‘I don’t care what Gloucester says.’ I freed my hands from hers and inspected my palms, my fingers spread wide, as if I would see an answer written there. I carried Owen’s child and I could see no future that was not shrouded in uncertainty, yet a strange happiness had me in its grip. I looked up, frowning a little: ‘What do I do now, Alice?’
A significant pause. ‘You would not consider ending—?’
My hand on hers stopped her. ‘No. Never that.’ It was the one certainty. Whatever difficulties this child brought to me, I would carry it to term. After Henry’s death I had been forced to accept that I would never have another child. Now I carried a child by a man I adored. ‘You must never speak of such things,’ I said fiercely. ‘I want this baby.’
Alice sighed but nodded. ‘As I thought. It was a hard burden that Gloucester placed on you. It was not natural.’
‘But what do I do? Advise me, Alice.’
She pursed her lips. ‘You can hide it for a little time. Houppelandes have their uses, even if they are too cumbersome for words. But after that…’ To my astonishment her eyes were moist with tears.
‘What is it?’
‘I don’t know. I really don’t. I see no happiness for you in this.’
No happiness? What was the worst Gloucester could do? Take my child from me at birth? Part me from Owen? It was not beyond the realms of belief.
‘Gloucester will persist in preserving your immaculate reputation.’ Alice’s words echoed my thoughts.
‘Rather than allowing me to be seen as a slut who allowed a servant to get a bastard child on her,’ I added, fear making me unacceptably crude. I looked at her, at the tears on her cheeks, although I knew the answer before I asked the question. ‘Do I tell him?’
‘Yes. Tell him. You can’t keep it secret long—not if you intend to continue to share his bed. Ah, my lady…Why did you do it?’
I replied without hesitation. ‘Because I love him and I have no doubts of his love for me. It is given unconditionally. I have never known such joy.’
Alice sniffed and wiped away her tears. ‘What if Gloucester insists that you dismiss him?’
The answer was there, before me. I had never fought for anything in my life, but I would fight for my right to be fulfilled at the side of the man I loved. For the first time in my life I felt a surge of power. In this one crucial battle I would not be dictated to or manipulated by the ambitions of another.
‘I will not dismiss him,’ I said quietly, startled to hear the pride in my voice. ‘He is an exceptional man. I will not give him up. I am Queen Dowager. I am Queen Mother: how can Gloucester force me to dismiss servants from my own household? I will not. I will not live without him.’
Alice scowled, then smiled bleakly through the tears. ‘If I were young again and unwed, neither would I.’
Not once had we mentioned his name between us, but it lay like a blessing in my heart.
Alone again, with Alice’s words stark in my mind—
I imagined saying it to Owen, and quailed.
‘What will we do?’ I had asked Alice before she had left me, but she had lifted her hands helplessly.
‘I don’t know. I have no advice to give.’
My throat was dry with apprehension but I rose, dressed in a favourite emerald velvet with miniver cuffs, all worked with gold knot-work, and sent Thomas off to arrange a meeting with Owen in the audience chamber, the scene of our first charged acknowledgement of what we meant to each other.
With Guille in attendance to give me decorous company, I was there before he arrived, seated on one of the stools generally occupied by petitioners who came to ask for royal intervention, aware of the same watchful audience of stitched feral eyes. I stood as he entered and waved Guille to the far side of the room to stand against the leafy forest. Even if she overheard, it would not matter. She would know soon enough.
I thought he looked more than a little severe, formally and richly clad as he was, complete with chain of office, for Young Henry was expected to dine with me. But when he saw me, when he stood from his habitual show of courtesy, his mouth was soft. I resisted blurting out my news but held my tongue, heart thudding against my ribs. What would he say? What would any man say, receiving this awkward confession? All my inner certainty was in danger of leaching away.
‘You have a request, my lady?’
‘Merely to speak with you. Don’t mind Guille,’ as he glanced in her direction. ‘Her loyalty is not to be questioned.’
He moved to stand before me, not to touch me but to survey my face as if he might read all he wished to know there. And he smiled at last, as if a weight had fallen from him.
‘You look restored.’
