If I took him to the ducal household, if the sun shone then, as it did now, the gossip would be on every tongue as soon as I lifted him from the travelling litter. My baby’s colouring was too pronounced to deny.

‘No,’ I said sadly, lifting him into my arms. Had I ever truly believed that I could introduce this child into the ducal nursery? If my cherished reputation as a respectable woman meant so much to me, how could I paint myself as the mother of a bastard child when his father’s identity was so patently obvious? I had been fooling myself in thinking it possible. ‘No, I cannot, can I? But I don’t want to leave him.’

‘But you will. And I will care for him.’ Agnes was bracing. ‘I’ll love him like my own. And you can have him with you when…’

Her mouth snapped shut like a trap.

‘When the truth is out? Is that what you were going to say? But when the truth is out I’ll be summarily dismissed and be back here in Kettlethorpe.’

‘Then that will solve all your problems. Or you could, of course, decide not to go. To remain here…’

I kissed my baby’s cheek, conscious that tears were not far away. Here was another choice to be made. To go to my lover, to leave my child and hide the circumstances of his birth, or to remain here to raise this Beaufort son who tugged at all my maternal urges with his tiny hands.

I looked up, conscious of Agnes’s critical gaze on my face, conscious that for her there was no dilemma. How could any woman abandon her child to be with a man in a relationship cloaked in sin? A woman’s duty was to her children and her good name. No woman of integrity would willingly earn the title whore.

But for me there was no choice.

I handed my child to Agnes before I wept openly. He was flesh of my flesh, but his father owned my heart and I would be with him.

There was no frisson of scandal to greet me when I made my return to the household now established in the solid fortress of Tutbury, bringing me respite as I trod the familiar chambers, but when I was announced into one of the more intimate chambers, into what was a scene of family harmony, it took me aback, striking hard at all my newfound strength.

There were Philippa and Elizabeth, their heads together over a book. Henry’s eyes were for a new plaything, the model of a little knight on horseback. The baby Katalina slept in a cradle. Lady Alice, looking across the room as I entered with a smile of welcome, had her ever-present Book of Hours to hand.

Nothing unexpected here.

But here was the Duke in the company of Constanza who was seated in the window, with the light flattering the iridescence of her dark hair beneath her light veil. As I stepped across the threshold she was smiling up at the Duke who was expounding in familiar fashion on some idea that took his interest and hers. I heard her reply, the mention of Castile, and his response in the affirmative.

My first thought: I had been away from this household for well nigh a year, in which time things had changed. I had been gone too long. Relationships moved on, could be made or unmade.

And my second: how strikingly beautiful the Duchess was, with motherhood softening her angular features. How fluently she was now able to express herself. How comfortable she looked in this setting. There was a happiness to her, a contentment, a willingness to smile, that I could not recall. When the Duke handed his wife a cup of wine with a smile and a little courtly bow, the Duchess accepted and sipped with a laugh at something he said.

How alike they were. Both handsome, both driven by ambition, both assured in wielding authority. Another impression, even less pleasant, was forced on me. How at ease they were in each other’s company, as if they had at last come to some understanding. It was as if I was suddenly cast under a shadow in the face of their brightness.

Constanza could bring the Duke power and a legitimate son.

I could do neither.

These thoughts raced through my mind in the blink of an eye, but hurtful none the less. Why would the Duke not warm to his wife? What might have begun as a political marriage of necessity for both of them, why might it not become more intimate as they grew to know each other? Why should Constanza not be seduced by this embodiment of Plantagenet mystique and power?

Was this the first blossoming of love?

A hard nugget of jealousy settled beneath my heart, when I had been so assured of the rightness of my return. Now, suddenly, I was not so sure.

The Chamberlain stepped beside me. ‘Lady Katherine de Swynford, my lord. My lady.’

At last I was announced, bringing to an end the private conversation. I worked at a smile and curtsied, before walking slowly forward.

‘We are pleased to see you returned to our household, Lady Katherine.’ Constanza smiled thinly. ‘We hope that you will stay longer this time.’

‘It is my intention, my lady,’ I responded carefully, not looking at the Duke.

‘It seems that I am not to have the benefit of your company. Unfortunately I am to be relieved of your experience with young children.’

A cold finger drew a line along my spine. I was no longer one of her immediate household. I looked into her lovely face, expecting disgust, horror, hatred even, knowing that I would react with fury if I, the legitimate wife, was forced to face the brazen mistress in her own chamber. Had she dismissed me? What was I doing here, if she had refused to take me back?

But Constanza’s face was smoothly expressionless within the border of her severe crispinette and barbette, as she waved me towards the Duke.

All movement, all expression on his face stilled as I curtsied again, then he was holding out his hand to take mine and draw me into their company.

‘As my wife says, we are pleased to see you returned to our household, Lady Katherine, now that your estate matters allow.’

Slowly, not to draw attention, I withdrew my hand from his.

‘It is my wish,’ the Duke announced with unquestionable propriety, ‘that you to take up the post of magistra to my children.’

I tried not to allow my face to express my astonishment, and since no one showed any surprise, I must have been successful. Magistra. A position of authority, of very public recognition of my talents. I sank into a curtsy, head bowed to hide my glowing cheeks, that little moment of panic dispelled.

Why had he not told me of this plan? Because it was not in his nature to do so, I reminded myself. I must never forget that. The Duke decided and carried out his wishes with recourse to no one. Sometimes I still forgot that he was a man who never questioned the absolute authority instilled in his royal blood. He had decided; thus it would be.

‘Such a position is entirely appropriate for one of your standing,’ he was explaining. ‘You were educated under my mother’s aegis. I can think of no one better to take on the responsibility. You will oversee the education of my daughters, and also my son Henry until he is of age to have a tutor and take up military skills. I expect them to read and to write, to master languages, literature. To behave with courtesy as becomes my children. To sing and dance with grace…’

He paused, perhaps expecting a response from me. ‘What do you think, Lady Katherine?’ he enquired gently when he received none.

‘I have no words, my lord,’ I managed.

All I could think of was that the Duke had done this for me. He had cushioned my return in every possible way, seeing for himself, the false posturing that my service to Constanza would engender. He had done this, to remove me from the close-knit atmosphere of the solar with all its household politics and gossip and female disparagements. I had been mistaken in thinking that I had no place in this household. Instead, at the Duke’s behest, I had been honoured beyond all my hopes and knew that I was made welcome.

‘You are unusually lacking in comment, Katherine,’ Lady Alice remarked with spiked humour, coming to my side to plant a warm kiss on my cheek.

‘I am overcome with the position I have been given,’ I responded quickly, nudging myself from astonishment into good manners. ‘My thanks, my lord. It will please me to serve you well.’

I was saved from the moral discomfort of rubbing shoulders with Constanza every day. I was protected from my sister Philippa’s frequent inquisitions, which would surely follow my reinstatement here.

I had returned and my heart rejoiced.

When the Duke came to me that night, in the room that I, in my new advancement, no longer had to share with anyone, it was in the spirit of celebration. Within seconds of his closing the door I was swept into his arms, held tight, and my face and lips covered with kisses.

‘Do I presume that you are pleased to see me returned?’ I asked, when I could.

‘How can you doubt it?’ the Duke replied, his hands closing around my waist, lifting me to my toes to plant another kiss on my lips. ‘I have missed you, Katherine, as a man in a desert misses a draught of ale. I am no more than a dried husk.’

‘You look very healthy to me,’ I observed.

‘You did not see me yesterday!’

‘I wish I had. I have been gone too long from you.’

At which the Duke nibbled along my collarbone. ‘You are as delicious as a platter of French strawberries. I’ll sing to you, my lady fair and woo you back to me with rich sentiments.’

And he did, but it was a strange choice he made. At supper the minstrels had sung, a song of longing with plangent chords and wistful words. Picking up my lute, the Duke sang the words to me again, beautiful, certainly, but entirely ambiguous is their meaning. Did he know? Or was it merely a song that was in his mind? I listened to the words I knew well.