The silence stretched, but it was not for Alice to speak first.
‘The Earl and the Countess of Oakshire—they are well?’ The woman’s face softened with the question. Alice’s parents had been respectful of this Queen when many had not. She had been a Lancastrian knight’s widow and her father was of the gentry, so many of the nobility resented her family’s rise to royalty.
Sometimes, Alice thought her parents’ fondness for the King and Queen stemmed from the fact that they, too, had married for love, as her parents had.
‘My mother is ill and my father chose to stay with her, so they sent me to represent the family. But they said if I saw you...’ she looked around, again satisfied they were alone ‘...to give you their greetings. And to say they are sorrowful about...’
She could not say the words about the Princes. After the King died, his brother Richard had become Protector, ruling on behalf of his young nephew. But within months, the young King and his brother had been taken to the Tower of London.
Then, they seemed to disappear. Her father, like most men, assumed they were dead.
A queen, but first a mother, the woman closed her eyes and gave a small nod of thanks. The rest must be unspoken.
She opened her eyes, a queen again. ‘We haven’t much time. I have called you here to give you good news. You are to be betrothed on Christmas Day.’
Christmas Day. Tomorrow.
The world stilled. ‘What?’ Not the answer she should give, but she was too startled for subtle words.
‘You are to be betrothed,’ said again, slowly. ‘On Christmas Day.’
So soon? Shouldn’t such news come from her own father and mother? ‘My parents said nothing of this.’ Of course, at seventeen, she was of an age to wed, but in a year that had seen three kings, her marriage had been of little consideration.
A wave of the hand. ‘It is agreed. They wanted me to tell you.’
Alice paused, struggling to understand. Her parents had told her this season at court would be important for her future. That was the reason they had allowed her to come alone.
‘If the Queen summons you...’
They must have known. But why the secrecy?
‘It will be a treacherous time at court. We trust you to navigate difficult waters...’
Yet they had given her no compass.
She lifted her chin. ‘To whom?’
‘To John Talbot, son and heir of the Earl of Stanson.’
She recognised the name. From the north of England, where the current King had much support, far from her family and their sympathies. Had she seen him at court in the past? It did not matter. It was not her place to object. The affection her parents had shared was a luxury few could afford, especially in these uncertain times. A marriage was an alliance, a matter of life and death, not trifling emotion.
And yet, the questions tumbled through her mind. Why this man? Why now? When would they actually be married? Why was the Queen the one to tell her?
But among them all, she asked only one. ‘When do I meet him?’ She had never expected to have a say in choosing her husband, but she had hoped to at least see him before they were wed.
The Queen raised her eyes and looked behind Alice. ‘Now.’
She turned.
There, at the door, wearing the fur-lined cape and cap of a physician, stood the man she had taken for a messenger only a few hours ago.
He looked not at all pleased.
* * *
Sir John stepped into room, jaw clenched so no words would escape. Lady Alice stared at him, wide-eyed, and his impression remained the same as when he had seen her earlier.
Young. Naive. Pretty. Tawny hair. Gentle, innocent blue eyes...
But as he watched, her expression shifted. Not angry. Not yet. But bewildered, as if she was watching the sun rise in the west.
He could tell the moment she recognised him and realised what he had done. As she did, her gaze sharpened, narrowed, and he knew she would never be so naive again.
Better that way. These were dangerous times.
He stepped forward and bowed, a gracious gesture, he hoped.
She glanced at the former Queen, then back at him. ‘So it seems you are neither the messenger nor the physician you pretend to be.’
He forced a smooth reply. ‘I am a knight, son and heir of the Earl of Stanson.’
She inclined her head not an inch more than necessary. ‘May our union honour both our families.’
Words by rote. As was his answer. ‘We shall do everything we can to make it so.’
Silence. Awkward. Though he could see countless questions in her eyes.
She glanced back at Dame Elizabeth. ‘Is this to be announced to the court, then?’
He met the glance of the former Queen and left her to speak.
‘The betrothal ceremony will be a private affair, though word will become known, of course. However, my involvement must remain secret.’
The puzzled furrow between Alice’s brows deepened.
‘And the King’s approval?’ she asked.
‘Has been obtained.’
She did not look as if she believed that, he thought. Not a dull-witted woman, then. So it was as well she did not know the priest who would preside was a secret ally of Henry Tudor, who was gathering an army in exile to take England’s throne.
He watched as she forced herself into composure. ‘Christmas is tomorrow. Certainly the ceremony can wait until my parents can be present.’ Her voice held the lilt of a demand.
Dame Elizabeth waved her hand, as if she still reigned and the audience was over. ‘No. It cannot. Sir John, please see that Lady Alice returns safely to the palace.’
One final bow and they left the hall, side by side.
Winter darkness had fallen. The court would soon gather for the Advent meal, breaking the fast of the day. If they were careful, they could return unobserved.
The wind from the river whipped around the Palace, blowing skirts and scarves awry. Beside him, she shivered. He reached out his arm, sheltering her with his fur-lined cloak, pulling her close.
With her body next to his, he thought of her, suddenly, not as a pawn in this game, but as his wife. Married, he would be free to explore the soft warmth of her, to press against her, to touch her hair and her breasts and...
If. When. Maybe. So many unlikely things must happen first.
She pulled away. The cold wind whipped the strands of her hair away from her scarf and across her face. ‘You deceived me. Why?’ Asking as if she deserved an answer.
Guilt prickled his spine. He was deceiving her still. ‘I am a warrior. I like to assess the field before battle.’
Wide-eyed again. Lips parted. ‘You see this marriage as a war?’
What was he to say? The country was at war with itself, even if no swords were drawn today. ‘I just wanted to...see you before you...knew.’
A smile, finally. Unexpected. ‘You mean, before I donned a disguise?’
He raised his brows, startled. ‘Disguise?’ It had not occurred to him that she, too, might...dissemble. It should have. Men sat puffed up on the throne, but women, in the shadows, made their own plans. About this marriage. And more. ‘I hope you will not find that necessary.’
She shrugged.
And for once, he regretted her silence.
They entered the Palace, suddenly engulfed by the smell of fish and the scent of Yule greenery, and she stepped beyond his reach. ‘We are not yet betrothed. Leave me to enjoy the last night of Advent.’
She turned away, leaving him alone.
He let her go, wishing her a night of peace. There was still much she was not to know.
Not yet, at least.
Copyright © 2020 by Wendy Blythe Gifford
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ISBN-13: 9781488066009
The Roman Lady’s Illicit Affair
Copyright © 2020 by Greta Gilbert
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
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The Roman Lady's Illicit Affair Page 25