Virgin Widow. Anne O'Brien

an age, related by blood. He was the King’s brother, important enough to be sought as a groom for a Neville bride. Isabel and Richard. Why not?

      A dark and unpleasant emotion filled all the corners in my heart with a pain that was all but physical. I knew jealousy when I saw it, but I had never felt anything like this. Isabel was sitting back against the pillows of our bed, braiding her own curling fall of hair. I scowled in her direction. Did she know? She had said nothing. I couldn’t imagine her remaining silent on such an issue. She must have felt the force of my hostility because she looked up and returned my frown.

      ‘And what’s wrong with you, little sister?’

      ‘Nothing!’ I hunched a shoulder. ‘Isabel…would you wish to marry Richard?’

      ‘Richard? Don’t be ridiculous. Of course not. He’s not at all suitable.’

      I was not convinced. Richard as Isabel’s husband seemed eminently suitable. I would never accept it. I did not know why, but I detested the thought. When I clutched my belly and groaned in a fit of childish drama, Bessie accused me of over-eating the cherry tarts and dosed me on a bitter infusion of angelica. I did not tell her the truth. How could I when I could not yet interpret the pain that stabbed at me when I envisioned Isabel standing with her hands clasped warmly within Richard’s?

      ‘Nor would Richard want you!’ It was the only response I could come up with. And I prayed that it was so.

      I did not have to stoke my resentment and bad temper for longer than a day. There arrived at Middleham an imposing guest. All banners and gleaming horseflesh, more ostentatiously splendid than even the Earl when he travelled, George Plantagenet, Duke of Clarence, came to stay. Brother to Richard and Edward, his age somewhere between the two, I knew nothing of him. I would never have seen the family resemblance between him and Richard, but they greeted each other with an obvious affection of a shared childhood, a shared exile as I now knew, as the younger two brothers of the family. Tall and impressively built with waving fair hair, so fair as to shine almost gold in the morning light. His eyes were a pale blue when they darted over those who came to greet him. I heard Isabel sigh as she stood beside me to make her curtsy to this royal prince, far more imposing and eye-catching than Richard. Just like Sir Lancelot, I thought, on the instant I saw him.

      He was received with all honour. Wined and dined, given the best bedchamber with fine linen sheets and scented water to bathe in. He rode the estate with my father and with Richard at his side, freed from his lessons for the duration. He bowed over Isabel’s hand, which drove her into a flutter of delight, more or less ignored me as a young person below his condescension, and spoke imperiously to the henchmen. Terrifyingly handsome, he reduced me in that first instant to shocked and silent admiration.

      ‘Now why do you suppose the insufferable Clarence has graced us with his presence?’ Francis pursed his lips.

      ‘Don’t you like him?’ I asked.

      He slanted a glance. ‘Like? Not the issue. He’s arrogant and self-important. I don’t trust him, for sure.’

      ‘You know nothing about him,’ pronounced Isabel with a departing flounce. ‘I think he is magnificent!’

      ‘But why is he here?’ Francis repeated.

      Discovery came quickly. After supper in one of the private parlours rather than in the more public space of the Great Hall, the Earl unveiled his plans.

      ‘I have given thought to your marriages.’ He addressed Isabel and myself as we applied ourselves to the platters of fruit and sweetmeats. ‘Isabel. It is my wish that you marry George of Clarence. And Anne…you will wed Richard of Gloucester when you are a little older. What could be more appropriate than a Plantagenet prince, for both Neville heiresses? As the most powerful subject in England I can look as high as I choose. There is no one more suitable for you either in England or in Europe.’

      I dropped my spoon with a clatter on the table. If I had not been so astonished, my attention tightly bound up in my own shock at the news, I would have seen Isabel blush rosily and glance through her lashes at her betrothed. He appeared unconcerned, turning his knife over and over in slender fingers. But I was so taken aback at these plans for my future, I did not know where to look. I focused on the glowing ruby set in the chain around my father’s neck. Such a depth of colour. I was dragged into its heart as the thoughts rushed through my mind.

       Richard? I would wed Richard when I was older?

      Richard was looking at me. I could feel the silent stare of those unfathomable eyes. So, unable to prevent it, I stared back and would not drop my eyes even when my cheeks became hot and I was near overcome with the urge to blink. He saw what I was doing and smiled. I blinked. I felt even hotter.

      ‘Will it be soon?’ Isabel asked.

      ‘For you, yes.’ Obviously warmed by his success, the Earl was in the mood to be expansive. ‘The matter is already in hand. We have need of a papal dispensation because you are cousins in the second degree. I foresee no problem. The Pope is open to persuasion, of a monetary kind if no other.’

      Which I did not fully grasp, but if my father saw no difficulty then I need not concern myself. Could he not arrange everything to his liking?

      ‘One thing I would say.’ He spoke to the two Plantagenet brothers primarily, but his gaze also took in Isabel and myself. ‘Until it is arranged and until I have informed the King, you will not discuss this private matter beyond the walls of this room. It is a Neville family affair and should remain so until the marriage can proceed without hindrance.’

      So it was to be a secret. It appealed to me. But why must the King not know? Surely he would not disapprove of his brothers being united with the daughters of his chief counsellor. And would his permission not be needed for so critical an alliance?

      ‘It is equally a matter for the Plantagenets as well as Nevilles, my lord. Are you sure Edward will not object?’ The Countess had sat silently beside the Earl throughout the proceedings, but now echoed my own thoughts.

      ‘How can he?’ the Earl demanded. ‘He has left me no choice. Not one eligible match after the Woodville inundations! Where do I find a high-ranking husband for my daughters? Does he expect me to wed them to a common citizen? A landless labourer? Unless I look abroad—and I think he will not want the Neville lands and fortune handed to a foreign prince. No, my lady. These marriages will strengthen the English monarchy, with the Nevilles tied to the Plantagenets even more firmly than they are at present. How can he possibly object?’

      Her doubt continued to hover like a black cloud.

      ‘It is to our good fortune,’ the Earl assured, clasping her wrist in his. ‘Let us drink to it. And to the future stability of the realm.’

      ‘And you, my lord of Clarence?’ the Countess addressed herself to Richard’s gleaming brother. ‘What are your thoughts?’

      ‘I can think of no better union, my lady.’ He bowed over his platter, smiled with evident satisfaction. ‘Name any man in England who would not want to take a Neville heiress as his wife. I am grateful that you find me worthy.’ His expression was a masterpiece of self-deprecation. I did not believe him, but he knew how to apply charm.

      No one asked Richard.

      As we prepared to leave the room I saw my mother look across to the Earl. There was distress there; she did not approve of our good fortune. But she saw me watching her and fixed her face into a bright smile, rising to her feet to walk to my side and wrap her arm around me.

      ‘It will be a good marriage for you,’ she whispered against my hair. ‘You know Richard well. It is a good basis—friendship—for marriage.’

      I wasn’t so sure. I wasn’t sure of anything other than my relief that Richard would not wed Isabel.

      Next day I climbed to the wall-walk where I found Richard propping up the battlements, looking out towards the low hills to the south, watching the distant cloud of dust where Clarence and