever since you informed me how relieved you were I hadn’t died at birth.’

My laughter echoed his softly in the draughty corridor. Typical of Richard to say so little and mean so much, leaving me truly ensnared. I allowed him to kiss me again. There again, perhaps I didn’t allow it, but he kissed me anyway. My lips smiled beneath the pressure as desire skipped shiveringly over my skin. All my secret plotting had been hopelessly futile and unnecessary. Richard had wanted me, I had possession of his heart all the time.

It was a magical time, when I was scarce able to catch my breath from one day’s end to the next, my blood running hot with excitement, a naïve passion that robbed me of sleep and appetite. I could scarce wait to rise from my bed at the beginning of each day to meet with him again. What did it matter that Margery shadowed me? The stolen kisses were sweeter for their snatched infrequency. If those around me smiled with condescension on my blissful state, I was unaware. Richard filled my heart, all my vision.

It had to end, with responsibilities on all sides to direct us into our disparate lives. From my earliest years I had learned that a man of authority had demands on his time so that I could not expect to remain close at Richard’s side for ever. So I returned to Warwick with my mother and Isabel. The Earl remained at Court with Edward. Clarence journeyed between London and Richmond in the north whilst Isabel grew big and indolent. Richard was in Wales to oversee the rebel castles he had occupied, to take soundings of any further rebellion.

‘I don’t want this,’ I had declared as we parted in London, clutching at the breast of his velvet tunic with both hands regardless of the crushed fabric. ‘How shall I live for a whole day without you, much less weeks—even months?’ I widened my eyes in parody of distress, luring him to say what I wanted to hear. ‘How do I know you’ll regret my absence? I swear you’ll enjoy the campaign and have no thought for me.’ I was learning the trick of pushing my sometimes-taciturn lover into statements of a non-political nature, although not always with much finesse.

The corners of Richard’s mouth twitched as if he read my intent. ‘I will think of you at least once a day.’

‘Is that all?’

‘Is that not enough?’ He gave in. ‘You have all my devotion. Feel my heart beat for you.’ And he flattened my palms beneath his, against his chest, so that I could feel the steady throb. ‘When I return we will marry.’

In a final gesture Richard stroked his knuckles down over my cheek. ‘Gentle Anne! Still I love you!’ His soft mockery touched my heart. I caught his wrist, turning my face to press my lips there. When I smiled into his eyes, all I could see was his love for me imprinted there.

‘And you have all my love. God keep you safe.’

I was content. It was as if the last year with its upheavals and deceits had never happened. We basked in the full light of royal forgiveness and generosity.

Richard was mine.