‘Yes,’ I agreed, and said no more, knowing it would not be politic. Henry, as pure and cold as the coldest winter, as cruel through his neglect as the sharpest blade. I admired his talents but did not regret his absence, as the white silk flamed, and died as he had in the last throes of his terrible illness. ‘He no longer has a place in my life.’
‘He was a great king,’ Meg stated.
‘He was,’ I agreed. ‘The very best. In his pursuit of English power he had no rival.’
The memory of my immature infatuation, his heedless forsaking of me, flooded back and for a moment my hands fell unoccupied in my lap, the silks abandoned, and my women shuffled uncomfortably. The joy had gone out of it.
‘What about Edmund Beaufort?’ Beatrice asked, immediately looking aghast at her daring, for here was a sensitive issue. Would I lash out with anger at their presumption? Would I weep, despite all my denials of hurt? Would I embarrass myself and them?
And I thought momentarily of Edmund, how I had fallen into the fantasy of it, as a mayfly, at the end of its short existence, drops into the stream and is carried away. Edmund had woven a web to pinion me and take away my will. How I had enjoyed it, living from moment to moment, day to day, anticipating his next kiss, his next outrageous plot. How could any woman resist such a glorious seduction?
She could if she had any sense. He was as self-serving as the rest, and I had been a fool to be so compromised, with no one to blame but myself. In my folly I had trusted so blindly. I would not do so again. I would not be used by any man again. I would never again be seduced by a smooth tongue and clever assault. No man would command my allegiance, my loyalty. Certainly not my love.
‘He is hard to resist,’ Meg observed solemnly, as if she had read my thoughts.
Oh, my control was masterly, my sense of the dramatic superb. I lifted a glittering length of gold thread from my coffer and replied from my heart.
‘Here he is. Edmund, who wooed me and could have won me if he had had the backbone. One of the glittering Beauforts. He was cruel in his rejection of me.’ And I burnt the whole costly strand, not even snipping off a short length, as I smiled around the watchful faces. I think I had won their admiration, or at least their respect.
I left them, full of laughter as they considered the men of their acquaintance who failed to live up to their own high standards. I admired their light-heartedness, their assurance that one day they would marry and, if fortunate, know the meaning of love. I would always be lonely. I would remain isolated and unwed. I would never love again.
Anger kept me close companionship in those days.
Fired with my resolution to tread a solitary path, I embraced my new strength of spirit within the sharp confines created for me by his grace of Gloucester. I would be Queen Dowager, admirable and perfect in the role allotted to me.
I had grown up at last. And not before time, Michelle would have said.
‘I wish to visit some of my dower properties,’ I informed my little son. ‘And you must come with me.’
Young Henry’s glance slid from me to his beloved books. ‘Do I have to,
‘Yes, Henry. You do.’ I would not be swayed.
‘I would rather stay here. My lord of Warwick says that he will come and—’
I did not wait to hear what Richard might be planning. ‘You will come with me, Henry. I am your mother and my wish takes precedence over that of my lord of Warwick on this occasion.’
‘You could go, and I could stay here.’
‘No, I could not.’ No point in explaining why. I remained firm. ‘It will be good for you to be seen by your people, Henry. It is your duty as King to be seen.’
Which did the trick. I informed Warwick and Gloucester by a slow-riding courier that the King would not be at Windsor but at the Queen Dowager’s dower properties. I listed them, and we were on our way the following day, before either would hear of my decision. Not that they could complain. I simply took the King, servants, entourage and outriders—his household in effect—in full regal panoply, with me. We made a fine show as we visited Hertford, then on to Waltham and Wallingford.
And finally there was Leeds Castle, which Young Henry anticipated with joy and I with a residue of fear. Leeds, the beautiful scene of my abortive proposal of marriage, where I had been so full of joy for what the future might hold. All ground to dust beneath my feet. But this had to be done. I needed to make this visit to test the state of my heart.
I was cold with anxiety as we crossed the bridge, past the gatehouse into the inner courtyard. My feelings for Edmund had seemed strong enough to last a lifetime. Would there not be some shimmer of memory here to assail me? I took a deep breath and prepared to have my confidence shattered.
Did Edmund tread on my hem of my gown? No, he did not. Did his voice echo in the corridors and audience chamber? Hardly at all. My heart continued to beat with a slow and steady purpose, and I laughed aloud.
