‘Why, Elizabeth!’ His brows had risen. ‘Do you love me after all?’

My elbow found a tender spot against his naked ribs. We laughed and loved, holding the brief moment to ourselves, despite the discomfort of his squire’s room that we had commandeered. And then he had left me, our future as hazy as ever it was, with not even a memento for me to hold.

‘I thought you would give me a farewell gift,’ I demurred in an attempt to hide my anxieties.

‘What need of you for gifts? You have more rings than any woman I know.’

‘Will you send word?’

‘When I can.’ A final warm but brief kiss, for he was already searching for his boots—the whereabouts of various items of clothing, tossed aside in urgency, more important to him than I.

But I knew he would not. What man ever did?

So he had left me.

But this was not the moment for such concerns and I thrust the memory aside. Philippa would go with the expedition to her marriage with King João of Portugal, to make an alliance between him and the Duke against Castile. I might never see her again.

‘You can have this.’ Philippa held out a gold-edged veil and matching ornamented chaplet which she knew had taken my eye. Had I not borrowed it on more than one occasion?

‘Are you sure?’

‘Yes. And I agree about the lute. Keep it, and play it for me sometimes.’

Emotion welled in my throat so strongly: to hide it I rose swiftly, crossing the room to take the instrument from her. But I didn’t take it. I had barely reached her when my vision broke into facets of light and, fingers suddenly clumsy, I dropped the instrument, the strings complaining with a discordant twanging.

Oh …

A pain struck at my temple and it was as if all the blood drained from my head to my toes, leaving me cold and unsure of my balance. I staggered as little, pressing my fingers against my brow, eyes squeezed shut.

‘Oh …!’

Nausea gripped me hard, before Philippa was there at my side.

‘You are as white as my new ermine collar.’ Her hands reached out to me.

I held on tightly to her arm, one hand now pressed against my mouth.

‘I think you had better move your new ermine out of harm’s way,’ I gasped, ‘or I’ll vomit over it.’

Which she did, taking my warning seriously before she pushed me to lie on the bed, thrusting aside the satins and velvets, beckoning to one of her women to bring me a cup of ale.

‘What is it? Are you ill?’

‘No. Nothing.’

‘She was dizzy yesterday morning, my lady,’ Josselyn, Philippa’s waiting woman remarked with unfortunate familiarity.

‘I don’t recall,’ I said, pushing away the solicitous hands.

I tried to sit up, but since my head was spinning I sank back, grateful when Philippa produced a bowl for me to vomit into—which I did, then fell back on the bed again with a groan of final acceptance. I had denied this. It was not the first time I had been so discomfited, but I had rejected the fear that was growing in my mind as the truth was growing in my belly.

‘Has this happened before?’ Philippa was looking at me, on the alert.

‘No.’

‘Lady Elizabeth did not go to Mass yesterday morning,’ Josselyn said with saintly disapproval.

‘No, you didn’t.’ Philippa, frowning faintly, brushed my hair back from my brow. ‘I recall.’ Then waved her women away to the far side of the room. Too late for that, I thought.

‘Lady Elizabeth has not broken her fast for four days,’ Agnes added a parting shot, carrying the incriminating bowl from the room.

‘Elizabeth …’

I sipped the ale cautiously, not meeting Philippa’s eye, until she seized the cup, took my chin in one hand and forced me to face her, and I knew my secret was out.

‘You might show some sympathy!’ I tried.

‘Sympathy? Tell me this is not what I think it is.’

‘Then I won’t.’

‘But it is, isn’t it?’

And I thought of the limited experience I had of pregnancies, wanted or unwanted, in a household that had not been blessed with such occurrences. There was no doubt. Constanza had only borne one daughter, but there was no doubt at all.

‘Yes.’ Retrieving the cup from my sister’s grasp, I sipped again. My stomach seemed to be under my control so I pushed her supporting arm away. ‘I must get up.’

‘You can’t not tell me.’ Philippa’s voice had dropped to a whisper, as if it were possible to keep my ignominious sin from the gossiping tongues of the solar. ‘Not Jonty, of course.’

‘Ha. Our brother might have pre-empted the arrival of Mary’s new womanhood, but they were in love. Jonty still has no time for anything but his horse and his new armour and a flighty kitchen maid.’

‘Then who? By the Virgin, Elizabeth …’ I thought that if I had not been so ashen she would have shaken me.

I sighed, finding it impossible to imagine what she would reply. But say it I did.

‘Then I’ll tell you. You would guess anyway. This child that I carry is John Holland’s.’

‘What?’ Little more than a squeak. ‘No, you must be mistaken.’

‘Do you think so?’ Irritably I thrust her aside. ‘How many men do you think I’ve taken to my virginal bed? For shame.’

‘I didn’t mean …’ Philippa sighed. ‘And of course you’re not mistaken. How naïve of me.’ A frown came quickly. ‘Did he seduce you?’

‘Oh, yes.’ And I found my irritation draining away and that I was smiling, although there was nothing for me to smile at in my wretchedness. ‘John is a master of seduction. But not in the way you mean.’

‘You make no sense. Was it rape? Did he force you?’

‘Certainly not. I desired it as much as he did.’

‘Elizabeth!’

‘I love him. I have loved him since he rescued me from the Tower. And perhaps even a little before that, but I was very young. And then when I went to return the gifts, the finches, I couldn’t do it, and I knew that I was destined to be with him.’

‘Holy Virgin! I warned you about getting singed. I didn’t expect you to leap into the fire! What will you do?’

‘At this moment I don’t know, other than lie here and suffer.’ I had fallen back on the bed again amidst Philippa’s gowns.

‘Does he know?’

‘No.’

‘You must tell him.’

‘To what purpose? He’ll be with you in Portugal within a matter of weeks.’

We stared at each other, the difficulties of my position looming large.

‘Think of the scandal!’ Philippa whispered.

‘I can think of nothing else!’ I closed my eyes as if it were possible to obliterate it.

‘Elizabeth!’ Philippa nudged me into awareness. ‘You cannot allow Holland to go to Portugal without knowing that you are carrying his child.’

‘And what do we expect him to do about it?’

‘I have no idea. He was fairly efficient in getting you into the situation.’

Nor had I any idea. I could not imagine how we could escape from this scandal.

‘A pity you had not thought of this earlier.’

So I thought. All I had thought about was the delight of each reunion with John Holland.

Her final words as she left me to suffer. ‘We are not going to part as fast as we thought we were. You had better come with me to Plymouth. I’ll say a novena for you.’

Her face was set. No sympathy there then. Except that she turned at the door and looked back, the faintest of smiles.

‘I expect you’ll find a way. You have a charmed life.’

At that moment, racked by nausea, I did not feel capable of magically producing any satisfactory outcome. There was nothing for me to do but order my coffers packed and accompany Philippa to Plymouth. And there I would have to face both John and the Duke.

Plymouth was in a turmoil of troops and horses and all the essentials from ale to weaponry for a protracted and hostile expedition overseas. Our entourage might have found difficulty in forcing its way through the masses but the Lancaster pennons had the desired effect. We were soon in the enclosed courtyard of the castle, no quieter or less turbulent, but with the promise of food and a cup of wine. My spirits and my robust health had returned and the journey, although long, had awoken my resolution.

What were the choices for me, a royal princess, contracted in a strategic but unconsummated marriage, yet carrying the child of her lover? My youthful husband had no power over me, but his family would be falling over their hems to express their horror, and what would the Duke say? More to the point, what would he do? His own marital adventures would have no bearing on his reaction to a daughter of Lancaster falling into foul sin. It was one thing for Dame Katherine de Swynford to bear an illegitimate child to the Duke of Lancaster, it was quite another for a ducal daughter to be caught up into the same trap. I considered my future.

It might be considered desirable to arrange a fast nuptial bed with my Pembroke husband, and then express amazement at my equally fast conception and a child born before its time. I imagined it had been done before in many a high-blooded family. The Duke could arrange it for me under the scowl of his disgust with a wilful daughter, and Jonty was now of an age to be effectively potent. It might save me from shame, and memories at court were short. Who would count the months of my pregnancy?

What if, instead, I were dispatched to some distant and discreet convent under the auspices of Lancaster, where the child would be delivered and cared for, with no one the wiser? I would return from my sojourn in the country as white as a sacrificial lamb and resume my interrupted marriage. Seven months in isolation, with prayer and contrition my only companions, might be considered a small price to pay.

And my child—John’s child—handed to some foster family with a purse of gold to ensure its welfare and suitable education. I wrinkled my nose in disgust. I would not consider it a small price. I would consider it beyond my bearing.