Yet it pleased me beyond sense that he was wearing the sapphire ring that I had given him. It pleased me less that he danced with every attractive woman in the room, and every one of them younger than I. But I was hardly in a position to complain, was I?

He did not ask me to dance with him again. He was not a man to hound me until I complied. He was nothing like John.

The banquet and dancing over, I dispatched my women to the rooms the Friary had allotted to us before taking one final survey of the Great Hall. All was in order and could be left to Henry’s Chamberlain. Indeed Henry was still there, speaking with him, still fired with some enthusiasm, while I was weary and covered a yawn with my fingers. Perhaps tomorrow I would go to Dartington. There was nothing more to keep me here. If Henry had no word from the Scots I imagined that he would bring an invasion in short order, and I would be superfluous. I did not know whether I was relieved or disappointed.

Just weary, I decided, as a shadow fell across my path.

‘My lady.’

I recognised the voice, and wished he would go away. I hadn’t the energy for further exchanges.

‘I am about to retire, Sir John.’

‘Then I will not keep you. Except for this.’

Taking the sapphire stone from his own finger, he held it out. I regarded it, and him quizzically. Why would he do that? Did he not want to keep so valuable a gem? Surely it could not be my refusal to dance with him, he could not be so petty. But so be it. When I made to take it from him, he took my hand, gently but firmly enough, and pushed the golden circle onto my own finger.

My hand felt nerveless in his, the ring suddenly weighing heavily. The air around us was breathless, heavy with portent. I was always quick at reading portents.

‘Are you returning it?’ I asked to fill the sharp little silence. There was a ripple of warning here for me. Please let it not be what I suspected. ‘It was given willingly, Sir John.’ My voice sounded breathless even to me.

‘I am returning it,’ he replied, keeping my hand in his. ‘With intent. I am honoured, my lady,’ he said, ‘that you have agreed to give your hand in marriage to me.’

The air stilled around me into a suffocating pillow, and I stared at him. Words failed me, or suitable ones at least. How had he come to this conclusion? And then I knew. I knew it as if it was written in blood on the white linen of the tables that had still to be cleared of the debris. It was Henry. It was all Henry’s doing. Building alliances, that was it, and here I was, to become an essential stone in the fortress he was constructing. Henry, my loving brother, had given my hand in marriage without even speaking to me of his cunning little stratagem. He had committed me to be wed again to this ambitious knight from the west, whether I wished it or not.

‘My lady?’

Sir John bent his handsome head to press a kiss on the ring that presaged so much.

‘But I have not agreed.’ With an inelegant tug, I pulled my hand from his, and he did not resist.

‘I was of the understanding that you had. My lord the King has granted me your hand, Lady Elizabeth,’ his composure perfectly unaffected by my refusal.

‘My lord the King had no right,’ I retorted as the enormity of what Henry had done struck home. But of course he had. He had every right, and as King of England his rights had taken on even greater significance. If I allowed it. ‘I did not know,’ I said, a ridiculously obvious statement that stirred my irritation to raw anger.

How could he not have told me? Warned me? Surely he would not take my compliance for granted. Yes he would! But even if he did expect my obedience, I could not believe that courtesy would not have prompted him to tell me. To tell me why. So that was why he had been ill at ease. It was this—this deal—he had struck with John Cornewall, probably over the ale cups between one joust and the next. I was nothing more than my brother’s gift to the victor of the day. Not allow me to present you with the laurel wreath, or even this purse of gold, or even the most prestigious Order of the Garter, but let me give you my sister. She will make you an excellent wife, if you disregard the little matter of her lack of lands and her dower because her husband was attainted for treason and executed, his head adorning London Bridge. Take her. It will get her off my hands. I won’t have to watch her every step. And it will give you, Sir John Cornewall, a reason for being loyal to the crown. Is that not an excellent bargain for both of us?

And I was shaken with a blast of fury. I had been married once at my father’s behest. I would not meekly comply again at the dictates of my brother. I had no intention of wedding any man when my heart was cold and wounded.

‘The King has not informed me of this,’ I repeated, icily obdurate. ‘Was not the Order of the Garter enough for you?’

‘I am honoured by the Order of the Garter, but your hand in marriage is an even greater honour. Is this marriage not to your liking?’ he asked.

‘No, it is not. It seems that my opinion is irrelevant.’

‘I would not choose to wed a reluctant bride.’

‘Whereas I, Sir John, will not marry any man. I have been a widow for less than six months.’

He considered this. ‘Some widows,’ he remarked contemplatively, ‘are new brides within a week of their husband’s death.’

Some widows, quick to jump into another bed, did not love their husband.

I was too proud to say this. Instead, sliding the glimmering ring from my finger, I offered it back to him, balancing it on my palm. ‘I will not, Sir John.’

He did not take it. ‘Am I repellent to you?’

I observed him, taking my time to assess what I knew about him, as if that would make a difference to my decision. Which it would not. An ambitious knight, seeking promotion and preferment since his family’s straitened circumstances would bring him no satisfaction. A well-mannered, well-tutored knight who was rapidly making a name for himself in court circles. A handsome, courtly man with a subtle use of words. No, he was not physically repellent to me, but the circumstances were. And anger leapt and leapt again as I saw the truth in the situation, that Henry considered that he had every right to decide on my future.

I turned my shoulder to him, to look across the chamber busy with servants, quartering it until I discovered Henry now surrounded by a handful of his counsellors and captains. As if sensing my hostility, he turned his head to hold my gaze with his own. He knew all about this conversation. He had done it without my knowledge or my consent, because he had been uncertain of my reaction, as well he might. Oh, he had the right to do it, but I thought there was a closeness between us that had been partially mended, that he would never take such a step without considering my wishes.

I had been mistaken. To win a man’s loyalty to the crown, once again I had been chosen to play the major role.

For a moment I almost crossed the chamber to challenge Henry, to deny his right, to refuse what he had done to me, but the look on his face was one of implacability. Nor would I draw attention to my position, or shame him in the regard of his counsellors. Instead, pride strong in me, I addressed the man at my side. The man who expected to wed me.

‘I will not wed you, Sir John.’

‘Am I so bad a choice, my lady?’ he pursued.

Any choice was bad, however good his features, however smooth his tongue. I could not do it. Well-mannered and chivalrous he might be, I would not wed him. There were many women who would castigate me for a fool, and indeed in other circumstances, in another life, I might just …

A thought struck me with the force of a mace.

‘How old are you, Sir John?’

His brows lifted at so personal a question, but he told me.

And I laughed. I laughed loudly enough to draw the attention of every man and every scavenging dog in the room. And then I stopped, my hand to my mouth. It was ill mannered to laugh when the victim of my laughter had no idea why.

‘No,’ I repeated. ‘I will not marry you. I will not marry you at my brother’s behest. There is nothing in this marriage for me and I am no tournament prize for the taking.’

Not waiting to see if he would argue against this, ignoring Henry, I left the ring, which Sir John had not redeemed, on the table and left the hall.

But before I climbed the stair, I looked back. What woman would not? Hands fisted on hips, Sir John Cornewall studied the floor at his feet. Then he retrieved the ring and pushed it onto his own finger, apparently neither embarrassed nor discomfited at my pronouncement. Did he think I would change my mind, or that Henry would bring his will to bear on me? For a young man without powerful sponsors he had an astonishing confidence, but he would find no compliance in me.

I walked with great dignity up the stairs and locked myself in my room.

The next morning I was up betimes, dressed, orders issued almost before daybreak. I considered departing without a word to anyone, but the emotional turmoil that had rumbled throughout the night, keeping my mind alert even though my body craved sleep, refused to let me act the coward. My brother deserved to know what I was doing and why I was doing it. It need not be a protracted meeting, or a particularly private one. We would not air our linen in public. What it would not be was pleasant.

‘Good morning, Elizabeth.’

I caught him, superbly groomed, every inch the King despite the early hour, in the brief hiatus between Mass and his reception of his Scottish couriers. He had been smiling at some comment made by his steward, but his welcome was tempered by the time I was within speaking distance. Oh, he was wary, and it was in my mind to shout and rail at him for his deception. The night had given me much food for thought.