‘For what?’ he fired back. ‘Absolution from our sins, by God?’

It hurt, but I met his gaze. ‘Yes.’

‘And are you intending to take the veil in penitence?’

‘Now that, my lord, had not crossed my mind.’

Allowing my hand to fall, since he had no intention of taking it, I walked through the outer door, turning right, grateful when his footsteps followed. I did not look back but walked calmly on, along the edge of the courtyard, past the wet doves hunched in their dovecote, lifting the heavy latch to push the door open into the small space of my chapel, rough hewn and undecorated except for the crucifix on the altar but essentially private, and finally I knelt before the altar rail. The Duke halted, then knelt beside me as I looked up at the statue of the Virgin and prayed for guidance and the right choice of words. The Duke made the sign of the cross on his breast. I did the same.

‘Well, Madame de Swynford. For whom do we pray? Is that too much to ask, since you seem to be keeping your own counsel. When were you ever so silent? I swear it’s like trying to communicate with a stone effigy.’ Despite the holy surroundings his anger had not abated.

‘We will make petition,’ I said.

‘Do we need a priest?’ he snapped.

‘No.’ And I shivered a little. A priest was the last thing I needed in my present state of mind.

‘Then let us indeed begin. I hate to hurry you along, Katherine, but I’m cold and damp and my temper is not at its best.’

‘I would not have guessed,’ I said.

‘Yes, you would. Begin your petition, Katherine!’

‘Holy Mother,’ I began, ‘I pray for the safety of Lord John, Duke of Lancaster, in the coming wars in France. I commend him to your care.’

Which surprised him, if his intake of breath was proof. And our voices were joined. ‘Amen.’

‘I pray for the health of Duchess Constanza and the new infant Katalina.’

‘Amen.’

‘I pray for the good comfort of the whole household at Hertford.’

‘Amen.’

The Duke’s hands were clenched, white-fingered, on the altar rail before him.

I continued: ‘I lay before you the lives of my children. Blanche and Margaret and Thomas.’

‘Amen.’

‘Of my sister Philippa, her husband, Geoffrey, overseas, and her family.’

‘Amen.’

‘I pray—’

‘By the Blessed Virgin, Katherine,’ now the Duke murmured, ‘do we pray for the whole of our acquaintance?’

But I continued. ‘I pray for the clarity of mind of the King. And for your mercy on Prince Edward in his great suffering.’

‘Amen.’

I took a breath.

‘I pray for the health of my unborn child. The child of this man who kneels with me to join with me in this petition. We pray for this child who will need the compassion of the Blessed Virgin.’

The atmosphere in the chapel bore down on us, drenched with the remnants of old incense and a multitude of unconfessed sins. The Duke’s hands gripped harder than ever. So did mine.

Until: ‘Amen. Amen indeed,’ he whispered on a soft exhalation.

I was carrying John of Lancaster’s child.

Why had I, with all my much-vaunted experience, not been more cognisant of the dangers? Were there not methods to prevent such eventualities, known to wise women and any wife with a care for preserving her own health? Or known to a mistress intent on preventing a debacle such as this? In the final weeks of Constanza’s pregnancy, I was, unknowingly, embarking on the first weeks of my own.

The realisation had travelled with me on the journey from London back to Hertford. I had been a little weary, lacking in energy, but, foolishly, I had never considered that I would fall for a child from that first expression of our love at The Savoy. My reaction was one of wonder. I had spread my fingers over my belly and marvelled at the fact that I carried the child of the man I loved more than I could ever express.

But then, when Constanza had smiled down into the face of her baby, all my marvelling was undone. There we stood in my mind’s eye. A deadly triangle of husband, wife and lover. This child born out of wedlock might blemish the Duke’s reputation. It would assuredly destroy mine. Could it destroy our love?

What now? What do I do now?

The question had echoed again and again in my mind, without any sensible reply forthcoming. Instead, the repercussions struck home with the force of a lance in the hands of a master at the tourney, transmuting my delight to base dismay. How could I continue to exist in that household? How could I continue to live, a secret mistress to a wife untouched by knowledge, and I bearing a child, my belly growing under her interested gaze.

I did not have the presumption to do that.

Whilst on a practical level, how would I explain away my burgeoning state, with no husband?

Even more unnerving—and I confessed to not knowing the answer—what would the Duke say to my predicament? Would he banish me to some distant castle until after nine months my shame was dealt with and my figure restored? Or would he brazen it out at Hertford, and claim the child as his own, with Constanza destroyed by the humiliation?

I tried to see myself through the Duke’s eyes, and I could not, my thoughts awry. Hypocrisy, as I well knew, was a bitter herb. Subterfuge at this despicable level was intolerable. There was only one course of action for me. I must leave before there was even the hint of suspicion about the width of my girdle. I could no longer be damsel to Duchess Constanza, knowing all the time that I was carrying her husband’s child.

We would exercise discretion, we had agreed.

Before God, there was no discretion here.

And so I had come to Kettlethorpe as if I were some wild animal going to ground. Never had I felt such shame. Shame for me. Sorrow and shame for Constanza. I had looked at Constanza and her child, at the two Lancaster girls, Philippa and Elizabeth, at young innocent Henry, and it humbled me. How was I fit to give them guidance? We had taken a step beyond decency and rightness—and we were faced with the consequences.

Now I had to face them in the Duke’s unpredictable reaction.

‘Amen,’ I echoed.

I made the sign of the cross.

‘Not here,’ he said as I stood to face him. Gripping my hand, he pulled me after him from the main body of the chapel into a little side alcove where an old altar had once stood, now bare and dusty, no longer dressed for worship. ‘I feel better that we speak of this away from the Virgin’s immediate presence.’

‘Does it make it any less of a catastrophe where we speak of it?’ My confidence was waning fast.

‘Katherine…’

I could not read what was in his face. Anger or joy? Acceptance or repudiation? For the first time I acknowledged the depths of my fear, for this should never have happened. Was I some irresponsible kitchen maid, enjoying the pleasures of the flesh in her first taste of sexual satisfaction? I knew the dangers. I knew what must not happen between such lovers as we were, for ever in the public eye. There were any number of old wives’ methods that were not unknown to me.

How to stimulate the menses to achieve bleeding from the womb. Take the root of the red willow…

My belly clenched, my hands flattening themselves on my embroidered belt. I would not. One sin was enough for the day. I would bear this child.

I bent my head in sudden despair, until I felt the Duke’s fingers, as cold as mine yet light against my face, lifting my chin so that I must bear the weight of his judgement. Except that his eyes were gentle, the corners of his lips relaxed as they were when I kissed them. All the anger, all the impatience, had gone.

‘What were you thinking, to run away from me? What are you thinking now?’ He wiped a stray tear—one I had been unaware of—from my cheek with the back of his hand.

‘I am thinking that I do not know what you are thinking.’ I shook my head at how muddled it sounded.

‘Very erudite.’ He smiled at little. ‘Is that all?’

‘I am thinking that I will carry this child to full term.’

His hand, smoothing softly against my neck as if I were a restive mare, paused. ‘Did you think I would advise otherwise?’

‘No. I know you would not. But it would be a way out for some women.’

‘But not for you.’

‘No, not for me.’

‘Nor for me. Why did you not tell me?’

‘I did not know what you would say. I thought you might condemn me.’

Hands now firmly on my shoulders, he drew me close so that his chin could rest against my confined hair. Although his eyes were closed I sensed a depth of emotion that shuddered through his veins.

‘Why would I be? The child is of both our making.’

‘But a child born without legitimacy can pose a problem,’ I whispered. ‘It would not be the first time that a powerful man has chosen to rid himself of a mistress who has inconveniently found herself compromised.’

He raised his head, eyes wide and undoubtedly stern. ‘So you thought I would dispatch you and the child to the depths of the country.’

‘You might. For Constanza’s sake as well as your own.’

‘And you pre-empted it by coming here.’

‘I had to.’

‘Because you could not face me? Or was it that you could not face Constanza, day after day?’ he asked with brutal intuition, and did not even wait for my acquiescence. ‘It is my guilt too. We will bear it together. Did you think I would abandon you?’

The Duke kissed me thoroughly.

‘I thought I must remove a complication…’

‘I do not see you as a complication. Nor this child.’

‘But you must regret what we have done.’ He thought about this, rubbing his fingers over my knuckles. ‘John…?’