Virgin Widow. Anne O'Brien

      ‘I shall not leave.’ His dark brows drew together. ‘I’ve had my fill of King Edward’s Court. And the role of Royal Ambassador.’

      ‘Does the King not mind?’

      ‘No. He has other voices of counsel. The Woodvilles are knee-deep around him, by God!’

      There was a harshness there. I think he addressed the Countess more than me. This was interesting, far more than Isabel’s non-existent bridegroom. ‘Why is the King no longer your friend, sir?’ I asked.

      Slowly the Earl turned his head to look at me. ‘So you would discuss politics now, Mistress Anne.’

      ‘Yes, sir. I would.’

      ‘Anne—you step beyond what is seemly. You’re too young for such weighty matters.’ The Countess frowned at me.

      ‘I am not. I wish to know,’ I persisted, waiting. Would the Earl refuse? Would he brush me off like a child? My heart trembled at my boldness.

      The Earl gave a ghost of a laugh. ‘You have grown up without my noticing,’ he remarked, then, startling me, lifted me off my feet to sit on the lid of the coffer beside him, leaning forwards, his forearms on his thighs, so that our eyes were on a level. I saw the shadowy remains of temper in his face despite the Countess’s soft handling and I knew that he would answer me honestly. I crossed my ankles and folded my hands demurely in my lap.

      ‘Once the King was my friend, that’s true,’ he spoke softly. ‘I stood at his right hand, as his counsellor. Do you understand?’

      I nodded. ‘You are Great Chamberlain of England—the most powerful man in the whole country.’

      The Earl laughed. ‘But the King is more powerful than I and now the King is finding his wings, like a young hawk. He has little more than twenty-five years under his belt. Young men find the need to test their strength.’

      It seemed a vast age to me, but I nodded with solemn wisdom. ‘But why does that mean he no longer likes you?’ I asked, reducing it to the low level of a squabble between Isabel and myself.

      The Earl’s face became as set as a Twelfth-Night mask. ‘Liking is not the issue, Anne, nor the blood of family, which should bind us together. The quarrel—if you will—began when the King married Elizabeth Woodville. Her family has Edward’s ear now, against all good sense.’

      The Woodvilles again. I knew more of this by now, than I had at York. Margery’s gossip—deliciously forbidden—was that dark magic had been used, a spell cast to bring the King to his knees in thrall to the Woodville woman. I knew enough not to repeat it in this company.

      ‘Her father Lord Rivers is pre-eminent at Court as Lord Treasurer and with a new Earldom,’ the Earl continued. ‘He pushes the King in the direction of Burgundy rather than France, against my advice…’ The words grated and I thought he no longer realised he was speaking to me. ‘Marriages have been arranged between the Queen’s sisters and the unwed heirs of the most noble families in the land—young men to whom I myself would look for an alliance…’ He took a breath and smiled wryly. ‘But that’s not important to you yet.’

      ‘So the King does not talk to you any more,’ I persisted. Friendship was everything to me.

      ‘We are still cousins,’ the Earl said simply, ‘but the King is misguided and I think I have to watch my back. The Woodvilles are no friends of ours.’ His face set again, and I saw his fist clench on his knee. ‘No one will rob the Nevilles of their wealth and power.’

      ‘Your father helped the King to take the throne, you see,’ the Countess intervened to draw the sting, handing the Earl another cup of wine. ‘We would have expected some loyalty, but the King has decided to repay us by ignoring my lord’s advice. The Queen is a determined woman. She will promote her family at the expense of the great magnates of the realm.’

      ‘Certainly at my expense,’ the Earl growled. ‘Does that tell you all you want to know?’ He managed a smile. ‘There’s nothing to worry you, Anne—or you, Isabel. One day King Edward will see that my counsel is good.’ He stroked a finger down the length of my nose, then lifted me to the floor. ‘Then we shall be friends again.’

      ‘Yes, sir.’ It all seemed very plain and I was perfectly satisfied. The King was in the wrong. The Earl would be patient and would triumph. There was no doubt in my mind and I pitied the King for his bewitchment by the Woodville woman.

      ‘But have you got me a husband?’ Isabel interrupted with a scowl in my direction for capturing the centre of attention. She had been burning to ask since the Earl’s horse had first set foot on the bridge over the moat and could wait no longer.

      A tightening of the muscles in his jaw made me think that this was one of the issues to displease my father. With a flicker of eyes, he appealed to the Countess. But when she nodded and the Earl smiled at Isabel, I decided I was misled.

      ‘Yes. I think I have.’

      ‘Who? When?’ Excitement vibrated from Isabel until she glowed with it, her fair skin lit from within so that her future beauty became spectacularly apparent. Even I had to admit it, even though it filled me with despair that I should never rival her.

      ‘I shall not tell you yet, Isabel,’ he teased. ‘Be patient. But it will be before you are old and grey.’

      So Isabel was to be wed. I picked it apart later in the chamber I shared with her. I would be next. How long would I have to wait? Not until I was Isabel’s age, I hoped. I wanted to know now, even as I feared leaving Middleham. I vowed to discover all I could.

      It was most frustrating. Isabel might fret, I might keep my ears stretched wide for any crumb of information, but the Earl was concerned with an outbreak of cattle thievery in the area whilst the Countess, chivvying the steward, waged war against an infestation of lice and ticks with the warmer weather. Nothing would satisfy her until the whole place and the people in it reeked of the pungent summer savory that grew in abundance in the herb garden and we itched less. Then, when I had all but abandoned my quest, the Earl summoned Richard to his private room where he invariably conducted business. It was sufficiently unusual for me to take note. It proved to be a long and private conversation, and I knew it because I waited in the passage outside to grab him as soon as he emerged.

      ‘What’s it about?’ I asked Francis Lovell, who passed from kitchen to stables, a flat bread and a slab of cheese in his hand.

      ‘I don’t know.’ He shrugged carelessly. ‘He’ll tell us soon enough.’

      The door opened and Richard stepped out into the corridor. ‘Are you in the Earl’s bad books?’ I demanded before he could draw breath.

      ‘No.’ Faintly bemused, he looked as if he had difficulty in collecting his thoughts, much as he had the day he had sat by me after the blow to his head. For a moment he stood immobile, hands fisted on hips, studying the ground at his feet. Then, aware of his audience of two, me demanding, Francis frankly curious, ‘It’s nothing of importance.’ But we would not be brushed off.

      ‘Is the Earl at odds again with the King? Is that it?’ Francis enquired.

      ‘When is he not these days? But the Earl is not at odds with me.’

      ‘Tell us!’ I demanded.

      ‘No. I am sworn to secrecy and you cannot keep secrets.’ He looked at me with all seriousness and I did not care for the sharp appraisal in his stare. ‘You are not old enough to keep some secrets.’ And moving off with Francis, taking a bite of the flat bread, he refused to say more.

      To my disgust he remained as tight as a clam.

      But that night as Bessie combed and braided my hair the thought came to me, the faintest glimmer that grew until it was burned as bright as a warning beacon. Isabel’s mysterious bridegroom, of course—was he to be Richard Plantagenet? It took my breath away. I gasped, making my nurse chide me for not sitting still,