For a moment I stood rigid in incomprehension, and then I knew what she had done, and allowed her to pull me a little distance away from the rest, where I gripped her hands, relief sweeping through me.

‘We have been looking for you for the last month, Katherine. I have missed you. And such a shock when we heard.’ I saw the loss of her daughter in her face, but nothing would silence her obvious delight. ‘You look happy. I don’t need to ask…although how you can be so, surrounded by this sour flock of vultures. As for the King’s mischief, who knows what he’s at these days?’ And then, as emotion robbed me of speech: ‘Have you nothing to say? Or has your marriage robbed you of your tongue—and your sense of the ridiculous?’

And at last I laughed. ‘Are you sure you should do this?’

‘What?’

‘Welcome the black sheep into the pure white of the royal fold?’

‘Why ever would I not?’

‘I was under the strongest impression that I would be taught a sharp lesson.’ I looked back over my shoulder, at the expressions of those who intended to do exactly that. ‘I was told that you were one of them…’ I admitted.

‘And you believed it? Nonsense, Katherine! My name was attached where it should not have been.’

‘And I am grateful. I have missed you too.’

‘Good. We will talk later.’

For Richard, his discussion apparently at an end, was at my side, beaming indiscriminately on all.

‘It is my intention to travel to France, to complete the negotiations for my new wife, the French Princess Isabella.’ He continued to smile. ‘I would invite you, my lady of Lancaster, and your daughter Joan, to accompany me. I can think of no one more fitting.’

My surprise masked, my courtly graces back in play, I curtsied my thanks. ‘I am honoured, Sire.’

‘My intended bride is very young—no more than six years. She will value your knowledge of life at the English court, and your friendship. I will wed her in Calais,’ he was continuing, despite knowing that most of his audience were listening to his plans with strong disapproval. ‘I know that as her primary lady in waiting for the ceremony—with my lady of Gloucester, of course,’—he bowed to the stiff-backed Duchess—‘my wife will be made most welcome.’

‘Thank you, Sire,’ I murmured. ‘I will do all in my power.’

‘I know you will. I rely on you.’

And then with a bow he had walked on, while I took advantage of this situation deliberately created by Richard.

‘So we work together to welcome our new queen,’ I observed to the Duchess.

She managed a bleak curve of the lips. ‘So it seems, my lady.’

‘We will meet after supper,’ I said, matching John’s effortless supremacy.

‘Of course, my lady.’

The Duchess of Gloucester would never call me sister. I saw no softening in her face, but it had been made as clear as day that it would be unwise for her to shut me out of the hen-roost. As I turned away I caught John’s stare from where he conversed with his brother of Gloucester. It was full of pride for me, and of satisfaction which matched my own, yet there was no smile on his face, which conveyed a stark warning. Richard’s games were obvious, even risible, but infinitely dangerous. I must never allow myself to be seduced.

Richard, watchful, brimful of devilry, beckoned to me. ‘I would be honoured if you would accompany me, Lady Katherine—to give me your opinion of the apartments that I will have refurbished for my little bride. I know your taste in such matters to be beyond question.’

And I moved to walk at his side out of the Painted Chamber, my hand resting in his, which of course opened for me every door in the palace.

‘Are you satisfied?’ Richard whispered, the sibilants loud as we walked so that all must know that he exchanged confidences with me.

‘Yes, Sire.’

‘It gave me inordinate pleasure,’ he chuckled, ‘to stir the waters a little.’

And I nodded. We understood each other very well. He had put himself out to smooth my path, and done so with considerable skill. From that moment, no lady of the court who valued either her position or the King’s goodwill for herself or her husband could afford to brush me aside.

‘Well?’ John asked when it was all done and we could escape to our rooms.

‘Good,’ I said. ‘It was Richard who came to my rescue.’

‘It was your own good sense.’ John was at his most sardonic. ‘And I know you have enough of it not to trust our mischievous king too much. He is guided purely by his own wishes. Today it pleased him to twitch the tails of the tabbies. Tomorrow—who knows?’

I cared not. My acceptance was assured, my role at court for the welcoming of the little queen made plain. I stared into my mirror, admiring the jewelled net that anchored my hair, thoroughly enjoying the prospect of my future role. I would travel to France and welcome the child bride. Joan would accompany me and might find a position in the royal household. John too had taken his rightful place at Richard’s side. None of my fears had been realised.

‘Why are you smiling?’ John asked.

‘Because I have persuaded Richard to take down the Halidon Hill tapestry from the new bride’s chambers.’

‘I always liked that one.’

‘You were never a six-year-old girl. At this moment a pretty scene of a lady with flowers and a hawk on her fist is being hung.’

‘Is that important?’

‘Not to me. It might be to his little wife who would have nightmares if faced nightly with scenes of death and mutilation. But Richard paid attention to me.’

‘Now what?’ For I had laughed.

‘It’s even more important that you pay attention to me.’

‘About what?’

‘This.’ I cast my mirror onto the bed and kissed him. ‘The Duchess of Lancaster demands your attention.’

He gave it willingly. And yet as I lay in his arms in the aftermath of our lovemaking I could not help but agree with the Duke’s assessment. Why did I think that Richard was playing games with us all? And that he had not finished? It might be that he had not even started.

But that was a matter to be pushed aside as I fell into sleep, for John, in his ultimate wisdom, had promised me one final step in eradicating the transgressions of our past and awarding me glorious recognition as the Duchess of Lancaster.

‘What of our children?’ I had asked. ‘Will their legitimacy always be questioned?’

‘Certainly not,’ he had replied.




Chapter Twenty-One

There we stood. John and I and the four children that I had born him out of wedlock, all clad in white and blue. Lancaster colours, for that was what they were, bastards no longer. Fair of colouring, dark of hair, with a red burnishing when lit by the sun, they were without question their father’s children, and never had I see four young people so comfortably at ease with what life had handed them. Bastard or legitimate child, their confidence was a mirror image of John’s. It never failed to astonish me. Perhaps it was the care and love I had lavished on them for their own sakes as well as that of their father. Perhaps it was that they had never had need to question their place in the world. John had been openhandedly generous to them, cherishing them since the day they were born, even when we two were estranged and I could not speak of him without heaping curses on his head. If ever a family had felt loved, here it was, fully legitimised since His Holiness had finally been persuaded to sanction our offspring. I had not asked if John’s purse of gold had been necessary.