the hide of a wild boar. You need a longer spoon than you possess, my daughter, to sup with the likes of John Holland.’
I bristled. ‘Sir John says that his affair with Isabella is at an end.’
‘So were you perhaps planning to replace that lady in his bed?’
Guilt spread beneath my skin when my father used that particular tone.
‘No! I would not.’
Perhaps denial sprang to my lips more speedily than truth merited. I had thought about what a night in his arms would be like.
‘You deny it, my daughter, but would you have refused him if he had offered? He is a man of enormous charm and eloquence. It would have been the worst move you could have made. You must know how dangerous it can be to put yourself into the hands of men such as Walsingham who would delight in finding ammunition against our family.’ His lips were white with passion, one fist clenched on his knee as he loosed the reins of control a little to make his point. ‘You know I speak from experience. I’d not have you make the mistakes that I made.’
Such an admonition astonished me, that he would acknowledge his affair with Katherine to be a mistake. And that he would use it to enlighten me, his errant daughter.
‘Did you not love her?’ I said without thinking.
‘I loved her. I still love her. But I would not have you follow the path I took. The consequences can be painful beyond acceptance, and I’d not have that for you.’ The timbre of his voice softened at last. ‘You may resent my words, but I have your wellbeing in mind.’
I had the grace to hang my head and study the swirl of wine in my cup. ‘I am sorry.’ The words were stiff, difficult to say. I sighed. It was impossible not to read the pain.
‘I understand his attraction, Elizabeth,’ he said gently, encouraging me to look up into his face again.
‘I like him.’
‘I am sure you do.’
‘He makes me feel like a woman who is beautiful and desired. For herself.’
‘I imagine he does. I imagine he makes any number of women feel the same.’
‘He seeks me out because he enjoys my company.’
‘Do you think so? I think you are unaware of the turbulence in this particular stream.’ He paused, chin raised, listening to an outburst of laughter from beyond the window that overlooked the inner courtyard. ‘Come. Let me show you something.’ He offered his hand, tucking mine through his arm, and led me to the window. ‘I am not angry with you.’ He smiled. ‘I was, but I know this marriage has its difficulties for a high-spirited woman. But you are quite old enough—and intelligent enough if you will put your mind to it—to understand. Look down there. It is a lesson in alliance-making that you will not find in the books of your childhood. Who do you see?’
Obediently, intrigued, pleased to be forgiven, I looked down to the source of the laughter and raised voices. It was Richard surrounded by a group of courtiers. Some were standing, some sitting. A page was handing round drinking cups. A minstrel strummed on the strings of his lute, but no one was listening. All attention was centred on Richard.
‘Who do you see?’ the Duke repeated.
‘My cousin the King. Dressed like a peacock for a feast. I swear he wears cloth of gold and rubies in bed …’
‘Never mind that. And who is with him?’
Presented as I was with a strange foreshortened view, it was difficult to see. ‘A group of courtiers. Richard’s friends, I expect.’
‘True. Then who is not there?’
I glanced up at him, sensing for the first time where this might be leading. My education was coming on in leaps and bounds.
‘The Queen.’
‘Exactly. And?’
‘Apart from the Queen? I don’t see any of his uncles. Not Gloucester, nor York—nor you of course. But then, they are all young men down there. More likely to be Richard’s friends.’
‘Well done. Look again, Elizabeth.’
I did, as well as I was able. ‘His brothers are not there. The Hollands.’
‘That is so.’
And then I realised. ‘Nor Henry.’
‘Excellent. Not Henry. This is a gathering of Richard’s own choosing. And it’s all a matter of political manoeuvrings, Elizabeth, of making alliances, of forming groups and interests at court with those of use to you. Richard, as he grows, is feeling his way to making connections that please him.’ The Duke’s voice acquired a brittle quality that had nothing to do with my sins. ‘Nor is he keen to take advice over who might be the best men to choose to stand at his shoulder.’
I watched the group, the friendly intermingling. Richard was at ease, as he never was with my father. Laughter rang out. More wine was poured, the sun glinting on Richard’s rings as he clipped one of the men on the shoulder in easy camaraderie.
I frowned a little at the scene.
‘I see that it’s Richard and the friends of his choosing, but I don’t see what effect it has on me.’
‘In a year,’ my father said, ‘Richard will achieve his majority and will take up the reins of power. He will insist on it, although some would say he is not yet strong enough or sufficiently wise to manage policy. But Richard will assume the mantle of kingship and make his own decisions, shrugging off his advisers who have led him so far. Including myself.’ He turned from the window as if the scene pained him, returning to his seat by the fire. ‘My own influence hangs by a thread, but I’ll work hard to keep it from being completely severed. Richard, I hope, will still give me an ear, even though he resents my advice as interference. Certainly he has little time for his other uncles who would lecture him rather than persuade. My days are numbered but he values my diplomatic skills in making treaties with foreign powers if nothing else. I hope to hold his loyalty.’
Never had I been in receipt of such weighty matters. From the window where I remained, I studied my father’s austere profile, at the lines that had crept there when I had not noticed.
‘Would Richard cast you off?’ I asked, aghast at the thought. Had my father not guided and protected my cousin since his father’s death, the most loyal of uncles? Surely Richard would not be so ungrateful. And yet had not Princess Joan hinted at such an eventuality?
‘One day he will. I see it on the near horizon, and then where will Richard look for his new counsellors? Where will he give promotion? To whom will he hand titles and gifts and royal preferment? To those young men you see around him, out there in the courtyard. It is youth that cleaves to youth. In the future there is no role for me. Nor for Sir John Holland who may not be of my generation, but is not young enough to appeal to our new King.’
I watched the little scene unfolding below, where Richard was laughing, accepting a hawk onto his fist—obviously a gift from one of his companions who leaned to whisper in the royal ear.
‘Who is
