"But always inevitable. This young Henry of ours is a fine young sprig of the royal branch, do you not think? He was the cause of the trouble between the brothers. Knight of the Garter and already Earl of Derby! I am not surprised that his father dotes on him. He will be a good companion for you while you are with us, Mary."

"I have my cousins."

"Yes, but I am sure you will find Henry more amusing."

It was true, she did.

At first she had reproached him for the way he had behaved in the forest.

"It was but a game," he said. "I could not resist it. I saw you as we arrived. You were just entering the forest—which was forbidden, I am sure. I came to guard you."

"It was deceitful not to say who you were," she retorted.

"Oh dear. I had forgotten they are going to make a nun of you, are they not?"

"They will not make anything of me if I do not wish it."

"Then I'll tell you something. You are not going to be a nun."

"How do you know?"

"Because you will never agree to shut yourself away from the world. You like it too much."

"My future is not yet decided."

"It will be soon," he told her, and there was laughter in his eyes.

He wanted always to be with her.

"You neglect my cousins sorely" she reprimanded.

"They do not mind. They are but children"

"And how old are you?"

"Soon to be fifteen"

It was indeed a few years older than she was, but he never seemed to notice that difference.

She could play as good a game of chess as he could. They would often be seated together in a corner of the great hall, their heads bent over the chess board. Sometimes the great Duke himself would stand by watching the game—applauding a good move. He seemed very contented to see them together.

She would sing to him, playing her guitar as accompaniment. His voice would join with hers; they were in perfect harmony.

The Countess said they must sing together for the company after supper and when they did so, she noticed the eyes of the great John of Gaunt glazed with emotion. He clearly had a great affection for his son and she could understand it for she was discovering that she had too.

The days passed too quickly. She knew that she would have to go back to Pleshy very soon and when she thought of returning to the old way of life she felt depressed. Perhaps Henry would come to see her at Pleshy; but if she became a nun they would not be able to meet very often.

They rode out together with a party but Henry always contrived that he and she escaped. She fancied that their elders realized this and were amused rather than displeased by it.

Then one day when they had escaped from the party and were riding in the forest they came to the clearing where they had sat on that first occasion.

Henry suggested that they tether the horses and sit in the same spot for a while as he had something to say to her.

"You will soon be going back to Pleshy," he began.

She sighed. "Alas yes. My stay here has been longer already than I thought it would be. I shall be returning soon, I am sure."

"I too shall be leaving here with my father."

"It has been such a happy time."

Tor us both," said Henry. "Mary, you will not go into a convent, will you?"

"I am unsure .. "

He turned to her passionately, and putting his arms about her held her close to him. "Oh Mary," he whispered, "you can't do that. Promise you will not."

"Why should it mean ... so much to you?" she asked rather breathlessly.

"Because I want to marry you."

"To marry me. Oh Henry .. "

"Does that please you?"

She looked about her at the stark branches of the trees which she loved and she thought the forest of Arundel was the most beautiful place in the world.

"You have answered," he said. "It does please you."

"So much," she said. "I have never in my life been so happy as I have since you came."

"Then it is settled."

"What is settled? I shall have to go away from here and so will you."

"We shall be married," he said.

"Married. How can we be? I cannot marry ... just like that."

"Why not?"

"It would never be allowed."

"I can tell you that my father will not forbid it and he is your guardian."

"How can you know that?"

"He has told me."

"So ... you have talked with him."

"Only because I was so eager. I felt if I could get his consent that would be all we needed."

"And ... he has given it."

"He loves you. He says you have been his ward and now you will be his daughter."

"Is this truly so?"

"It is indeed. He has been delighted by the way in which we have grown to love each other. He says he sees no reason why we should not marry ... soon."

"Henry I am not yet eleven years old."

"That is a very pleasant age. I am fourteen. You see there is not much difference between us."

"They would never let us marry yet. We should have to wait."

"There could be a ceremony ... so that none could keep us apart. What say you, Mary?"

She clasped her hands together and was silent. It was too much to take in. It was not so long ago that she had sat here, lost in the forest, uncertain of the way she must go back to the castle, uncertain of her way in life too.

Henry had taken her hand and kissed it. "You want to marry me, Mary. You know you do. Think how you have enjoyed these last days. It would be like that for the rest of our lives."

She contemplated it and it seemed to her too wonderful to be true. Not to have to live at Pleshy; to give up her studies at the convent. How could she ever have thought she wanted to become a nun?

"Yes, Henry," she cried. "I do want it. I want to marry you. I want to have many children. I want to be a wife and a mother and live like this for ever."

Henry was laughing. He embraced her fervently. He told her that he had never been so happy in his life.

"Let us go back to the castle and tell them."

She did not want to go yet. She wanted to linger in the forest. For all he said, she feared their disapproval. Although they had seemed content to see her and Henry together and had not stopped their being alone, which in itself was strange, she still felt that her extreme youth would be stressed and while they would be kind, might let them become betrothed, that would be as far as this matter would go for the time. They might be married in say three years' time ...

But she was wrong.

When they returned to the castle Henry took her immediately to his father.

"My lord," he cried, "Mary has promised to marry me."

Mary was astonished by the expression on the Duke's handsome face. His eyes looked more fiercely blue than ever and a smile of delight spread across his face.

"But, my dear children ... this news moves me and delights me. Nothing could please me more."

He took Mary into his arms and held her tightly so that she felt she would suffocate against the lilies and the leopards. Then he released her and embraced Henry.

"It is what I hoped for," he said. "It has delighted me to see you two grow to love each other. Love is the best foundation for marriage." He was too emotional to speak for a moment.

He meant what he said. His ambitious marriage with Constanza of Castile had been undertaken for love of a crown which was love of another sort and often he had wondered whether he should not have been recklessly romantic and married Catherine Swynford, the woman he loved. Marriage for love. What a blessing. But when there was great wealth as well as love, then there could be no doubt that the marriage was an ideal one.

He smiled benignly on Mary. "So, my child, you have decided the convent life is not for you, eh. You have chosen wisely, and most happily for this son of mine. You shall be betrothed."

"We are anxious, my lord, that we should be married," said Henry. "We do not wish for a long delay."

"You see what an impatient man you are to marry, Mary," retorted the Duke. "Well, it is a measure of his love for you. I tell you sincerely, nothing shall stand in the way of your wishes." Mary could not believe she heard aright. The great man seemed as happy about the union as she and Henry were.

THE CHILD WIFE

Lancaster could not await to acquaint the Earl and Countess with the good news.

It has worked perfectly" cried Lancaster. "Henry has played his part to perfection. He knew what I wanted and it seems that when he saw the pretty child he wanted the same thing himself."

"It is a pleasure to have such a dutiful son" replied Arundel.

"They make a charming pair" said the Countess. "I think Henry is a very lucky boy and I am so glad our little Mary has escaped from that sister of hers. I wonder what Thomas is going to say when he hears the news. I should love to be present when it first comes to his ears."

"He will rant and rave" said the Earl. "And try to prevent it."

"That is what we must beware of" added Lancaster. "I do not think it wise for Mary to return to Pleshy."

"No indeed" agreed the Earl. "Eleanor would be capable of anything. She might lock the child up until she promises to go into a convent. She'll be furious—particularly as this has happened while Thomas is away."

"He could not have refused to let Mary come to Arundel" pointed out Lancaster.

"He would have tried to if he had known you and Henry were coming here" said the Earl.