“I do, in truth. An appropriate choice, my lord. And one I have no quarrel with.” Jack exaggerated his limp as he led the women out, which made Richard laugh.
MARGARET AND KATE busied themselves in the dispensary all morning after the men went to hunt. As they worked, they talked. It was not long before Richard’s name was mentioned, and Margaret tested a plan she had formulated the night before while Jack snored next to her.
“Forgive me if I speak out of turn, Kate, but I saw something akin to hunger in your eyes as you looked on Richard last night,” she ventured. “Am I wrong?”
Margaret’s insinuation flustered Kate into spilling some seeds onto the table instead of into the mortar. Was it that obvious? she thought guiltily. Dear God, I shall surely know hellfire for my lustful thoughts!
“Come, Kate, do not play the green girl. I am beginning to know you too well, so tell me true. What are you feeling for our young lord?”
Kate was embarrassed. “Madam, I . . . I know not what it is I feel. It starts about here.” She indicated a place on her belly. “And it moves up and gives me a pleasurable pain in my heart. ’Tis not the same feeling I had for George. At least, not this strong. ’Tis as though I am burning inside.”
She had not spoken of feelings with anyone but Anne, and she missed that closeness with another woman. However, she and Anne were innocents, and most of what they had talked of were the longings of young girls. She remembered the nights at Draper House after Thomas’s funeral when they had talked briefly of sex, but the unwed Anne had no carnal knowledge to pass on to Kate. Margaret, however, was a thrice-married woman, and judging from the way she and Jack were affectionate, even in public, she was well experienced in the art of keeping a man happy. Kate did not regret telling Margaret of her plight with George, but talking about her sexual awakenings was less natural. She lowered her eyes.
“I shall probably dance in hell for eternity by saying this, Kate, but I believe you should act on your feelings for Richard.” Margaret said this matter-of-factly, though she crossed herself for good measure. “And I believe you would not be rebuffed.”
Kate was aghast. “What . . . what did you say? That I should commit . . . adultery with my lord of Gloucester? You must be mad, Margaret. If you think you will dance in hell for only saying it, what do you suppose will be my fate if I do it? Besides, what makes you believe he casts his eye my way?”
“My dear, Kate. I am older and wiser than you, and I recognize interest in a man’s eye when I see it. You are indeed innocent in the ways of the world. Why, even the king takes other women to his bed—and his queen knows it. Even though ’tis not my lot and I have now been fortunate to marry a man I truly love, it is considered an honor to bed royalty. All I can say to you is, if it is not you with Richard, then it will be someone else. He is at the age when he needs to sow his seed—and I believe the two of you might teach each other much in the art of loving, I truly do. Sweet Mary, you look like Rose. I cannot believe I am shocking Dame Do-or-Die.”
But she was. Kate pulled a stool from under the table and sagged onto it like a puppet with slack strings. Having romantic feelings for George during her marriage to Thomas was one thing, but choosing to break one of God’s laws was quite another.
Her thoughts turned to Richard, and she felt her heart beat faster and a flush rise up her neck. He had looked at her intently, she had realized that, but she was not presumptuous enough to imagine he might desire her. She was so far beneath him—just a country girl from Snoll’s Hatch. Except, she reasoned, he did not know that. He thought she was a wellborn lady married to the son of Sir John Howard’s friend. Besides, surely Richard of Gloucester would balk at bedding a married woman.
“Nay, Margaret, you cannot be serious. A royal duke would not look so low.”
Margaret ignored her, picked up the pestle and took over grinding the mustard seeds, allowing Kate to mull over what she had said.
Kate’s mind was in a whirl. On the one hand she longed for love and she realized she might never know it. Just as Richard had opined his position the previous night, there was no choosing in the marriage stakes for a woman of her station either. How happy she had been when George had wanted to wed her; she would never have been able to approach him. But now she was no better off than the majority of women in her position—except that she would also be unfulfilled as a mother. She dismissed the thought from her mind and concentrated on what she might gain if she followed Margaret’s advice. She was astounded to hear that King Edward took mistresses and even more surprised that the queen was aware of them. How could those women hold their heads up in public? Although Kate enjoyed attention, she had too much pride to tolerate people talking or laughing behind her back. Martha had always told her to be true to herself and God, in that order. So, Kate thought, for Margaret to be aware, it must be common knowledge. Bold she might be, but brazen—never.
Kate put forth her concern, but Margaret ignored her. “He may be your answer. And if you are worried about being discreet, no one need ever know, because I shall arrange things so you can be private. Not even Jack shall know.”
“Sir John! Oh, Margaret, I do beg you not to tell Sir John we were even talking about this. What would he think of me?” Kate whispered, as Agnes walked through the kitchen and past them on her way to the wash house.
“Think of you? Why, Kate, he would be quite pragmatic about it. He sees great potential in Richard, and having Richard’s friendship could mean more advancement with the king in the future. Why, if I know Jack, he would most probably push the two of you together faster than I.” Margaret patted Kate’s drooping shoulder. “I shall say no more of it, and if you decide to find yourself in Richard’s room tonight, it has been none of my doing.”
Kate had to laugh.
“And now, I would like to have some of your remedies, dear Kate. Maybe I should write them down, as you seem to enjoy writing almost as much as you enjoy sewing. Heavens, you must have been such a trial to Elinor Haute. I almost feel sorry for her.”
Kate hung her head in mock shame.
* * *
THE HUNTERS RETURNED with three deer, proclaiming a good morning’s sport. Some undesirable parts of the animals were thrown to the dogs as a reward for their efforts, and the men came into the hall in time for the midday dinner. Richard’s face was glowing with fresh air and exhilaration, and Kate remembered Jack telling her that the young duke was happiest when hunting.
Margaret led Kate to a seat next to Richard and took Kate’s place at the other side of Jack. Jack looked puzzled but was too caught up in the day’s events to question his wife’s whims. He quaffed a cup of ale in one gulp and called for another. Richard, too, was making short work of his drink, and Kate sat rigid in her chair, wondering if he could hear her heart race. She looked at his hands, the fingers drumming lightly on the table. They were fine, almost womanly, except for strong thumbs and several cuts and scars.
“You find my hands interesting, Mistress Haute? They serve me well but are unremarkable, I would judge.” Richard held one up and studied it carefully. “Yours are far worthier of closer scrutiny, I believe.”
Kate immediately hid hers under the table and gave him a lighthearted laugh. “I beg your pardon, my lord. I did not mean to stare, but I was wondering how you can hold a broadsword.” She stammered out the first excuse she could invent. Then she realized she had probably insulted him by implying his hands were too small to do such manly tasks, and her nervousness grew. Richard shifted in his seat, and as he did, his knee touched hers. Startled tawny eyes met a similar expression in gray ones, and both were unable to speak. Kate broke the spell by averting her gaze and picking up her goblet of wine. Richard recovered quickly. He pointed to her hand and carried on the innocuous conversation. “And I was wondering how such little fingers could cover the harp strings so beautifully, Kate.” He hesitated, lowering his voice. “I may call you Kate, may I not?”
“Only if I may call you Richard, my lord,”
Kate countered, retrieving some of her courage. His measured tone soothed her, and her heart stopped racing. She felt more at ease.
“By all means. Call me Dickon, if you would prefer.” He held her gaze again. “I feel I have known you my whole life, so to stand on ceremony would seem foolish.”
Kate was dumbfounded. Margaret was right; he was interested. She sipped her wine, her hand trembling. “I prefer to call you Richard, if it please you, my lord. Dickon would be more fitting for a boy.”
Conversation began to flow more naturally, and it took Jack tapping Richard on the shoulder to get his attention.
“You must allow us to share in the discourse, Kate,” Jack admonished her, winking. “What is your pleasure this afternoon, my lord? I must ride to Ipswich with my squire to inspect one of my vessels at the pier. Do you ride with me or engage Margaret in a game of chess. She is wily, I will warn you!”
Margaret slapped Jack’s hand playfully and demurred, “You are a flatterer, my love. I am sure I would be no match for his grace.”
Richard declared his willingness to be beaten by Margaret and eschewed the ride to the estuary.
Jack pushed back his chair and rose, signaling the end of the meal. He took Richard to his office to show him the tower plans, and Margaret and Kate led Lettice and William upstairs to Margaret’s chamber. There little Catherine was fretting, but her tight swaddling clothes kept her safe in the cradle. Margaret lifted her out and settled in Jack’s high-backed chair to wait for the wet nurse. The other gentlewomen entered and set out the tapestry frame, while the children played chequers on the floor.
It was not long before the front door banged shut and the sound of horses’ hoofs receded into the distance, carrying Jack and Tom with it. Molly peeked in and caught Kate’s eye. Kate excused herself from Margaret and left the room.
“Mistress, I would prepare your gown for tonight. Is it the blue you wish?”
“Aye, Molly. I do not think I will wear the damask again tonight. We must not appear as country cousins to my lord duke. And my small hennin, I think. The other makes me look too tall.”
Richard appeared in the dark hallway, and Molly hurried off to Kate’s chamber. Kate waited for him to enter the solar, but he stopped her before she could open the door.
“Stay, Kate. I would speak with you privately.” He had his hand on her arm, and she could not move. A few seconds passed before he said in an urgent whisper, “Tell me you feel it, too. This connection between us that I cannot deny. I pray you feel it, too.”
Kate hesitated. She wanted to tell him that his touch thrilled her, that her knees were giving way, but she was afraid. His grip did not lessen, and she could see his eyes begging her to acquiesce.
“I . . . cannot deny it, sir,” she finally stammered. “I am fearful of it, and I know not how to put it from me. I am ashamed. I am a married woman, and I made a vow . . .”
She did not finish her thought. Richard’s soft mouth was on hers and all the breath was taken from her. She could not help herself; she responded by opening her lips and allowing his tentative tongue to touch her own. It was a gentle kiss and Kate drowned in its sweetness. Some magnetic force in both their bodies pulled them together, Richard’s arm encircling her waist while their free hands intertwined. When this kiss was ended, Kate thought the world must have gone round at least once.
Footsteps creaked up the staircase, and the young couple instinctively sprang apart. Jack’s steward hobbled into sight and bowed low to Richard before disappearing up to the attic rooms, where he shared quarters with other retainers.
“We can be discreet, Kate.” The young duke’s urges were speaking now, all rationality flowing away through the open floodgates of desire. His voice was husky but his eyes were looking honestly into hers. He would not force her; that was not his way, he told her.
Someone else was coming up the stairs. In a house as busy as Tendring, privacy was hard to achieve. In a moment of decision, Kate took Richard’s hand and pulled him along to her chamber. Molly was startled when the door flew open and her mistress ran in, followed by the duke of Gloucester. She curtsied so low and quickly that she almost fell over. She mumbled something unintelligible, dropped Kate’s dress onto a chair and backed hurriedly to the door.
“Molly, you saw nothing. Understand?”
Molly calmed herself and looked her mistress straight in the eye. “Saw what, mistress?” she said, ignoring Richard. She held out the key of the door. “You may be needing this, and I will stand nearby—so you may not be disturbed.”
Then she was gone.
Kate locked the door and turned to Richard, who was laughing.
“Who is that wonderful woman? Truly a jewel! She obviously adores you—as do I.”
She was in his arms, and their kisses became more and more passionate. Gone were the memories of Thomas’s sour taste and wet whiskers and George’s perfunctory wooing embraces. This singing in her head and weakening in the knees was exactly what she had imagined in those lonely moments at Draper House. Richard’s hand crept up to her breast. Her every nerve tensed. Too late she remembered this was wrong.
“Oh, no, my lord! I should not . . . you should not . . .” She shook her head and pushed him away from her. She sat down on the window seat and stared out of the window. “Oh, what shall I do?” she cried miserably.
Richard was taken aback by her vehemence. “Kate, have no fear, I will take care of you. Do not deny me, I beg of you. I am inexperienced in love, I know, and I pray you forgive me if I have offended or hurt you.” Richard was on one knee beside her, his cheek on her hand, his self-assurance now as low as her feet. “Maybe you think me too young . . .”
Kate looked down at him and smiled. “Nay, Richard. I know you are not too young. I am flattered you could look at me—a poor country girl—and feel desire. But I am afraid of the hellfires I must surely face if I give myself to you. Kissing alone must make me vulnerable to them. Have you forgot I am married?”
Richard gave a heavy sigh. “Ah, Kate, would that you were not. ’Tis strange, but you do not seem like other wives. Those who have tried to force themselves on me have appeared disgusting in my eyes. To commit adultery is against all that is holy and all I believe. Those women soon took measure that I am not like my brother. Perhaps because I have not seen you with your husband—or even met the man—I could believe you are not married. Forgive me if I have affronted you. But I thought you felt . . .”
“I do,” Kate replied earnestly. “But I am also fearful for my immortal soul if I act on my feelings. I am a simple woman by all accounts, my lord, and I cannot keep my honor if I behave as I have heard ladies at court do. I must beg your pardon for perhaps giving you a wrong idea. ’Twas not my intent.” She put her head in her hands and whispered, “Oh, ’twas so natural between us . . .” She hesitated and then admitted, “Truthfully, I do not love my husband. But in truth, I am married. And I honor duty and loyalty above all things.”
“Your husband is a lucky man, Kate, to have one as faithful as you,” Richard said wistfully, standing up and pacing the room. “Loyalty and courage are my watchwords, and I cannot gainsay them. But how I wish your faithfulness was for me and not for him!”
They were silent for a while, Richard curbing his urge to hold her again, Kate pondering on her loyalty to George. What of his loyalty to me? she thought suddenly. How many Simons had he bedded after he had declared his intention to wed her? How many since? Was he being loyal now? She doubted it. His sensuality had been evident that afternoon in September with the groom. Funny how she could be dispassionate about that scene now she no longer cared for George.
She watched Richard pace, twisting a ring around his little finger. He was calming himself. Certes, but he has self-control, she thought admiringly. His profile was strong: a prominent chin, straight, long nose and deep-set eyes. In repose his face looked stern, mostly on account of a thin, straight mouth and long upper lip. But when he smiled . . . as he was now. He caught he
r watching him and came to sit beside her. In that smile, she made up her mind.
“Richard, I must tell you about George,” she began, her eyes imploring him not to interrupt. She must trust him, for she knew she could not resist him much longer. She decided she would not talk of Thomas, because she knew he had loved her and had cursed his inability to get her with child. But she told Richard of her unhappy marriage to George, of his infidelity to her, and of her unsuccessful attempt to seek an annulment.
Richard sat thoughtfully, holding her hand and squeezing it lightly when she came to painful memories. He had seen similar behavior at Middleham between some of the young squires and pages, and his rigid upbringing in a household ruled by his pious mother, Cecily, had rejected it. He looked at Kate’s troubled face, and his young, chivalrous heart was touched. When she finished, he raised her hand to his lips and spoke her name as a caress.
“Kate. My sweet Kate. What you have endured. It may be I can help you in your search for an annulment, but that can take years, I believe. George will be damned for his unnatural way, but that is not your fault.” Richard paused. “I am sorry for him, for he has lost a jewel. In the meantime—and I am going to make a bold statement now—I believe that if God knows you have tried to do your duty by your husband and that he has rejected you, He will not damn you for giving your heart elsewhere. Can I hope I will have your heart, Kate? Mine was taken when I found you in the forest, and your image has stayed with me since.” He stopped. This was a long speech for one unversed in the ways of wooing, and he wondered if he had proceeded too quickly. He flushed slightly. “You do believe me, Kate.”
She nodded, his earnestness making her smile. “How could I not, my lord, when I look into your eyes and see your soul. How could anyone not trust those eyes, Richard?” She paused, stroked his face and felt the soft hair that would one day be a strong beard. Then she asked again, “What of adultery?”
A Rose for the Crown: A Novel Page 29