“I am fifteen, my lady,” he said politely but firmly, and gracefully removing one of her hands he bowed over it. “Richard of Gloucester, Madame, an honor to meet you.”
Cecily glided up to Jacquetta, revealing that, despite their same birth year, the duchess of York’s tall, lithe figure had weathered the years more elegantly than the shorter, fleshier duchess of Bedford’s. “Have you not made my son’s acquaintance before, my dear Jacquetta? He was at Eliza-beth’s coronation, you remember.” She took Richard’s arm possessively. “This is my kind-hearted son who would like to right all the wrongs of the common folk. Aye, Richard, Edward told me of your passionate appeal. You will learn that it is not good for the people to desire more than their due, is it, Jacquetta? It just leads to violence, exactly as is happening in the kingdom today. Do peasants believe they can govern themselves? Nay, they are incapable. ’Tis why we must lead the way.”
Richard had not heard his mother so openly defend her privileged rank or seem to mock him, and he was taken aback. Another time, he might have kept silent, but his youthful indignation and new found confidence spurred him now.
“Did you know our English laws are all written in French or Latin, Mother, which means no one except priests, lawyers and we of the nobility can read or understand them? Do you think that is fair?”
He had not realized he had raised his voice enough to quell conversation in the hall and stop the musicians mid-phrase. All eyes turned to Edward, who momentarily paused in his stroking of his wife’s full breasts that were bulging invitingly over her low-cut gown. Turning to the trio by the fire, he made a mocking gesture of futility with his hands and waved on the music. “Richard is lecturing again,” he whispered to Elizabeth.
“Have a care, my son,” Cecily warned Richard. “Keep your radical thoughts to yourself—until you become king.” Chuckling at the impossibility, she took Jacquetta’s arm and drew her away. “This is what comes of allowing him to play with the yeomen’s children at Ludlow.”
Richard was disappointed. Had Cecily Neville forgotten her own intercession forty years before when she had rescued the youthful Piers Taggart from the life of an outlaw? She had been just as outraged then at the injustice of the young peasant’s plight as Richard was today, and she had taken pity on Piers and given him a position in the York household. But years as a royal duchess and now mother of a king had detached the once compassionate Cecily from commoners.
Richard’s awkward moment with his mother was averted by a loud knocking on the manor’s stout oaken door. A harried messenger, snow still clinging to his sodden cloak, was ushered in and fell to his knees in front of Edward.
“What means this, sirrah?” Edward demanded. “You interrupt our festivities.”
“I come from the Lord Rivers’ estate in Kent, Your Grace,” the exhausted man mumbled. “I would speak to his lordship.”
“I have no secrets here.” Edward’s debonair father-in-law stepped forward, and bowed to the king. “By Your Grace’s leave.” Edward gestured to Rivers to question the man, who revealed that a mob had attacked the baron’s manor in Kent and that he, the messenger, had ridden hard for two days to report the incident. Jacquetta and Anthony hurried forward and plied the man with questions.
Edward walked to Richard’s side and, sotto voce, admitted, “I like not this news. I heard another such attack took place in the north a few days ago—Warwick adherents all.”
Richard stiffened. Four years of serving the earl faithfully made him loath to accuse his patron, despite growing suspicion that Warwick was on the verge of turning his coat. He came to Warwick’s defense. “How can you be certain these are Warwick’s men, Ned? Where is your proof? I left his lordship in the bosom of his family preparing for the season not a fortnight ago.”
“We will see. ’Tis time we summoned the mighty earl to speak for himself. If he is responsible, I shall expect him to apologize to Lord Rivers and his family for this outrage.” Edward pulled Richard into a shadowy corner of the room to whisper. “My kingdom shall never be peaceful until Richard Neville accepts my wife as my consort and her family as my family. I must have them reconcile.”
Richard well knew the disdain in which the noble Warwick held the Woodvilles: “upstart nobodies with greedy ambition,” he had said of them, but Richard could not bring himself to betray that confidence to Ned now, although he had questions of his own about Ned’s unsuitable marriage. Wisely, Richard decided now was not the time. Besides, he did not want to jeopardize this flattering confidence Ned was placing in him, and Edward’s idea of an accord seemed sound.
“When the earl obeys my summons, and I have effected a reconciliation,” Edward continued, “I will inform his lordship that your apprenticeship with him has ended. You will be gracious in your thanks, as will I. You will finish your education under my roof, where you belong.”
At once, the view of the countryside from Middleham ramparts flooded Richard’s mind. Then beloved, familiar faces floated across his vision: cheerful Rob Percy; the young, devoted Francis Lovell; gruff Master Blackbeard; the kindly Lady Warwick; lovely but faithless Isabel; and, unexpectedly, the childish, doting Anne. Was he not even to say farewell? A pang of longing made him wince, but his duty was to his brother, and he bowed acquiescence.
“Do not look so miserable, Richard,” Edward chided, making Richard flush. His brother’s blue eyes gave the impression of a wandering interest, but in truth they were as watchful as a falcon intent on prey, unnerving many a courtier who wrongly assumed the king’s mind was elsewhere. “I will have need of you before long, and perhaps George will work harder at pleasing me now he will have competition for favors.”
Seeking to assure his brother, Edward made to put his arm about Richard’s shoulders. In an-other time, Richard would have craved attention from Edward, but now, he could not bear to think his growing crookedness might be obvious to his brother’s touch. On his part, Edward was surprised when the young man evaded his grasp. Guessing it was to avoid looking like a child, he did not force the gesture. With a glint of mischief as he asked, “Did you leave a sweetheart in the north country, my lad? I hope you do not begin a new chapter with your virginity still intact? Don’t be glum, there are too many young ladies here to woo to waste time on one so far away.”
“You are mistaken, Your Grace,” Richard affected nonchalance at this trivial sexual banter. Was it all Edward could think about at such an important time? “There is no one in the north who awaits my return.” Except perhaps Anne, he thought diffidently. He quickly changed the subject. “Do you have a role for me at your council table, Ned?”
“Not yet, but it has occurred to me that you might benefit from time at Lincoln’s Inn. Your interest in legal matters shows an aptitude for the law, and I can arrange for an article of clerkship for you. It would serve me well—and you, too, when you are fully in charge of your estates.”
Excited, Richard stepped to face him. “I would like this of all things, my lord, except for proving myself as a soldier. If I can continue in that training as well, you will have a most contented and devoted brother.”
Edward was satisfied. He had successfully extricated one brother from Warwick’s sticky web. Now for the other.
Almost before the final feasting of Epiphany had time to settle on the court’s stomach, Edward’s angry voice was again heard throughout the small mansion. Richard hurried down the stairs to find Elizabeth pacing and muttering in the hall, her brother Anthony watching her from a high-back settle. The queen scowled at Richard.
“Your high and mighty lord of Warwick has refused Edward’s summons—again!” she snapped, accosting him. “His minions are spreading rumors about an imminent Burgundian attack, and that Charles has overturned his treaty with us and is now conspiring with Louis against us. ’Tis no wonder the king is unhappy.”
Even angry, Elizabeth, in pale blue satin, was a very beautiful woman. “This is old news, Your Grace,” Richard retorted, asserting himself and enjoyin
g the inches the last step of the staircase afforded him over her. “What was my lord Warwick’s reason for refusing to come?”
Anthony Woodville stepped between his sister and Richard, his prudence calming the stormy exchange. “Temper your tone, Bess. Richard is not to blame.”
For the first time, Richard saw Meg on the shared settle seat and noted the tender expression on her face as she watched Anthony. So this is the man Meggie’s in love with, he thought, but had no time to ruminate on it as Elizabeth was expostulating again. “The man is insulting,” she raged at her brother. “He had the gall to call us his enemies and demand that I and our family be removed from this house if he were to deign to make an appearance. His king demands his presence and the man refuses. Why, ’tis tantamount to treason!”
Richard suspected something more than Warwick’s enmity for the Woodvilles deterred him, but Richard had seen the earl on his high horse many times. And there was his insufferable pride.
“My dear Elizabeth,” he began and smiled. “May I call you Elizabeth? If you recall, our cousin of Warwick is a Neville, and just as my Neville mother is proud, so is her nephew. He will bend and he will come, I have no doubt.”
“Well said, brother,” Edward’s voice from the other side of the room made them all start. “I shall bide my time, but he will come.”
Chapter Fourteen
1468
With a magnanimity born of stubbornness and naïveté, Edward did exactly as he had confided to Richard. He summoned Warwick again to his council at Coventry in early February and insisted on a reconciliation with the Rivers family, father and son. Blessed as he was with an almost exuberant optimism, however, Edward badly misjudged the overly sensitive Warwick. While the earl smiled benignly, he was forming his own plan for England, one that did not involve Burgundy—or Edward. Oddly, for one who was so decisive on the battlefield, the young king disliked conflict and tended to procrastinate on matters of governance. Some might even have seen him as duplicitous, or even lazy, while others praised his ability to charm his way out of confrontations. These traits and his hedonism were to plague his reign, and on his death leave England in a dangerous state of instability.
In the spring of 1468 and for the next few months, however, to all but the keenest observers, it seemed as though the king and his noble cousin Warwick were hand in glove once more.
Meanwhile, Richard was to once again be a guest at Jack and Margaret’s charming manor of Tendring. The Howard party left Coventry following the reconciliation and wended their wintry way to Suffolk.
Once there, Jack Howard was helped from his saddle by his squire and a groom. He still had a great deal of pain in his leg from the goring he had suffered during a boar hunt several months before. Richard slipped gratefully from his horse and gave the reins to his own groom. After a four-day ride from Coventry, made longer by Jack’s handicap, Richard had so enjoyed the councilor’s jovial company that he had hardly noticed his own physical discomfort.
Besides, Richard was delighted to be spending a week with the Howards because it meant he might, if he were fortunate, renew Kate Haute’s acquaintance. The very thought gave him a pleasurable rush. He cleverly raised the subject at the private supper later in the Howard’s solar.
“I met Martin Haute when I was in London last summer,” he began, pretending to focus on cracking a filbert instead of the Haute family. “He is your neighbor, is he not? A pleasant gentleman, I found. I told him how his daughter-in-law had rescued Rob and me in the forest last autumn. You remember the day you went to Ipswich, Jack? His son is in your service, I believe.” Whatever he was he blathering on about, he could not seem to stop.
Jack appeared not to notice and unwittingly pursued the topic. “Aye, young George Haute is, like you, a knight in training under the duke of Suffolk’s banner. His grace was decent enough to have taken him in at my behest.” Then he shook his head. “I fear he is not made for soldiering like his father was—seems to enjoy gaming more than tilting, but out of respect for Martin, I cannot bring myself to dismiss him.” This tidbit was music to Richard’s ears. Thanks be to the Virgin, George Haute is no paragon and so does not deserve a faithful wife like Kate, he thought. It also helped Richard’s dislike of the fellow that he had the same name as his least-favorite brother.
“Besides,” Jack went on, patting his wife’s plump hand, “Kate, George’s wife as you know, was a blessing at the time of my little Cat’s delivery last October. Martin, George and Kate were here when our babe came early, and Mistress Lackseat’s way with herbs and kind heart saw Margaret through. We are forever grateful, are we not, my love?” Margaret nodded, her mouth full of venison.
“Mistress Lackseat?”
Jack regaled Richard with Kate’s ignominious arrival in London at the time of the coronation, when her horse had unseated her right at Jack’s feet. “Such a bold-faced wench, I have to say,” Jack said, chuckling. “Upon our short ride to her accommodations in the Chepe, I gained a hearty respect for her spirit.”
“Aye, I, too, noticed it,” he said a little too enthusiastically for sharp-eared Margaret. It sounded to her as though Richard of Gloucester had a great deal of interest in young Kate Haute. Embarrassed by his own fervor, Richard hastily added: “Rob Percy and I both noted it.”
Later, behind the heavy curtains of their tester bed, Margaret said to Jack: “We should invite young Mistress Haute for a visit, don’t you think? There is no one here of Richard’s age, and he must be bored with us old folks.”
“What are you up to, my wily wife? Think you Gloucester lusts after our beautiful Kate? The king did confide in me that he fears his brother has a dull, moral streak and has eschewed the pleasures of the flesh—if I may be so profane—and Edward could wish he would unbend somewhat.” He propped himself up on one elbow and allowed Margaret to twirl his long mustache between her fingers. He would do anything for her when she gazed up at him lovingly from the pillow. “But, come, come, my dear, Kate is wed. Should we be encouraging adultery? And they are so young!”
Margaret’s deep-throated chuckle always aroused Jack, and he reached under the covers and fondled her breast.
“Trust me, Jack, I know more than I am bound to divulge now about Kate and her so-called husband,” Margaret said on a sigh of pleasure. She pulled his face to hers and gave him a kiss full of promise. “Let us invite her and see where it takes them.”
Raucous cock-crowing awoke Richard a few dawns later to a typical East Anglian winter day. The sun had disappeared into a gray, damp mist for a week now. Even hunting was unpleasant in the snow-melted mud and leafless forest. He was in no hurry to leave his warm, downy bed.
But then he remembered: Today was the day Kate would arrive.
He sat up, flung the curtains aside, and slipping off the high bed, nestled his toes in the rich Turkey carpet. Was he ready to face Kate again? He had carried the precious few memories of her in his heart for months now. His excitement mounted as he splashed his face awake, hardly noticing the thin film of ice that had formed in the washbasin. But along with his excitement came the usual qualms of an inexperienced fifteen-year-old—and especially one whose insecurity about his body was already taking hold. Would she find him attractive? What would he say to her? Would she even like him? What would they talk about? They had very different lives. And would his crookedness be noticeable? His fingers crept back there, and he grimaced.
His servant scrambled off his pallet to tend to Richard, who insisted on scraping the meagre beard he had now managed to produce. That had been another worry, as Rob’s had come in dark red when he was only thirteen, and Richard had begun to doubt his would ever sprout. Warwick had spotted Richard feeling his chin for it one day and remarked: “’Tis only peasants who have beards before fifteen, Richard. It will grow. Just as you did. Have patience.”
Richard was in his chamber following the prayers at sext when Jack’s booming greeting told him Kate and her odd-looking servant girl had arrived. He straightene
d his padded, black fustian jacket, fashionably short to show off a man’s shapely buttocks and muscular legs, and checked that all his points were tied—how horrifying if one of his stockings were to slip down his leg. He ran a comb through his thick, chin-length hair and then, silently standing on the landing, observed the scene below.
Despite her sodden appearance from the drizzly day, Kate’s beauty glowed. At his shadowy post, Richard took full advantage of his view of her. She was as lovely as he remembered. From the tendrils of chestnut hair curling around her cheek from under her simple caul, the adorable freckles on her nose to her merry eyes accepting the teasing Jack was giving her, he was in her thrall. He allowed his gaze to take in her ripe young body, and to his horror felt himself go hard. Mortified, he turned away. But merely imagining the horror had his erection been seen magically reversed it, and, relieved, he was able to casually stroll downstairs.
“Who is your guest, Jack? May I be introduced?” He could have sworn he had said something, but the thin, inaudible voice surely wasn’t his? What a stupid question, he told himself upon seeing the astonishment on Jack’s face. What is happening to me, he wondered? His astute host, however, had immediately grasped an infatuated youth’s distress and pretended to do the introductions. It helped that Kate seemed surprised by his presence and appeared to falter in her curtsey. How charming, Jack thought, wishing Margaret could see how perfectly her plan was working instead of supervising the servants in the pantry.
Richard lifted Kate’s hand to his lips. “I am right glad to see you again, Dame….”
“Mistress Haute, Kate Haute, my lord,” came the quiet response. Kate was acutely aware of Richard’s warm fingers wrapped around hers.
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