by Diana Rubino
Richard snorted. "The Grey Mare still won't give up on her quest to hitch me and Dove. After the council meeting, Edward told me Elizabeth had the gall to make George go to him and deny us permission to marry."
"Well, hell's teeth, what did Edward say to that?"
"Exercising some elder brotherly authority, Edward told him to pizzle off."
"Getting George to do her dirty work now? Why, she'll stop at nothing, will she?" Valentine commented in a wondering tone.
"Well, this time, George has a stake in it. You know he's married to Anne's older sister. As the eldest, Isabel stands to inherit all her mother's estates. Elizabeth convinced George that Anne must stay an old maid in order for him to keep Isabel's inheritance. Over his customary bottle of malmsey last eve, George informed me that he intends to keep all of Isabel's inheritance for his greedy own self. Now I really must marry Anne immediately. I must protect Anne's half of her inheritance, to keep it out of George's clutches."
"Well, if you and Anne can overcome all of these obstacles, you truly are meant to be together!" Valentine said with a tilt of his head and a sparkle in his eye.
"Aye, I believe we are. And I wish to sire heirs someday, just like any man," he said after a pause, still looking out over the river.
"But you truly love her, do you not?" Valentine probed, looking intently at his friend.
He turned to Valentine, a smile more brilliant than the sun glinting on his armor during the last two battles they'd fought together. "I always have. Now I am finally going to marry her. Isn't that a rare occurrence!"
"Rare indeed, to finally get your heart's desire."
"Aye. I only pray you may have the same good fortune, and soon."
"Amen to that," Valentine said heartily, staring out the window once more at the river, recalling how Denys had felt in his arms when she had fallen into the water. The good fortune of making her his at last couldn't come soon enough….
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Denys entered Richard's apartments later that evening after his confidential interview with Valentine, and knocked at the open door to his wardrobe chamber.
"Richard, I must speak with you."
He did not turn around.
Denys' reflection pleaded with him in his looking glass.
"How would this silk tabard look with this velvet surcoat?" Richard held the garments up as he turned from the mirror to face her. "Or wouldst brown be too subdued? Might I don something in red, mayhap? Nay, that's too Christmassy, is it not?"
"What I have to say is important. I shall help you color coordinate wedding raiment later."
"Dove, I'm preparing for one of the most important days of a man's life save for perhaps his coronation. I want it all to go swimmingly."
"Then stop spending so much time preening like an over-plumed peacock and make sure your intended is at the altar this time."
"Very well, then." He draped the clothes over a chair. "What is so urgent?"
"I just wanted to congratulate you," she said evenly.
"The battle was a minor one. You needn't throw roses at my feet."
"Nay, 'tis naught to do with the battle. In fact, I'd have been surprised had you not emerged triumphant. 'Tis about another of your achievements."
"What then?"
"Winning the duel."
"What duel?"
"The one between you and Valentine Starbury."
"Oh, that." He dismissed the subject with a wave of his hand.
"Well, your affected scheme failed, Richard. Valentine told me about the duel, and that he won me by default!"
Richard didn't move a muscle, didn't flinch or break out in tiny beads of sweat on his lip. He was the picture of composure.
"'Twasn't like that, Dove, not at all. I was hoping you would take a fancy to each other, since you have so much in common, and we needed to get Bess off our tails. The duel was just an aside, a friendly scrap. It meant nothing."
"Well, your plan backfired. There is naught I fancy about Valentine Starbury." She folded her arms and twirled round with her back to him, blushing hotly.
"Not even his devilish handsomeness or his romantic charm?" His playful tone floated to stinging ears.
"He has all the charm of a cow's udder," she retorted over her shoulder.
"He adores you, Dove. Are you blind not to see that?"
"He would adore anything in skirts."
"Now, that is not true. He does not find Cousin Gonilda in the least bit attractive."
"Half the population of the Newgate Dungeons wouldn't find Cousin Gonilda in the least bit attractive."
Richard smirked. "Just be his companion, Dove. In my absence. For me, if for no other reason. Then we can share some happy times when we all reunite in the future."
"Oh, that will be a festive soiree indeed. Me with the court roué, and you with Anne Neville, all carousing the night away."
"Would you have rather the alternative? For us to marry each other?"
"Of course not. But that's no reason to foist Valentine Starbury on me."
"Foist, my dear?" Richard gave a half-smile. "I don't exactly see you struggling to unfoist him. I hardly forced him upon you. I merely brought him to court, presented him to you, and let Mother Nature take over."
"Oh, Richard, honestly!" She wished she could stop blushing. "I shall miss you. You're the closest thing I've ever had to a brother—or sister!"
"I shall still be like a brother, though I am meant to be an uncle." He cocked a brow. "However, since Edward made me Constable of England, I shall have much business to attend to in the north. But I shall be returning to court, and of course there is always pen and parchment. 'Twould be grand if you can keep me informed of the goings on at court, the Woodvilles' knavery, general tidings. How would you like to be my chief correspondent?"
She smiled weakly. "I would enjoy that, should I find something to write about. It will be so dull without you here. But then, I am not sure if I will even be here, if I head west to find my family."
"To find your family, or escape from Valentine? And you have not made many inroads into that search, for all it seemed so pressing not that long ago, when the Queen first proposed our match."
She blushed. "There has been so much to do, to think of with hostilities breaking out again and—"
"You needn't defend yourself to me. I know you have been concerned for all three of us, Valentine included, and it does your tender heart credit.
Straightening his cape, he gave her a final pat on the shoulder. "Valentine is to be created Duke of Norwich in a fortnight, you know. He has become one of Edward's most trusted councilors. Somehow I don't think it's going to be dull around the palace with him about all the time."
She tried to hide the unbidden smile that lifted her lips as her eyes darted about madly, landing on a cornice up above. "But he's so—so forward."
"Would you prefer backward?"
She giggled at that.
"You're just not used to someone who wears his heart on his sleeve. You've lived your life surrounded by Plantagenet prudery and Woodville knavery."
"You're not all that bad, in terms of the prudery, I mean. After all, Edward—"
Now it was Richard's turn to blush. "Aye, but the less said about that the better. What I mean is, Valentine is genuine—and that is rare indeed at any court. He is a man of simple sincerity. As I have said, there is no one whom I trust more. Not even my own brothers," he admitted in an undertone, "sad though that is to say."
He straightened the brown surcoat he had settled upon. "Now I really must go. We've a council meeting. I shall see you tonight in the great hall. Practice some archery. I notice your form has been a bit off as of late."
"I will improve, I promise. I'll just imagine Elizabeth in the bull's-eye."
He grinned. "Hold that thought."
With that, he positioned a huge rolled-brim hat atop his head and turned back to the looking glass.
She slipped away unnoticed, her heart in ev
en more turmoil that it had been when she had arrived.
She had only ever trusted Edward and Richard, and now Richard was marrying and leaving. Trust Valentine? It seemed the height of folly.
Far better to trust to her own luck. And perhaps to her new family.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
On what was supposed to be Richard's wedding day, he entered Pluckley House, George's Mayfair townhouse, and pushed his way through the crowd of jugglers, fools, and random hangers-on, laughing and singing horrendously off key to the minstrels' sloppy playing.
In the great hall George sat at the center of it all, a full-bosomed wench on his lap, holding a goblet to his lips as his left hand 'slipped' down her front, his fingers fumbling with the crimson lace of her bodice.
Richard approached his brother as the punch line of a vulgar joke sent raucous laughter through the room. He held out his arm and shook George, causing a stream of wine to spill down the wench's cleavage.
George's head was between the woman's breasts immediately, lapping up the spilled red liquid. She squealed, throwing her head back in delight.
Then her eyes met Richard's, and she nudged George, who finally came up for air and registered the utmost surprise at seeing his brother.
"Dickon! Ye've decided to partake in some of the more subtle pleasures of life, and it's about bloody time! Grab a tankard and a wench and join the festivities! But shuck off some of that blasted raiment first. Your foppery is a trifle inappropriate here!"
"All right, George, where is she? I demand to know where she is." Richard's voice never rose above a conversational level, and this was no exception, yet it had an ominous undertone that dared anyone to defy it.
George hadn't caught every word, for the music and laughter were thunderous.
"Ay? I didn't hear you." He held up a hand. "Quiet!" he shouted. "His Grace The Duke of Gloucester is present."
The noise died down to a curious buzz to which Richard paid no heed.
"Where is she?"
George wiped the wine from his chin and tossed the wench off his lap. She went tumbling to the floor onto her arse, giggling hysterically.
"Where is who? And do not look so serious, Richard. Enjoy it like me, and your life will be over before you know it!"
"What have you done with Anne?"
"Anne who?"
"Your sister-in-law, Anne Neville, you pribbling puttock, you know who! Where is she?"
George blanched, for his adoring brother had never spoken to him this way. Fury blazed in the young brown eyes. "Calm ye down, Richard. Fuckin' Ada," he chided in a hushed tone.
"I shall calm me down when you tell me where she is."
"By orders of His Highness the King, I no longer have wardship over Lady Anne Neville. Therefore, I neither know nor care where she is."
He vowed through clenched teeth, "I shall find her, George, and when I do, God help you."
The Duke of Gloucester's slight figure glided through the great hall, and he slammed the double doors behind him.
With eyes a glare at the loitering lot regarding him with mystification, George sniped, "Go back in there and douse your hankies 'til you drown."
Richard strode out of Pluckley House, his velvet cloak flowing like liquid. "Poxy turd burglars, the lot of you," he muttered.
The doormen looked at each other, shaking their heads, the age-old question in each of their minds: Did the King's starchy brother ever have any fun?
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Denys decided to visit Richard one more time before his wedding, to wish him well. She had been so full of her own affairs the last time they had met, that she had not rejoiced in his good fortune at securing Anne for himself at last.
She went past the guards through to his retiring chamber and knocked. He didn't answer, so she just went on in, as she was accustomed to doing.
He was bareheaded and in a plain linen shirt and hose, looking like anything but a man about to exchange wedding vows. His eyes were wild, his lips twisted into a tight line. He scurried about the room, wearing one shoe.
"Richard! Why aren't you donning your splendid wedding raiment? Where is your Esquire of the Body? The wedding is but an hour away!"
"Not half it isn't."
She shook her head in disbelief. "What—"
"Not now, Dove, I have somewhere to go." Slipping into his other shoe, Richard jammed a ring on his thumb and slammed his jewel box shut.
"Richard..." She grasped his sleeve, but he slid away like a feather in the wind and headed for the antechamber.
"What is amiss?" She wedged herself in between him and the door.
His eyes bored right through her as he jerked his thumb, but she did not heed his signal of dismissal.
"What has happened? You look like you're about to kill someone."
"I am. But it'll have to wait. And if you don't want us together in a marriage bed on Twelfth Night, you'd best let me go and find Anne."
Denys' heart dropped to her shoes. "Oh, no! She's missing again? On your wedding day? What happened this time?"
"This time, the scheming Queen got through to George, and convinced him that Anne must stay an old maid for him to keep all his wife's inherited loot. So now it's he who's spirited her away to the Devil in hell knows where!" He brushed past her, and this time she let him by.
"Oh, I hope you find her!" she called after him, but he was already gone.
She left his chambers and wandered aimlessly through the corridors, passing courtiers singing, strumming their lutes, or hurrying to their duties. Shuffling her feet through the rushes spread on the floors, she ran her hand over the elaborate frames of the portraits lining the walls, looking into the eyes of the long-dead monarchs, their ancestors and descendants.
Knowing she wasn't part of this long and enduring line twisted her heart. Oh, if only she knew who she was, she would be out of those Woodville clutches so fast!
Forcing herself to push the horror of this reality and her aloneness out of her mind, she found herself wondering where Valentine was.
Lonely as she was, she wanted to hear his pealing laughter and watch the breeze softly ruffle the waves in his hair.
Looking out into the courtyard, she didn't glimpse him among the knights milling about, or the servants rushing back and forth carrying sacks, pails, and firewood.
With their wheels squeaking, wagons loaded with supplies entered the gates. A stray hen waddled by and a kitchen wench dashed after it. But Valentine was nowhere to be found.
As she decided to take Chera down to the river for a walk, the royal messenger she'd sent to the Archbishop galloped up to her. Without dismounting, he touched his hand to his hat.
Her heart stopped.
"Mistress Denys, I've a reply from the Archbishop of Canterbury."
Her breath caught in her throat. She was too stunned even to unfold the parchment that he handed to her, folded over and embossed with an elaborate wax seal.
Her answer had come at last! God willing, the long-buried secrets of her origin were now in her very hands!
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
"So where did you find Anne?" Valentine asked, putting the finishing touches on his dress for the evening, which included a careful selection of rings and chains from his jewel box.
"In Shoreditch, in the kitchens of a friend of George's, disguised as a cook-maid," Richard replied, scowling out the window.
"Surely you jest."
"'Tis the truth. George spirited her off to the place, the mongrel. Sometimes I do not know how he got into this family! The grief he has wrought upon us turns my blood green! That's why he hates Elizabeth. They're too damn much alike!"
"How did you find her?"
"I went to George's friends first. She was not with either of them, so I went to his enemies. Fortunately, I only had to question twenty of them before I found her. Imagine if I had to go to the entire five thousand!"
Richard remained at the window for a long moment, then began removing his
black tabard. "Ah, the funeral's over. I should go back and change into something less dismal."
"What funeral?" Valentine asked as he took a white sarcenet tabard and dark green doublet from his wardrobe and laid them out on his bed.
"The Earl of Hereford. He was executed yester morn for treason."