‘Use your wits, my dear.’ She looked frustrated rather than angry. ‘I’m the last woman to condemn you to a sterile widowhood. Do I not know better than most? And God knows you had little pleasure in your marriage to my stepson. He would have tried the patience of a saint. But Edmund Beaufort cannot be the man for you. Even he does not quite see his way forward, so he orders you not to speak of it.’ She took a painful breath. ‘You can’t rely on this proposal, Katherine.’
‘But why not?’ I asked, suddenly thinking that Joanna’s reasoning might be political. ‘Am I wrong in my understanding of this very English situation? Has Edmund’s family not been fully legitimised?’
‘Yes, yes.’ Joanna brushed aside my question with an impatient gesture. ‘But have you thought about the possible repercussions from your marriage to this boy? Haven’t you thought at all beyond Edmund’s ability to seduce your senses? If you wed—what then?’ Her brows drew together in a sharp winging angle. ‘If you carried a legitimate child of your union, such a child—particularly if a boy—would have a volatile mix of Valois and Plantagenet blood in his veins. Anyone with an eye for mischief might consider his claim to the English throne to be as good as Young Henry’s.’
‘No!’ My thoughts whirled. ‘That cannot be. Young Henry is his father’s heir.’
‘And children die young, far too many of them.’
‘It will not happen. Henry is strong and well cared for.’
‘Still, a child borne by you from Beaufort’s loins would be a risky proposition for the stability of this country. Any man with rebellion in mind might consider such a child a useful pawn in a very dangerous political game.’
I thought about this. Then shook my head. ‘No!’
‘Very well. Then consider this as a reason for your match being anathema to many: how much power would it give Edmund Beaufort, to wed you and become stepfather to the King?’
Horror washed over me. I felt as if I were sinking into a quagmire. My breathing was difficult, a constriction tightening around my lungs. Were there so many obstacles in my way that I, in my innocence and ignorance, had never considered? But then, knowing what I did of Edmund, I pushed them aside.
‘He would wish no harm to my son,’ I stated firmly. ‘How could you suggest that?’
‘Of course he would not. That was not my meaning. But such a position would allow him to make a bid to control the reins of power. Could he not demand to be made Regent in the Young King’s name, with you at his side as Queen Mother? Could he not demand to be appointed the child’s Governor in Warwick’s place? Of course he could. And how much power would that invest in Edmund Beaufort, a young man not yet into his third decade, if I read it right. And don’t, Katherine…’ Her lips almost curled. ‘Don’t tell me that that young man is not ambitious.’
The accusations drove deep, but I drew on all my self-possession.
‘I know he is ambitious. I expect he might demand a role in Young Henry’s upbringing. But would that necessarily be a bad thing? Is not Gloucester too ambitious?’
‘Yes—and therein lies the danger for you. Gloucester wishes he had been born the eldest son. He resents having to share power with Bedford. For sure he will not willingly hand over even an inch of his power to Edmund Beaufort!’ I sat at Joanna’s feet, eyes wide, absorbing all that she said, as she stroked my hand. ‘It is not good for you to be seen in a liaison with a young man who has so vast an amount of power in his own right.’
My thoughts were awry.
‘Think about it, my child. The Beauforts have thrust themselves into every nook and cranny of state and church. Who would have thought it possible, descended as they are from an illicit liaison between John of Lancaster and the Swynford woman? And yet it is so. Now they are legitimate: they are gifted, with a distinct presence at court. But they will never be satisfied and their ambition is a force to be reckoned with. It means that they are not to be trusted.’
‘I don’t know that.’ It was a cry that came from my heart. ‘I can trust Edmund. I am certain of it.’
Madam Joanna struggled to her feet, as if delivering her final thrust at my happiness had robbed her of all her energy. At the door she stopped to look back over her shoulder to where I still sat.
‘You are a very desirable woman, Katherine. And not only for your looks. You cannot put too high a price on your connection with both the English and the French crowns. Your Valois bloodline and your position with the Young King are inestimable. Never forget that. Not that you will ever be allowed to. They will beat you about the head with it for the rest of your days, I’m afraid. As for Edmund…’
She lifted her shoulders in a painful little shrug.
‘You don’t like him.’ I sounded like a child.
