“I have a proposition, Mistress Perrers.”

I felt a little tingle in my blood, a faint warmth that dispelled the smothering lethargy, the product of sleepless nights.

“A proposition?” I turned to go, feigning disinterest. “Now, what would that be? You’ve had little enough to say to me in the past sennight.”

“I’ve been busy.”

“And so? Now that you are no longer busy?”

Again, for a long moment he studied me, then gave a decisive nod. “Let us find a little corner where the hundreds of courtier ears in this place will not flap. It’s like a beehive, a constant buzz of rumor and scandal.”

He escorted me—not that I was unwilling, for had he not stirred my curiosity?—into a chamber used by the scribes and men of law, angling me between desks and stools into a corner where we could sit. There were no courtiers here. The young scribes continued to dip and scratch and scribble without interest in us. Idly I picked up a document from a box on the floor and pretended to be engrossed in it. A bill of sale of two dozen coneys. Presumably we’d eaten them in the last rabbit pottage.

Windsor came straight to the point. “I think we could make a killing.”

We? I said nothing, fanning myself with the coney document.

He grinned. “You give nothing away, do you? A killing of a financial nature.”

I tapped my foot against the base of the box.

“Would you care to throw in your lot with me on the purchase of some excellent little manors?”

A proposition indeed. My interest was snared like one of the unfortunate rabbits—that he would desire someone to join in partnership with him—and that he would look to me. Playing for time, I smoothed out the roll of parchment in my hands as if the coneys were of vast importance.

“And why would I do that?”

“Against the hard times,” he repeated. “They’ll be harder for you than for me.” And he began to juggle with two lumps of red sealing wax that he’d swept up from a nearby desk, adding a third and then a fourth with amazing dexterity.

“Perhaps.” My eye might be caught by the clever manipulation of the wax, but my mind was working furiously. Would they be harder for me? I expected he was right. It was always harder for a woman alone. I slid my eye from the wax to the sharp stare turned on me. “Why invite me to share in your project?”

“You have an interest in purchasing land.” The wax, unheeded, fell to the floor with a soft clatter. “You have contacts. I expect you have access to funds. You have an able agent.…Need I say more?”

It was an impressive tally, for which I was justifiably proud. “What do you have?” I demanded.

“Hardheaded business acumen.” He was not short of arrogance.

“Do I not have that also?”

“Amazingly, yes, but…”

“Don’t say it! Amazingly for a woman!”

“Then I won’t.” His mouth twitched. “What do you think?”

I waved the forgotten document to and fro, giving it some thought.

“Don’t you trust me?”

“No.”

He laughed. “So what’s your answer? Is that no, too?”

“My answer is…” And because I did not know my own mind: “Why do I need you? I have acquired land perfectly adequately without you.”

“Sometimes you need a man to push the negotiation forward.”

“I have any number of men who are ready to work with me, for our joint benefit.”

“Do you?” He looked surprised.

So I allowed myself to crow a little. “Did you not know? In the last handful of years I have purchased any number of manors through the offices of a little cabal of most trusted men. I use them as feoffees who—Master William Greseley in particular—undertake negotiations in my name. It is a perfect arrangement for a femme sole.”

“Where did you learn that?”

“A long time ago—a different life.” I remembered standing outside Janyn Perrers’s room, my bride gift clutched in my hand. I smiled a little. How far I had come. Then I dragged my mind back to the mercurial man who sat before me, leaning forward, the wax rescued from the floor and being tossed irritatingly from hand to hand. “If I do not help myself, who will?”

“Clever!” Windsor’s eyes narrowed as he considered what I had achieved. “I admit your success. Then tell me, a mere curious man, how many manors have you actually snatched up?” I shook my head. I would not say, which he acknowledged readily enough. “I’ll find out one day! I still say you need an astute man, who has a more personal view of your future.”

“And you are he.”

He bowed.

“Ah, but I think my little cabal of moneyed men have a very personal commitment to my success. If I fall under attack, so will they, so they will defend me to the death. I find them hardworking and unswervingly loyal. And so my answer is, Sir William—no. You might need me, but I do not need you.”

“Then our conversation is at an end, Mistress Perrers.”

Abruptly, he tossed the wax on the desk and left me to the company of the incurious clerks. I had surprised him with my refusal, and he did not like it.

For the whole of the next week he kept his damnable distance from me!

During that time I considered Windsor’s offer. I had many hours. The King was full of lassitude, his mind sluggish. When awake, Edward felt an urge to confess his sins and so spent many hours on his knees in the chapel. Sometimes he stood alone on the castle walls, looking abstractedly out toward France. Since I was not in demand, my thoughts turned inward to the unexpected proposal.

There was much to recommend it in spite of my cavalier rejection. Was it not always easier for a man than for a woman to indulge in binding agreements with those with land to sell or lease? Yes, I used Greseley, but would it not be more advantageous to have an equal partner, a man with some status and authority whose interest was as strong as mine? A woman was considered an easy target. I might have the King’s ear, but not everyone was willing to accept my jurisdiction.

Yes, I had won my case over that amazingly unattractive rabbit cloak, but my mind swerved to a more recent clash with the local population near my manor of Finningley, a valuable little property in Nottinghamshire. My manor no longer! For what had the local mob done? Only attacked and stolen my cattle. And not only that: My crops were destroyed, my men and servants imprisoned until they took oaths to renege on their oath of fealty to me. Which they did, the words tripping over their tongues in their desire to obey the vindictive rogues with hard words and harder fists who had set upon them.

Now, if I were in partnership with Windsor…would it be to my advantage? I imagined him more than capable in negotiation. But would I wish to work with one such as William de Windsor? Do you trust me? he had asked. No! I had replied. And yet I thought it would be exhilarating to work in tandem with such a man. I imagined him taking a select group of armed men to sway the decision of the local population, and ensure that Finningley remained my property.

On the other hand…

Holy Virgin! He would make me take the initiative here! If I kept my distance, he would find someone else to work in partnership in his ventures.

So must I agree to work hand in glove with him? A bold woman might be persuaded to accept a glove from Windsor. A smile touched my mouth. I would do it. But I would take him by surprise, on my own terms. I would put him at a disadvantage, and enjoy every minute of it.

I wrote two fast notes, much with the same purpose: one to Master Greseley, one to Windsor. The response from both was prompt. I set myself, with some careful arrangements, to luxuriate in the outcome.

I was always fond of the drama of a mummers’ play.

The whole occasion had a delicious frisson about it. I chose late afternoon, for obvious reasons, when the light in the audience chamber would have dimmed, and I had no torches lit. I took my place on Edward’s throne, clad in dark skirts and veil, Greseley at my side. Only when I was ready did I raise my hand for the attendant at the door to admit Windsor, who was waiting in the antechamber. I heard his words.

“You will be seen now, my lord.”

And I recalled my little note. It was not malicious, only playful. I had hoped Windsor would appreciate it.

His Majesty has made a decision relating to the governorship of Ireland. You will be informed in the Paneled Chamber at four hours after noon.

He was very prompt. He strode in. Halted. Bowed, a keen eye to protocol.

“You may approach,” the attendant advised before closing the door behind him.

So we were alone, the three of us, as Windsor advanced. He had dressed with impeccable neatness in dark hose and close-fitting cotehardie in black and green damask, cinched with a jeweled girdle on his hips. It was very fashionable—even to a parti-colored shoulder cape and gold-edged baldric, although he had abjured the extravagant long toes for good-quality leather boots. He was out to make a good impression; he would not lose this position through inattention to detail. He was, I recognized anew, a man who could play whatever role he set himself.

The thought shivered momentarily along my spine, but I sat perfectly still.

When did he realize it was not the King who occupied the royal throne?

When he was halfway down the length of the room. I saw the moment, the second look, the recognition. To his credit there was barely a hitch in his step. He continued until he stood just below the dais and bowed again with the same depth of respect, the feathers of his cap sweeping the floor. Straightening, he looked up at me. His eyes were somber in the shadowed light, but they gleamed when I motioned to Greseley to light the bracket behind me. And there we were, a dramatic little scene in a pool of golden illumination.