The Bride Of Spring. Catherine Archer

secret that the dull-witted Denley wanted to marry her so that he could gain control of the vast holdings her brother had inherited six months ago, when their father died.

      The thought of her father’s death brought a now familiar ache to her chest, but Raine refused to give in to her sorrow. She knew her father had wanted her to go forward, to look after her brother and his heritage. Though neither of them had ever spoken of his utter despair after her mother’s death, her father’s dependence and trust in Raine had begun that day. She had the sense that he would want her to do whatever she must in order to see that William and the lands were taken care of. Raine meant to do just that.

      When she had first arrived at court, Raine had gone about the usual method of meeting prospective grooms. She had made herself presentable in the beautiful new gowns she and her ladies had fashioned. She had smiled and danced, and tried to seem appealing. The problem was not a shortage of male interest. It was the sort of males she had attracted.

      Each of the three that she had taken a particular interest in had ended in disappointment, including Lord Henry Wickstead, whom she had thought far beyond a greed for lands and money at his great age. He, like the others, had proved to be far from her ideal. When she had made an effort to find out about them and their situations, she had learned that each was in financial difficulty and in search of a wealthy bride. It did not seem to trouble them that Raine, though not unprovided for, was no great heiress. It was clear that they looked to all that young William possessed, and rubbed their hands in glee.

      Yet precious weeks had been wasted in discovering these would-be suitors’ true intentions. She had realized that she must find some method of learning something of a man without expending great amounts of time. It had been one week ago that Raine had hit upon the notion of going directly into the king’s audience chamber and finding out exactly what each courtier there hoped to gain from him. Surely that would reveal much about a man’s financial situation, at the very least. No one seemed to question Raine’s presence each day, appearing too occupied with his own concerns. Her method had certainly proved efficient, but it also gave her to understand that the task she had set herself was a difficult one.

      No one had, as yet, passed this preliminary test.

      Only desperation kept her from tucking her tail between her legs and going home. She could not count on Denley to continue to heed her refusals of his suit. Raine feared that he would not hesitate in forcing her to marry him, or worse yet, doing some harm to William in order to inherit the estates. As their second cousin and only living relative, Denley stood to gain all if something were to happen to her brother.

      Quickly Raine pushed that thought away. Nothing could happen to William. With their father gone, he was all she had left.

      She cast another hopeful, and admittedly desperate, glance over the courtiers who were gathered in the waiting area, then sighed.

      It was only a moment later that the king’s steward opened the door of the audience chamber and pushed it wide. He bowed to those gathered. “You may go in now. His majesty King Edward will see you, each in turn.”

      As Raine entered with the others she looked toward the dais, where the lavishly dressed Edward was seated, his direct gaze assessing those gathered. Not for the first time she wondered about the young king. There were those who said that though he was endowed with intelligence and sense of purpose, he lacked his father’s strength of character. Raine knew that only time would tell. He was barely twenty. Did he miss his own father, who had died not so very long ago as a result of his efforts to gain this very crown? Or had the responsibilities of his position robbed the dark-haired young man of his freedom to grieve, much as her own change in circumstances had done to her? Looking into the young monarch’s already wary eyes, Raine felt they must.

      Yet Edward and his grief, all else, must fade in the wake of her own need to care for and protect William.

      The hours of the morning dragged on, and as each man present submitted his case to the king, he removed himself from possible consideration as a husband. Some were married; others, well…they were simply not suitable.

      Raine was beginning to believe that she must abandon hope of finding a likely candidate for another day when there was a slight commotion at the door behind them. Though she was very close to the back of the chamber, she could not see the cause of the disturbance over the heads of the men, who craned their necks in order to discover what was going on.

      It was only when King Edward stood and smiled with a pleasure and enthusiasm he had not shown in the past that she realized anything of real import was occurring. The young king waved a beringed hand. “Come forward, Benedict.”

      Many gazes, including Raine’s, swiveled to follow a head topped with coal-black hair and a pair of very wide shoulders encased in burgundy velvet. The unknown man seemed to fairly glide through the crowd as he went forward with easy grace. Raine raised up on tiptoe, yet could still see no more of this man than his shoulders and the back of his head, even when he gained the dais and Edward reached out to offer him his hand. At the king’s welcoming gesture, those in front of her craned their necks even more in order to see.

      For a moment King Edward and the man he had addressed as Benedict spoke quietly to one another. Suddenly the king frowned with concern and stood, drawing him to the side of the dais. There the two men continued to converse quietly.

      A subdued murmur of what Raine could only describe as envy rippled through the crowd.

      A thoughtful frown creased her brow as she wondered who the newcomer might be. What manner of man could consider himself friend to the king of England? For that was what their relationship appeared to be.

      Raine tried to press forward, but could get no closer to the front. The crowd was too dense.

      She heard a tall, blond, haughty-faced young man to her right snicker aloud to his equally haughty companion. “Arrogant bastard.” Both were garbed in scandalously short houpellands.

      Raine, concealing her own opinion on who seemed arrogant, asked, “Who is he?”

      The blond man looked down his long, aristocratic nose, and there was no mistaking the disdain in his voice. “Benedict Ainsworth, Baron of Brackenmoore. He was a great friend to Edward’s father and quite instrumental in aiding him in his bid for the throne.”

      Raine nodded, her voice unconsciously weary as she said, “And very well rewarded for his troubles, no doubt.” She had seen much of greed in this chamber over the past days, though ’twas often couched in clever terms and a humble countenance.

      The young man shrugged. “Not to my knowledge, though who can say? It is rumored that he and Richard of York were great friends as boys and that Ainsworth supported him out of friendship. But, as you say, it is likely that he did seek some personal gain even if the reward is not widely known.” His face showed how little impressed he was by this Ainsworth.

      But Raine herself was intrigued by his disclosure that the man had gained nothing from the crown. Perversely, she found herself arguing the point she herself had introduced. “But as you said, no one speaks of any gain he has made from his support of Richard. Perhaps he simply did do so out of friendship.”

      It was only then that the young noble seemed to truly look at her, his curious gaze running over her fine, ermine-trimmed velvet gown and jewels with appreciation. “And what care would you have for such things, my young beauty?”

      Raine turned her head so he would not see her roll her eyes at his all too obvious avarice. “I was but curious to know of one who would be so heartily welcomed by the king. Is he wed?”

      The young man smiled with deliberate charm. “I think not, but have no care for that. I am Sir Robert Fullerton and I am not wed. I would be most interested in conversing with you on matters more interesting than Ainsworth….”

      “Yes, perhaps later at table.” Raine nodded absently, putting him from her mind. She was already thinking about how to find out more about this Benedict Ainsworth, though she hardly dared think—

      “Your attention!” King Edward spoke then, drawing her gaze