It was a good omen. Had the Duke not knelt at the opening of the new Parliament at Westminster to swear his allegiance to King Richard, denying any charge of treason or cowardice on his part? Had not the peers of the realm and Parliament received the Duke with honour and begged him to be comforter and councillor to King Richard? Even the City of London asked pardon from the Duke for their past criticisms. The Duke was safe, restored to favour, no longer threatened by vicious Walsingham or self-seeking de la Mare.

My mind steadied into serenity with the birth of my new child, my world tilting back so that my thoughts steadied and I was comfortable again. Blanche would always remain a scar on my heart but I would learn to bear my grief with gratitude for the loving child she had been. I would never forget her. All my fears for the Duke were unfounded. How foolish I had been. Even knowing that he had imprisoned Speaker de la Mare in Leicester Castle with no hope of a trial did not disturb me to any degree.

And when the Duke wrote: Come to me at Kenilworth, I went.

April 1378: Leicester

It was one of those soft spring days that only April can produce, as if by magic, after the bleakness of a cold March. Shower-clouds had just cleared and the pale sun turned all the drops on thatch and wood and budding leaf to crystal. Even the rubies sewn into the Duke’s gauntlets and pinned to his cap were dulled in comparison.

We were in Leicester together, one of the precious moments we would snatch before the Duke must turn his mind once more to English policy abroad and the continuing education of the young King Richard, and I to the building chaos that was Kettlethorpe and my trio of Beaufort children once more ensconced there.

I had never been as content as I was that day in Leicester, for were we not together? My happiness was so intense that I could taste it, sweet as a new honeycomb on my tongue. Since my enforced sojourn at Pleshey I had learned to live from day to day, to savour every moment, and today it was enough to be with him. He would be away at war in France before the end of the summer, and there would be no more idylls for us to linger in. The English fleet had already sailed from England a week ago with the purpose of crushing the fleets of France and Castile, and the Duke must follow.

But for now, I could be with him, confident in my position at his side even as I acknowledged the undercurrent of desolation that was always present, and always would be. I knew I could never experience true happiness, simply because of the life I had chosen for myself. There would always be that piercing grief that I could never have a permanence in his life.

I found myself smiling, if a little sadly. How remarkably innocent I had been when I had thought that I could simply step into the role of mistress, enjoy the glory of being with him, and not have to pay any price of merit. How irresponsible. I had thought I could bask in our love without penalty. Now I was worldly-wise enough to see that there would always be a cost, and I accepted it, even the rank disapproval of the Duchess of Gloucester who turned a very obvious cold shoulder against me, making no effort to hide that she despised me. Did she not have royal blood in her aristocratic veins? I, of course, was nothing but a commoner in her eyes. I had become used to her superior condescension by now. I was no longer wounded.

‘My Lady of Swynford?’

I blinked in the sunshine, recalled to my immediate surroundings. It was the Duke, regarding me across a motley of merchant hoods and felt caps and stalwart wool-clad shoulders.

‘Forgive me, my lord,’ I replied formally as I gathered up my reins, which I had allowed to slacken dangerously, and rearranged the voluminous folds of my skirt. We must be preparing to move off. I sighed a little at the prospect of more business.

Instead, he pushed his mount towards me until we sat side by side, and he lowered his voice, eyes appreciative on my face. ‘Where were you?’

‘Far away, I’m afraid.’ In fact, with my daughter Margaret, who, to her own satisfaction, had taken the veil at Barking Abbey. It was an honour and I was proud for her.

‘But not so far that I cannot reach you. Can we escape from this endless discussion of town rules and regulations, do you suppose?’ There was a jaunty air to the Duke’s manner, and his less than discreet comment surprised me. Impeccable as his courtesy usually was in company, he had grown weary of the merchants’ demands and the Mayor’s persistence over the contentious issue of taxes. Indeed, he waved them aside with casual indifference, blind to their annoyance, careless of the official disfavour of his high-handed rejection of their pleas to pay less. ‘I am finished here,’ he said, and turning from them to me: ‘Unless you, my lady, are of a mind to purchase a basket of oysters?’

As he gestured towards the woman who advertised her wares with a voice worthy of a royal herald, I saw the gleam in his eye.

‘I might,’ I replied lightly, not averse to a flirtatious exchange since he was obviously of a mind to respond, even as I was uncomfortable with his ability to make enemies when the mood was on him.

‘Can I persuade you not to?’ Now the gleam was accompanied by a grin.

My heart melted, my discomfort evaporated. The Duke was his own man and would order his affairs with the same nerveless assurance that he always did. As for me, what other woman in the length and breadth of the country could claim to own the total love and adoration of the one man who filled her own heart? Was there any woman as fortunate as I? I thought longingly of the island of peace, isolated behind the formidable walls of the castle. We would eat together—probably not oysters. Walk in the gardens. Talk of whatever came into our minds. The Duke would read to me, if I asked him, weaving the enchantments of the old legends in his beautiful voice, which he now used to my persuasion.

‘I say we should make our apologies, before the Mayor can find some other matter to claim my attention. Such as the state of the town midden.’

He turned his horse towards the castle, saluting a farewell to the Mayor and aldermen who still sat in a knot of frustrated corporate business, and I kicked my mare to follow him. Recalcitrant animal that she was, she promptly balked at a cur that snarled round her legs, and planted her feet. The ducal retinue came to a chaotic stop behind me.

‘Will you move, you foolish animal!’ I demanded, aware of my flushed cheeks as I used my heels to no effect.

Without a word, the Duke turned his horse about to come to my aid. He grasped my bridle near the bit and hauled the mare into a spritely gait to keep up with him.

‘I’ll give you an animal with more spirit,’ he offered. ‘This one goes to sleep on every possible occasion.’

He kept the bridle in his hand, forcing her to keep pace with her companion, as we wound through the streets, through the townsfolk busy about their own affairs, towards the castle; the Mayor, aldermen, cleric and our own retinue followed behind.

‘Have you decided where you will go next week?’ the Duke asked as we manoeuvred around a woman with her baskets of apples, small and wizened from the previous year’s harvest.

‘Yes, to Kettlethorpe. To see how the rebuilding is progressing. I may have a hall fit to receive visitors by the end of the summer. And to see the children, of course.’

The Beaufort children. For a moment I felt the weight of his regard full of compassion for me, the brief pressure of his fingers on my hand, acknowledging that my Swynford children were no longer all under my care. But John and Henry and Joan waited for me at Kettlethorpe with Thomas Swynford. I smiled, to reassure him that Blanche’s death was not about to reduce me to a bout of tears as it could still sometimes do.

‘You’ll not see me in Kettlethorpe,’ the Duke gave solemn warning. ‘The fleet’s sailed and I must follow without more delay.’ He led me round a stall selling pans and cooking pots. One of the pans fell to the floor, dislodged by a climbing child, the clang and roll making my mare skitter again, and John laughed. ‘I’ll send you a gift.’

I caught his glance. ‘An iron pan?’

‘Do you want an iron pan? I cannot imagine why. But if that is what you want…Why give a woman something she will not make use of?’

‘Like a chain of rubies.’ I nodded at the chain around his neck. ‘Your daughter Philippa once told me that you only give valuable gifts to people you don’t particularly care for.’

‘Did she?’ His eyes registered bafflement.

‘Like silver cups with lids.’

‘Have I ever given you one?’

‘Yes. But I think she’s right.’ I laughed. ‘So I’ll have the iron pan and the wagon-loads of wood or the prime venison or the tun of wine…’

‘Well, it must prove something if I’m concerned for the roof over your head and your sustenance,’ John admitted, still amused, still holding tight to my bridle, for the mare, scenting her stable now that we were in the environs of the castle, was keen to have her head and continue through the gateway. ‘I was not aware that Philippa was so observant.’

What was it that made me look up, away from him? Something caught at my senses in that moment, like the threatening drone of a hornet before it stings. Except that it was no wasp. It was no sound that alerted me. I looked around at those who rode with us. The Mayor was occupied only with the list of complaints clutched in his fist, the merchants merely jostling for position. The priest might have drunk sour ale from the downturn of his mouth, but I had rarely seen him smile. I glanced at the Duke who had turned to cast an eye over an altercation between two men over the sale of a horse, and seemed entirely unaware.