And then as I raised my eyes from his hands to his face, I saw the Duke look over at his wife, a glance of such heartfelt compassion, of such gentle understanding for her, for the recent loss of their son. He too longed for a son to be heir to the Lancaster inheritance. The Duke’s love for his wife was a thing of wonder. Such utter devotion, equally returned by his Duchess. A blinding love that I wished was for me.

Before I could be observed, I gave my attention to my child, ordering my thoughts into acceptability. Much, I decided, like pounding herbs and spices through a sieve in a stillroom. This is an infatuation, I remonstrated, from a young girl for her lord who has the glamour and handsome features that a troubadour might sing of, a foolish longing that would fade and die within the time it took for my little Blanche to find her feet and walk unaided.

But it was not. It was a longing that would not leave me.

Why Lord John of Lancaster? I demanded. Why him? It was not his position, his wealth, or his power. It was not his royal blood. As part of Duchess Blanche’s household my path had crossed those of the other royal sons. I did not shiver at the splendid proximity of Prince Edward. Nor was I seduced by the easy charm of the tragically dead Lionel. Or enjoy the easy wit of my lord of Gloucester. It was John of Lancaster who made my blood race. It was that dangerous indefinable allure that moved my heart.

Did I try to douse that flare of desire?

Yes, I tried. Of course I did. Did I not know that the Duke of Lancaster was not for such as I? His royal blood placed him so far above me, while he, oblivious to my youthful yearnings, had eyes only for his beautiful wife, which was as it should be. And so I learned to live with the terrifying discomfort. I was free to admire his glamour and worship silently at his feet. That he had no feelings for me other than honour and duty and a light affection was in some sense a safety net, for he would never look at me and suspect the tenor of the feelings that stalked me.

And Hugh? Did that make me a disloyal wife to my husband? As an arranged marriage between a girl of good birth but no substance and a young man from a solid knightly family, it was a perfect arrangement to suit us both. On a personal level I seemed to please him well enough, for he was briskly considerate and I was of a practical turn of mind. I gave him my loyalty and the duty of my body. I was to bear him another daughter, Margaret, and his precious son and heir, Thomas.

I did not think that I was disloyal.

Except when my mind evaded my conscience.

The scene from the past winked out as a movement, perhaps the hopping of one of the finches from one perch to another, brought my mind back to the here and now so that I once more stood beside my marriage bed, the bed curtain clenched tight in my right hand. As I released it, smoothing out the creases I had made, my thoughts turned inwards. I had been a gracious and well-mannered wife who served the Duchess and administered the Kettlethorpe estates if need arose.

Duty, honour, loyalty. Hard words to cling to when my thoughts were with a man who could wield the power, with the faintest smile, the most innocuous of requests, to make my heart lurch. But I swore that I would go to my death without his knowing how the hand of desire touched me that day with such fervour that the need still growled in my belly. Nor would Duchess Blanche ever guess, for my disloyalty to her was unthinkable.

And yet sometimes when the Duke laced his fingers with Blanche’s, kissed her lips with his, the longing was a raging fire in my veins.

I had never spoken of it, nor would I. Some sins were best kept between the sinner and God. I had been the perfect damsel, and I learned to keep my distance, to hide my thoughts. I was not without intelligence or the ability to dissemble when the need arose and I saw the right sense of it. It was a relief when the Duke went to France to fight at the side of his brother Prince Edward.

But what now?

I sank to the edge of the bed.

As a widow, as a mother with a duty to her children, duty and honour still guided my steps. Acting on the stark awareness that beat beneath my bodice was still not a choice I could ever contemplate. My respectability was assured and inviolable. It was bearable for had I not been the perfect mistress of self-command for more years than I wished to count? I knew what was expected of me and what was due to me and to my family name. I would never follow my chosen path in life with anything but propriety and courtly dignity.

Easy to say. I found that once again I had clutched the hangings, for now all was changed. The Duke’s statement of intent had made it unbearable, and if he would trifle with my emotions, it would undermine all I had done to keep my thoughts under strict discipline. I did not understand how a man of such erstwhile integrity could place this burden at my feet. I did not need this complication. I did not want it.

But he wanted me.

I want you. I want you for my own.

My feelings for him were so complex as to defy definition, my heart and mind in severe conflict: to take care, or to throw care and discretion to the wind. To refuse a priceless gift, or seize it with both hands. To condemn what was a gross sin, or claim it as my heart’s desire. How I wished that he had not spoken, yet when I closed my eyes, the words were written on the darkness of my vision, shimmering there in gold, and horribly seductive.

A light knock, the click of the latch that encouraged the finches to trill briefly, and there was Agnes at the door. ‘We have a problem, Katherine.’

‘Not another.’ I stood, banishing the Duke to where he properly belonged, waiting at The Savoy for the arrival of Duchess Constanza. I had enough to worry about without malingering in the past.

‘The reed thatch on the stable block has collapsed in the inner corner. It’s brought down a portion of the hay loft. Master Ingoldsby says the rest is sure to follow if this rain continues, so we must move the horses to dry accommodations. He says do we send to our neighbours? Then there’s the little matter of water seeping into the well in the court-yard…’

‘And I need the funds to put it all right. I know.’ I must have succumbed to dismay, for Agnes approached, eyes narrowed on my face, but I essayed a laugh to deflect her concern. ‘The Duke’s offer could not have come at a more opportune moment. Do you suppose that he foresaw our thatching difficulties?’

Agnes snorted at my levity. ‘A pretty thing.’ She nodded at the rosary clutched in my hand.

Lifting it, I allowed the light to play along its length, picking out the carving on the crucifix. ‘Yes. It’s beautiful.’

Beautiful, but the implications of its giving were dangerous.

‘A gift?’ Agnes probed.

She knew I could not afford to purchase an item of such value.

‘Yes.’ How easy it was to be drawn into deception. ‘From Lady Alice.’ And as if to hide my guilt I closed my hand over the beads.

‘Nice if you have the money,’ Agnes sniffed. ‘Did I see coral there? And gold?’

‘Yes.’ It was as I knew, too valuable even for Lady Alice’s giving.

‘I thought you said Lady Alice gave you nothing.’

‘Did I?’ Beware, those who lie. I tried a rueful smile. ‘I forgot.’

‘Heaven knows you could forget that!’ I squirmed with discomfort but just shook my head. ‘You could sell it and re-roof the stables. Unless you are absolutely fixed on joining the new Duchess?’

I returned her puzzled stare for a moment, suddenly calmly assured, quite certain in my own mind.

‘Yes, I am fixed on it. I will earn enough from my position with Duchess Constanza to re-roof the whole house,’ I said. ‘What possible reason would there be for me to refuse such open-handed generosity?’ I began to slide the paternosters into their leather pouch.

‘It’s a very costly gift,’ Agnes remarked, looking at me rather than at the beads.

‘Then I must be sure to be worthy of my hire.’

Tucking the rosary into a coffer, with unwarranted impatience I cast a cloth over the finches whose singing had picked up in volume.

‘And you’d better take those with you,’ Agnes continued in the same sceptical tone, as if she did not believe one word I had said, ‘or Margaret will never forgive us. I don’t suppose the Duke will mind.’

‘No, I don’t suppose he will,’ I responded briskly.

And since there was so much to organise, I extinguished the scene I had just conjured up as efficiently as if I had used a candle snuffer, yet there remained with me a complicated interweaving of thoughts, lingering like a final wisp of smoke.

What would I say to the Duke when our paths next crossed? Would it not be for me like stepping into a hornets’ nest? If he demanded again that I be more than a lady-in-waiting to his wife, as he surely would, what would I say?

So many questions. I knew the answer to none of them, but my mind was resolved to go to The Savoy, whatever fate might hold in store for me.

I refused to admit what was in my heart.




Chapter Four

There we all stood in the Great Hall to receive our new mistress, with freedom for me to appreciate the impression the Duke intended to make, with his tunic blazing in red and black and gold, proclaiming his new status, the royal arms of Castile with its castle and lions quartered with those of England, the gold stitching shimmering as he moved restlessly from foot to foot. It sat well on his tall slenderness: not one of the Castilian entourage could question the presence of this royal duke. I tried to read his expression. Impatience, above all, for we had been waiting for three hours.