‘John, I need to tell you—’

‘They are saying that I already have my eye on the throne since my father is sinking fast by the day,’ he stated, full of ire. ‘When the King dies I’ll snatch it from my nephew, they say. Did I not give my solemn oath to my dying brother that I would be loyal to his son as king? That I would serve Richard as his friend and counsellor?’

I was so weary. ‘Richard is only nine years old,’ I observed. ‘No older than Henry. Is it surprising that they will suspect you of naked ambition if you stand beside him?’

‘Richard is the heir. Would I oust him?’ Heated emotion had him in its thrall again. ‘Do you of all people believe such rumours too?’

And it was as if the emotion poured over me as well. ‘No! I of all people do not. I of all people at this precise moment do not care overmuch!’

He stared at me. ‘I would like to think that I had your support.’

I could not force Blanche’s name past my teeth. ‘You don’t need my support,’ I snapped back. ‘You have enough confidence for both of us!’

Uncontrollable tears welled up again in my throat from what seemed a bottomless source. My mind was too sore to be compassionate. My bright, loving Blanche was dead, and all the Duke could think about was Parliamentary disobedience. My breath caught. Blanche, my darling Blanche, lost to me. All that sparkling promise wiped out by some nameless fever that would not respond to common henbane or doses of wood sorrel. There was no room in my mind for politics and power-brokering when my daughter lay cold and still in the chapel. I stood in the middle of the room, my mind in turmoil, any pleasure I might expect to feel that he had at last come to me refusing to settle, flitting round the edges of my thoughts so that I could not grasp it.

I knew that I must be strong enough to contain my grief, not allowing it to encroach on this moment, but I could not. It threatened to overwhelm me. Perhaps it was due punishment for my great sin. Had Blanche been taken in penance for my immorality? I shivered in the upheaval of my despair.

‘And of course, our august members of Parliament claim to believe every word if it,’ he continued. ‘And that I wed Blanche only for her inheritance. Next they’ll be arguing over that old dispute that I am not my father’s son. A changeling, by God! Who would dare accuse my lady mother of infidelity! Do I not have more than a resemblance to the King? But it has its uses as an arrow to loose at me. As a royal bastard, was I not doubly disloyal to Blanche, not fit to wed her? So I duped Blanche into…’

Blanche…

I burst into tears.

‘Katherine…?’ For the first time I thought that he truly noticed me.

‘Blanche is dead. My daughter is gone from me and nothing will bring her back.’

Pressing my fingers against my lips I ran as well as I was able from the room.

I took refuge on the wall-walk, even though the effort to climb the steps took my breath, where the wind from the Thames would cool my cheeks. Could such a loss ever be overcome? I knew that I must learn to be thankful for her life, and not weep whenever the name Blanche was mentioned. When I heard footsteps loping after me and recognised the ownership, I braced my shoulders but did not turn.

‘Forgive me, Katherine. I did not know.’

His voice was even, with none of his earlier anger.

‘There is nothing to forgive. You have your own loss to mourn,’ I sniffed.

For Prince Edward had succumbed at last to his endless sufferings. We had all been in mourning robes in that year. Even worse, the Duke going to Bruges to attend peace negotiations had taken Constanza with him where she had given birth to their much-longed-for and prayed-over son, only to have him die within a few short weeks.

A unbearable time of death and loss, but for me Blanche outweighed all.

The Duke kept a discreet distance at my side in so public a place.

‘I can’t comfort you. Not with every eye on us.’

‘I don’t expect you to,’ I replied, drying my tears. My mood was as fragile as my waist was thick.

‘I am so very sorry, my dearest love.’ And abandoning all decorum, he pulled me into the corner of the wall-walk where the steps led down, pushing me to sit on the top one. Disturbingly, he chose to sit below, his back against the wall, holding my hands. If any of his household saw us, he ignored it as his eyes searched my face.

‘I feel your anguish, and I am so sorry. For the death of your daughter. For my own concerns that I cannot push aside,’ he said with some difficulty, before lowering his forehead to rest against our clasped hands. His face might be hidden from me, but his compassion was as soft as a new snowfall, wrapping around me. ‘I regret the comfort I can’t give you. I regret my own anger that drives me, even when I know that your loss is even greater than mine in that it is new and raw. I knew my brother Edward was dying. Forgive me, Katherine.’

I rested my cheek against his hair. How complex was this man I was privileged to love. From hot temper to infinite tenderness; from stormy pride to deliberate abasement.

‘Blanche was my godchild, and I mourn her with you.’

The Duke stood and lifted me, his lips warm against my forehead, his gaze full of all the grief that lay as hard as granite within me. When I began to weep again, he drew me into his arms and at last I rested there for they were a defence against the world. I luxuriated in them. He was mine again, for those few moments, and he gave me the comfort I needed. The rock inside me began to melt.

‘I am afraid,’ I said, ‘of your enemies who use every means to attack you.’ I had never admitted it before, even to myself. ‘Of the wedge it drives between us, because you are taken up with Peter de la Mare and I am too irritable to accept that…’ My breath hitched.

And so he finished the thought for me. ‘That private grief must step back in the face of England’s demands. We mourn the ones we love, but sometimes we cannot choose the time or place.’

‘Yes. That’s it.’ It was a heavy burden. ‘I am afraid I will forget my daughter. That I will not mourn her as I should.’

Which made him kiss away the tears. ‘You will never forget Blanche. Nor need you be afraid for me. I will win the day against de la Mare.’ He pressed my head gently against his shoulder. ‘You are too tired for this, my dear love. What you need to do is to rest.’

‘But what if…?’

‘We will not talk of it. I will deal with Walsingham and de la Mare. I’ve a mind to show de la Mare the interior of one of my dungeons.’ He smiled fiercely as if enjoying the prospect of a lengthy incarceration until, when I sighed, he fixed his mellowing eye on me once more. ‘You will go to your chamber. You will order your maid to pack what you need.’ And when I shook my head against his restraining hand: ‘It will be better if I don’t have to worry about you too. Sometimes, my love, we both know that it is better if we are apart. This is one of those times.’

Which I had to accept. We could not be together, but our love would never be dashed against the rocks of volatile politics.

‘I’ll go to Kettlethorpe.’ I surrendered, reluctantly, to good sense. ‘I need to take Blanche home.’

I did not wish to. I did not wish to be separate from him. My spirits had never been as low.

‘No, this is what you will do.’ The note of command was unsparing beneath the gentleness. ‘I need to know you are somewhere safe, away from the politics and the threats of riots in the city. I don’t want you where you cannot defend yourself, and Kettlethorpe has no defences. You will go to The Countess of Hereford at Pleshey Castle.’

I had an acquaintance with the Countess of Hereford, but had no wish to take up residence with her. ‘I don’t wish to go to Pleshey. I’d rather go to Kettlethorpe.’

The Duke remained unswerving, even as he dried my tears with my oversleeve and kissed my sullen mouth.

‘What you want has no bearing on the matter. You will go to Pleshey because I say it shall be, and you will give birth to this child in comfort and safety. Countess Joan will welcome you in my name, and you, my dear love, will be pleased to be there. I will arrange for Blanche’s burial beside her father at Kettlethorpe. It is decided.’

I went to Pleshey Castle. The Duke kissed me and dispatched me with a substantial retinue, arranging high-handedly for Agnes in the company of John and Henry to join me there, as he arranged for Blanche to go home for the last time, where she would lie in peace beside the heart of her father. The Countess, as a close friend of long standing and blood relative of the Duke, opened her doors to me with a quizzical expression as she took stock of my figure.

‘When are you planning to give birth to this child?’

‘Two months ago, I think,’ I replied, heaving myself from the litter.

Countess Joan smiled at me. ‘Come and be at ease. I will look after you.’

It was there that I gave birth to a daughter, who emerged into the world with placid acceptance of her change of surroundings and predictably dark russet hair. I called her Joan in honour of the Countess who allowed me to mourn Blanche on her broad shoulder and kept me abreast of affairs beyond our walls when John could not, for King Edward had died, sinking the court into mourning and keeping the Duke fixed in London.

‘When you return, all will be well,’ Countess Joan announced with all her years of experience of court affairs. She set the cradle containing Joan rocking with one practised foot as we sat together in the nursery. She had two daughters of her own. ‘It’s a new reign and everyone’s of a mind to rejoice and look for new beginnings with a handsome young king at the helm. John’s being astute in his dealings with his enemies, and they’re of a mood to come to terms with the man who stands at the side of the new King.’