A Rose for the Crown: A Novel

by Anne Easter Smith

  “Haute did you say? Are you of the Kent family, madam? I do not believe we have seen you at court before.” Edward took her hand between his two massive ones and smiled down at her. “Tell me your connection.”

  Kate felt Edward’s thumb stroking her palm in a most suggestive manner, and she glanced at Richard for help. He was unaware of his brother’s action, but he caught the look of pleading in Kate’s eyes.

  “She is married to George Haute, knight apprentice at Framlingham, Ned. Her guardian is Richard Haute of Ightham, kinsman to Elizabeth.”

  “Ah, Richard Haute. He is a good man and here somewhere, I am certain. Where is your husband, madam? I should be glad to know what manner of man snagged such a prize.” Edward smiled and promptly let Kate’s hand drop.

  Kate regained her composure. “By your leave, sir, my husband is not here.” She bowed her head in Margaret’s direction. “I am come as companion to Lady Howard. But if my cousin of Ightham is here, I shall be glad to see him again,” she exclaimed happily. “It has been close on a year since we parted and I was married.”

  Edward had completely ignored the older and nobler lady and now turned to remedy his lapse in etiquette. “Forgive me, madam. ’Tis a pleasure to see you in London once more. You are too much the stranger, and Jack seems loath to leave his home now that you are there. We have trouble keeping him by our side, and I fear you are to blame.”

  Kate was relieved that Edward’s attention was now on Margaret, and she instinctively moved a step closer to Richard and out of Edward’s peripheral vision. Richard’s fingers found hers in the folds of her skirt, and she squeezed them lightly.

  Edward’s eye was caught by the entry of a new group headed by a tiny figure in a magnificent purple gown, cut low to reveal her generous bosom, sparkling with so many jewels that she eclipsed the bright summer-night sky outside.

  “Ah, Elizabeth,” he said, and Kate saw his mouth curl in a knowing, sensuous smile. He bowed to Margaret and then to Kate. “Take care of these ladies, Dickon. Forgive me, I must greet my beloved wife and our young bride.”

  Like a retreating wave, the guests melted out of his path as he strode forward to take the queen’s outstretched hand. Kate was riveted by Elizabeth’s beauty, so pale and ethereal and yet earthy: her alabaster skin flawless, her large eyes set in a perfectly heart-shaped face, her mouth full and lightly tinged with red.

  “My dear sister-in-law, Kate,” Richard murmured. “The most beautiful bitch in the land.”

  “My lord!” Kate reacted to the venom in his voice. Margaret had moved on to find Jack, and within the crowd of a hundred or so present, they were alone. “Why bitch?”

  “I shall tell you why, Kate. She bewitched Edward into marrying her and then used her influence with him to elevate every one of her scheming, lowborn family. Poor Harry—my cousin Harry Stafford of Buckingham—was landed with one of her awful sisters. Edward refused her nothing. All because he wanted her so badly she made him marry her first.”

  “I think it is quite romantic, my lord, but perhaps not politic for a king.”

  Kate wondered if Richard was thinking of their own situation, but they had made a pact, and she knew Richard would not let his heart rule his head.

  “Is that other lady your sister Margaret?” She stood on tiptoe to get a better view of the next duchess of Burgundy. “She has beautiful eyes, like yours!” she said, and Richard grinned.

  “Aye, that’s Meg. She has not the striking beauty of our sister-in-law, but she has wit and humor that lights a room. ’Tis rumored she and Anthony—” He stopped and glanced around. A few curious looks were being cast in their direction. Kate, who had no intention of being the subject of one of the rumors that were rife at court, stepped away from Richard’s side, saying under her breath that she would see him later.

  “Aye, my love. Until then.” He offered his arm and escorted her back to the Howards, who were conversing with a handsome man with a gentle smile. “Anthony, Lord Scales. Elizabeth’s brother,” Richard growled under his breath, and Kate was surprised again by his vehemence. The object of his disdain did not appear mean-spirited and she wondered if this was the Anthony Richard had linked to his sister. But before she could question him, Richard bowed to the group and made his way to Edward’s side just as a fanfare announced that supper was served.

  Kate stood aside to watch the royal family process through the room. Edward escorted his sister, the guest of honor, who at twenty-two had a strong will of her own and was ready to play a political role. Margaret’s aquiline nose, rounded chin and small, bowed mouth were the feminine equivalent of Edward’s. Fair-haired, tall, graceful and dressed in cloth of gold, her beauty was the sun to Elizabeth’s moon. George of Clarence, a step behind Edward, was the queen’s escort. Kate remembered Clarence from the coronation feast. A man now, he was handsome in a more flamboyant way than Edward. Richard escorted another of his sisters, the duchess of Suffolk, and they talked animatedly together as they made their way through the throng, an unmistakable bond between them.

  The dinner was to be held in the chapter house, a high-vaulted room adjoining the main monastery with central pillars spreading their supporting fingers across the ceiling. The usually bare walls had been hung with tapestries brought from the palace at Greenwich for the occasion, and the floor was spread with white rose petals—white for the House of York and its daughter being given in marriage to Burgundy. Their perfume mingled with the tempting odors of the foods spread on long tables, with more being brought in at a run by pages and lackeys.

  Kate was beginning to feel the effects of a sleepless night and two-day ride, but her stomach was also crying out for nourishment. She sat down with Margaret Howard in eager anticipation. She looked curiously at the dais on which sat Edward, Elizabeth and Margaret of York. This was the royal family of her dreams. How could one not pledge allegiance to such magnificence and beauty? Clarence headed a table to their right, and Richard was seated at another table to Edward’s left. She noticed that the hawk-nosed man was placed next to Clarence and the two talked earnestly together. Edward also had his eye on them, and Kate was not surprised to learn that the other man was the high and mighty Richard Neville, earl of Warwick. Richard’s guardian, Kate thought, and looked at him with keen interest.

  Jack had the honor of serving the king that night, and he appeared to enjoy the king’s good graces, for they exchanged many pleasantries and loud laughter. She searched the room for Richard Haute but gave up when fatigue made all the faces swim together. As a piece of meat was set down on her trencher, Kate felt the fluttering in her belly again. She drew in a sharp breath, and Margaret looked at her anxiously.

  Kate smiled reassurance and shook her head. “’Tis the baby, Margaret,” she whispered. “I felt it move.”

  On their journey, Kate had decided to tell Margaret her news. Though Margaret was concerned that Kate had become pregnant within such a tiny window of opportunity, she was amused by Kate’s scheme to pass the child off as George’s and agreed it was the best policy under the circumstances. “I have no doubt the duke will provide for the child, Kate. He seems a moral young man, unlike his big brother,” Margaret pronounced.

  Just before the last course, wafers and hippocras wine, Kate slipped from the table, murmuring the excuse of exhaustion to her neighbors. She passed unnoticed through the archway and back to the refectory. There the musicians were tuning their instruments and practicing for the dancing that was to follow. She hoped she would not be asleep when Richard joined her; the anticipation of their reunion had consumed her these past few days. The staircase and corridor were lit with torches, and she found her room without delay, passing a guard who was pissing in a corner.

  Agnes and Rose were nowhere to be seen, presumably enjoying a feast of their own with the other gentlewomen and retainers. Using a taper kindled from a torch in the hallway, she lit the candles on the priedieu, which gave the stark room a pleasant glow. She did not like the way the light underne
ath the crucifix caused the Christ figure to grow to an enormous shadow on the wall above, but she turned her back on it and prepared herself for bed as best she could on her own. She was struggling with her heavy gown when she felt a pair of hands unhook her belt and draw the material over her head.

  “Who is that?” Her voice was muffled by yards of silk. She was not afraid; she was sure it was Agnes or Rose who had chanced by the room. She need not have asked. The hands had gently found their way to her belly and were tenderly spread across it as if to protect its precious cargo.

  “Richard!” she cried as the last of the cumbersome gown came over her head and fell to the floor. “Oh, Richard, I am so glad you came! I am so happy I have come! Oh, I am so happy!”

  She pitched forward into his arms, and he held her close, kissing her mouth, her cheeks and her eyes. He pulled the pin holding her hair in its neat knot and let it loose. She stood there in her underdress, the candlelight flickering on her face, while he held her arm’s length and drank her in.

  “Richard, say something! Are you pleased to see me? Are you angry about the child? Oh, Richard, I felt it move tonight at supper. Here, maybe it will move again now its father is nigh.” She prattled on, taking his hand and putting it once more on her tight belly. “Please, love, say something.”

  But Richard remained speechless. He had never been so happy in his life. This beautiful creature appeared to love him and was proudly carrying his child. He just gazed at her—at all of her. A slow smile spread over his usually serious face, and then he flung his arms in the air and whooped like a schoolboy let off his studies.

  “Happy? You ask if I am happy? How could I not be, you silly goose?”

  He drew her to him and down onto the bed. He began to kiss her again, but Kate was not satisfied with his response.

  “So, you are not angry? And you do not mind that I am pretending it is George’s? I thought it was for the best, but I did not know. Oh, Richard, you should have answered my letter. It has been months,” she admonished him, sitting up abruptly.

  Richard reluctantly sat up with her and hung his head. “Aye, I know, Kate. ’Twas remiss of me not to acknowledge the babe. But I was fearful the letter would fall into the wrong hands. I knew that you wished to be discreet in this affair. And then Edward sent me to Wales, so I had no way of getting a private letter to Jack Howard. I am sorry, ma belle. But I hoped you would know all was well when you received the summons from Margaret to meet me. I thought the message would ring clear. Certes, I am not angry. I am delighted. And I will provide for the child, I swear to you.”

  Kate took his face in her hands and kissed him tenderly, her tongue lightly playing about his lips. He responded with more passion, while his hands unhooked his jacket, unlaced his doublet and his hose. They lay entwined on the bed in their chemises, kissing and fondling until Richard’s need became too great. He gently mounted her, and they moved together in a loving union that rocked the bed and brought Kate tears of joy.

  RICHARD HAD HEARD the Howards return from the feasting and turn in for the night. They had spoken in low voices, and he had also heard other female voices, which he presumed were those of Margaret’s gentlewomen. Kate had fallen asleep almost as soon as they had finished their lovemaking, her head cradled in her arm and still on her back. Richard was not particularly tired but appreciated that Kate might be tired after her long day. He did not understand the mystery of childbearing and lay there marveling that their enthusiastic lovemaking did not disturb the child. A child! His child. He wondered if it would look like him, but then he looked at Kate and hoped it would inherit her chestnut hair and freckles. That reminded him. He peered closely at her face and noticed some of the freckles seemed to have been obliterated. Puzzled, he licked his finger and gingerly touched her nose, where most of the hated blemishes resided. On his finger was a telltale residue of white powder. He was touched by this childish vanity, and his heart lurched with a feeling of devotion he had never felt before. He got out of bed, knelt at the priedieu, and, looking up at the crucifix, swore to protect and love this woman and the unborn child to the best of his ability. With that, he blew out the candles and curled up beside her to sleep.

  “Is there no one who will wonder where you are, Richard?” Kate whispered when they came awake with the crowing of a cockerel. “You have been here all night.”

  “Nay, Kate. No one questions the comings and goings of a king’s brother. I’ll warrant George is in someone’s bed at this very moment, too.” Richard stroked her hair.

  Dawn was spreading its gray light through the window slit, but it was too dark to make out more than Richard’s silhouette. Kate wound a lock of his long hair round her finger, making a ringlet of it. They lay side by side, listening to the noises in the abbey: loud snores from Jack and more from those sleeping in the corridors, wrapped in their cloaks; the distant chanting of the monks at prayer in the chapel; the lowing of cows coming awake in the meadow and needing to be milked; and again a cock’s crow.

  “Tell me more of yourself, Kate,” Richard whispered, taking the hand that was tracing the outline of his face as if to commit it to memory and kissing the palm. “You did not tell me why you went to Ightham Mote.”

  It was Kate’s turn to sit up and lock her hands around her knees and tell Richard her story. She talked of Snoll’s Hatch and of Bywood Farm. Her knowledge of her parents’ lives before she was born was negligible. The memory of her mother was fading, although she vividly recalled the night of Martha’s death. Richard caressed her back as she relived the pain. She told him of her mother’s connection to Richard Haute and that through some miracle he had offered to take her into his house as companion to Anne. Of her father she knew little, she said, except that he had fought in France alongside King Henry. At the mention of France and his soldiering, Kate remembered her keepsake.

  “I almost forgot! I have a gift for you.” She jumped out of bed and groped in the gloom for the velvet pouch she had made for the coin. She found it in her bundle of clothes and then stumbled across the room to the prie-dieu.

  “Fiddle-faddle! There has to be a tinderbox around here somewhere,” she grumbled, kicking something hard as she looked. “Ah, here it is! And if you should need it, here is the piss pot.”

  Richard chuckled at her lack of pretension. She unstuck one of the candles and lit it, cupping the flame in her hand against the draught from the window. Richard moved over for her, and she handed him the pouch, carefully pulling the blanket around her. He withdrew the coin now hung on a leather thong, and turned it over in his hand.

  “What is it, Kate?” He peered at the worn lettering in the sputtering candlelight.

  “’Tis an écu—from France. I know not the value, but ’twas what my father left me when he died in February.” And she told him the story of the coin and how she learned about loyalty. “Father must have died at the same time our child was conceived, and it seemed the right thing to give you.”

  “Then ’tis precious indeed, my love, and I shall wear it proudly. I thank you!” He put the coin around his neck. “I hope, when the time comes, I will demonstrate such duty to my friends, too. I think I would have liked your father.”

  “Aye, and he you. And, love, if ’tis of no import to you, I should like to call the babe John, after my father, an it is a boy.” She smiled as he began to tease her breast.

  “Aye, Kate, John is a fine name. But if she’s a girl, you shall name her Katherine. I shall brook no argument on that!”

  “If that is your wish, my lord. There is nothing I will deny you when you touch me in that way.” Her laugh turned into a low moan of pleasure.

  IF JACK AND MARGARET NOTICED Richard slipping out into the corridor not long afterwards, they never mentioned it to Kate. They all joined the other guests, many of whom were bleary-eyed and tender-headed, back in the chapter house to break their fast following terce in the chapel at nine. Only the monks were awake for prime that morning. Of the royal party there was no sign;
it was cosily ensconced in its apartments, eating privately.

  Richard must have joined them there, Kate decided. As she lifted a piece of cold meat to her mouth, she glanced across the room and saw the back of a very familiar head.

  “Cousin Richard!” she cried, dropping the meat and causing several of her neighbors to stop their conversation and frown at her. She blushed. “Forgive my manners, I pray you.”

  Richard Haute heard his name and turned to look. At the same time, the young woman seated next to him also turned at the sound of Kate’s voice.

  “Kate!” A smile lit up Anne’s face. She nudged John and whispered to him. He craned his long neck around and following Anne’s gaze, spotted Kate. He waved his knife gaily at her. As soon as the tables were cleared, Kate went to greet the family. Anne had blossomed with motherhood; her figure had filled out, and she looked less like a tiny bird. John stood by her side proudly, and it was plain that Anne still doted on her mate.

  Richard Haute took Kate in his arms and lifted her off her feet. “Why, child, you are not the feather I remember,” he said, pretending to be winded as he put her down. “But I am right glad to see you, sweetheart.”

  “And I, cousin!” She turned to the others. “’Tis good to see you, John—and you, my dear, sweet Anne.” The two women embraced tenderly. “And perhaps my state makes me seem heavier, Richard, for I am happy to tell you I am with child.”

  The men murmured pleasantries, but Anne gave a cry of joy, throwing herself at Kate anew. “I am so happy for you, Kate. ’Tis a wondrous thing being a mother, you will see. Oh, how sad I am my Nan is not with us, for I would dearly love to show her to you.” Anne took Kate’s arm possessively and led the party out into the sunlight of the monastery garden. “She is a beautiful babe, is she not, Father?”

  But Haute was preoccupied, and Kate saw him searching the groups outside for someone. Kate whispered a query to Anne, who laughed and turned to tease her father. “Oh, Father, stop looking for Lady Darcy. She has not been invited, so no matter how hard you look, you will not see her.”