“How do I look?” I demanded, when his kisses stopped. I knew how I looked. I kept no state here: clad in my oldest gown, my skirts tucked up, my sleeves rolled to my elbow, even my hair uncovered.

“Disgraceful!” he replied promptly. “Like a penniless country wench.”

“I am a country wench.”

“And this is your son.” Releasing me, he lifted the child from my arms with remarkable aplomb.

“And yours too. I have called him John,” I said, not thawing one inch.

“A good name. I couldn’t think of better. A splendid name for so small and helpless a creature. He’s no bigger than one of my alaunts’ pups.” He held him high, so that John’s fussing became gurgles of joy. “He has the Plantagenet nose, I see.”

“I can’t see it.”

“Then you must look more closely!” Edward lowered the infant, placing him gently back in his basket at my feet. He tilted his chin. He would have been a fool not to have picked up on my mood by now. “And what’s biting you, Mistress Alice? You’re as bad tempered as a squirrel in a trap.”

“Nothing’s biting me!” I would not allow his pleasure at seeing his son to win me over.

The King looked at me, obviously considering his next move with this ill-humored shrew. He brushed a tendril of hair from my forehead and a few crumbs of earth from my sleeve. And he grinned.

“Don’t smile at me!”

“Why not?” But he became sober. “I know what burr’s got under your saddle, mistress. You thought I should have come to see you before now. And that’s the truth of it,” he added when I opened my mouth to deny such childish petulance.

So I agreed. “Yes. How many months is it, Edward?”

“Too many. But listen. Look at me.” He shook my sleeve to get my attention. “You have to accept—you are not always my first priority. I knew you were safe. I knew you were well cared for. I knew that you and your son were in health and lacked for nothing.”

Still I would not accept. “Why did you not come?”

He pulled me to a bank of grass, where we sat. “Chiefly because the King of France is dead.” Edward leaned forward, his forearms braced against his thighs, staring at the grass between his feet.

I knew something of this from my Court days: King John of France, defeated in battle and a prisoner in England until his ransom was paid by his penurious kingdom. A man of honor who waited out his days with good humor.

“He fell ill in March,” Edward explained. “A month later he was dead. I returned his body to France. His son—King Charles the Fifth now—is reluctant to keep the truce of Brétigny between us. So that means war, God help us! I’m negotiating an alliance with King Pedro of Castile—I think we’ll need him. No war yet, but the storm clouds are looming and I don’t…” His words faded. Never had I seen him so lacking in assurance. Then he turned his head and looked up at me. “I am King, Alice. I can’t put you before my duties. I must keep England safe. But I am here now, because I needed to see you and could put it off no longer.”

My cold anger melted. Here was no apology but an explanation that I could understand. An explanation from a man who was King, who did not need to explain. And yet he had. I placed my hand on his arm.

“Will you stay?” I asked.

“I cannot.”

“What is it this time?”

“What it always is. I have summoned Parliament. It is imperative that the Prince in Aquitaine receives enough finance to pursue his foreign policy. Imperative…” And I saw the line of worry dig deep again between Edward’s brows. “I went out of my way to come here!”

“And I suppose that I, being less important than England, must forgive you.”

I could feel him smile as he sat up and pressed his mouth against my hair. I had gone too far in my selfish displeasure, and I forgave him in my delight at seeing him again.

“Have you time for a cup of ale?” My question was gentle, and I touched his cheek.

“I have, and for a kiss from a woman who no longer stares at me as if I were a leper. And let me see my son again.”

Barely an hour we spent together, seated in the garden amidst the herbs and bees. Then he was mounted, the royal escort drawn up in good array, but with one matter still uncertain for me. Was it deliberate policy that he had not spoken of it? I must know.…

“Do I return to Court, Sire? Does the Queen wish me to return as a domicella?”

“Can you doubt it?” His regard was quizzical. I did not think that he understood my concerns.

“Yes,” I stated.

“She does, Alice. She has missed you.”

Or was this Edward imposing his will on a reluctant Queen? “When?” I asked. “When will you send for me?’

Edward’s eyes flashed, temper suddenly simmering close to the surface. “When I don’t have the Commons baying at my heels about the rise in prices. It’s like trying to legislate against the incoming tide. We’re trying to determine what men of rank and no rank might or might not wear—fur or embroidery—or whether the commons should—” Impatience lay heavily on him, and frustration, as he bit off the words.

“What about John?” I asked with false sweetness. “What does your new law say that a bastard—even a royal one—is entitled to wear?” I knew my humor had an unpleasant edge, but what woman would not dislike being set aside for a discussion of sumptuary laws?

And the temper died, as I had intended. “By God, Alice! I miss you. I forget to laugh when you are not with me.”

And I reached up to touch the lines beside his eyes, regretting their presence. “I miss making you laugh.”

“Never doubt that I want you back at Court.”

Then he was gone, leaving me with much to think about that was unsettling. Not so much my own circumstances, which were still far from certain in my eyes, but the events that were putting the King under so great a strain.

I returned to Court as circumspectly as I left. Who should be the first to cross my path, to grasp the chance to put me in my place, if for any reason I misread my strange status in the royal household, but Isabella, who was crossing the courtyard from chapel to hall—just as gloriously beautiful and as querulous as I recalled. And quite as extravagant: The gown on her back and the jewels at her throat would have ransomed King John himself back to France, if he were still alive. No change here. In my absence no one had managed to wed her and carry her off to nuptial bliss. I was sorry.

She changed direction like one of Edward’s ships under full sail, and came to block my path as I climbed the steps.

“So you’re back with us.” Her lip curled.

I took a few more steps before I curtsied. I did it well. The steps gave me an advantage of height over her.

“We haven’t missed you.” She eyed me. “Your looks haven’t improved—although your figure has, I expect.”

Her smile was thin, her demeanor haughty. The ladies, a little knot of the Queen’s damsels who accompanied her, did not try to hide their amusement at my expense. So this was to be the tone of my life if Isabella had her way, mocked and ridiculed and despised. But I had grown daring in my absence and by Edward’s visit. I felt strong and would not be provoked. I stood my ground, waited. Sometimes there is strength in silence.

“Nothing to say, Mistress Perrers?” Isabella cooed. “That’s unlike you! And where is the bastard? Does he look like my father? Or one of the scullions perhaps?”

A declaration of war. I was provoked, after all.

“Your brother is well cared for, my lady. In His Majesty’s manor at Ardington.”

I had left John behind. How difficult that was. But it was necessary, and Edward had established a nursery for him with his own servants, a nurse and governess. He would lack for nothing. I had kissed him and promised never to abandon him. Now I used my height advantage against the Princess, chin raised. “He is a true Plantagenet. His Majesty is much taken with him.”

Isabella’s nostrils flared. The damsels held their collective breath.

“Airs and graces, Mistress Perrers. How ambitious you are. What do you hope for? A title? A rich marriage on the back of my father’s misplaced generosity?”

I replied without inflection. Oh, I was far surer of myself now. “I hope for nothing but respect and recognition for my services, my lady.”

Anger lay bright on her, the jewels glinting at her sharp inhalation. Isabella opened her mouth to reply with a stream of invective, but we were disturbed, a group of courtiers entering the courtyard from the direction of the stable block. Loud and well satisfied after a vigorous hunt, the gentlemen bowed. I heard Isabella’s little intake of breath, saw a stiffening in her spine as her attention was arrested, her expression softening. She smiled.

Duly interested, I observed the group to see who had been honored with the Princess’s wayward admiration. Whoever it was, I doubted it would come to more than a passing flirtation. It would have to be a man of character to put a curb rein on Isabella. Had she not refused every suitor offered to her, a positive string of the highborn sons of Europe? I could see no response to her in this group of gentlemen, who were all more intent on the excitement of the kill. The courtiers moved off, the damsels following.

“Jesu! He’s good to look at.” She forgot who I was. Her eyes followed the departing figures.

“Who?”

“Him!”

At the door one of the knights looked back over his shoulder toward us, but then, with no more acknowledgment than a nod of his undoubtedly handsome head, followed the rest. He seemed to me to be very young.

“I don’t know him.”

“How should you?” Isabella’s scowl was ferocious. She had remembered again. “You’d better go and remind the Queen of your existence. She has a new damsel since your departure. You may find you’re not as indispensable as you’d like to think. Take care, Mistress Perrers!”