The Forbidden Queen (62 page)

With confident grace I continued on my prescribed route, inclining my head to those who acknowledged me, taking up my position behind Henry when the necessary presentations were made. Greetings were exchanged, bows and promises of fealty. Gloucester, Warwick, the high blood of the land. And in their midst Edmund stepped up to be greeted by my son as a favoured cousin.

‘We have missed you, Edmund.’

‘Forgive me, Sire. I have been busy about your affairs in France,’ Edmund replied solemnly, hand on heart.

‘I know. You are Count of Mortain. I have a new horse,’ my son announced with pride. ‘He is not as handsome as yours.’

‘I cannot believe that. If it was a gift from my lord of Warwick, it must be a fine animal.’

‘Will you come to Windsor again? When it is cold you can teach me to skate, like you taught my lady mother.’

‘It will be my pleasure, Sire.’

He stepped back, away, to let another approach.

How kind, I thought, as if from a distance. How thoughtful he was in his response to my little son. And how astonishingly cruel to me. Not once through the whole of that conversation, not once after a graceful inclination of his head in my general direction, had Edmund Beaufort looked at me. Instead, I’d had an impressive view of his noble profile, smiling and assured and so very arrogant.

Had I been mistaken? I could barely shuffle my thoughts into any sort of order. Had he deliberately ignored me? I tried to quell my rising panic. Perhaps he considered the need for discretion in our relationship. But to turn away, to address not one word to me was difficult to accept. Almost impossible to excuse.

Surely he could speak with me as the Queen Mother, as he was cousin to my son, without causing any ripples at court. The panic began to subside, my breathing to even out. Edmund would speak with me when the formalities were over. Of course he would.

‘When you come to Windsor, will we unpack the masks and costumes again?’ I heard Young Henry calling after Edmund, through the clamour in my head.

Then the presentations were over and the court was free to mingle and converse.
Now
he would come to me! Now he would walk through the little knots of courtiers, his gaze fixed only on me, alight with determination to let nothing and no one come between us.

But no. To my desolation, Edmund withdrew to the
further side of the room. He had passed me by as if I were nothing to him. Once we had passed the hours in intimate dalliance, our blood running hot for each other. Now he did not even look at me as I stood in the group surrounding my son, exchanging greetings and general gossip with Warwick. He had told me that we could be together, that we would make our plans, that nothing could separate us. Conscious of his letter tucked in the bosom of my gown, I did not understand this studied rejection of what we were to each other.

The reception progressed through its habitual pattern, courtiers and aristocrats moving and mingling, making contacts, speaking with those with influence, being seen in the presence of those who could make or break a reputation. I played my allotted part, regal and decorous, but I was weary of it to my bones. Fear built in my breast as the minutes moved on and I tried to recall, word for word, exactly what Edmund Beaufort had written to me.
Always know that I love you. No reprimand can keep you from me
. Had he not made such declarations? Surely he must find a path to me, to spread his adoration once more at my feet.

He did not. Not once did he approach.

A pain settled in my chest, spreading out to my limbs, an agony that was well nigh physical as all became writ plain for me. This was no chance parting, caused by the demands of the court. This was a deliberate, intentional separation. And, drowning in misery, I fought for dignity.
I turned my eyes from him. It crossed my mind, with harsh appreciation, that Henry, cold, superbly controlled Henry, would have been proud of my ability to mask my feelings that day.

But there was a limit to my self-control.

Although I had sworn to look anywhere but in my lover’s direction, when the time came for Young Henry to withdraw, I sought the mass of faces for a last glimpse, as if to twist again the knife that Edmund had planted in my heart when he had so wantonly neglected me throughout the whole of that interminable reception. And there he was in sparkling conversation with a handsome young woman whom I knew well. Eleanor Beauchamp, Warwick’s daughter, come to Court with her husband, Thomas de Ros.

But that did not stop Edmund Beaufort from flirting with her. Oh, I saw the careful attention he paid to her. I recognised the tilt of his head as he listened to what she had to say, I noted the set of his shoulders, the confidential manner in which he leaned a little towards her. All redolent of the manner in which he had once flirted with me. As he had once made love to me with honeyed words and playful gestures. And then, when he turned his head to respond to a passing friend, his handsome face, the sweep of his lashes on his cheek, the clean line his profile drove the blade even deeper.

I stared. And as Lady Eleanor was escorted away by her husband, Edmund turned, so that as chance would have it he looked directly at me. Because I was looking
at him, our eyes of necessity met and held. For the length of a heartbeat he paused. And then he made a full court obeisance, as he would honour the Queen Dowager, cold and distant and perfect in its execution.

My self-control snapped like a worn bowstring. He was my lover, the man who would wed me. There must be some terrible misapprehension that had taken hold of my mind, some mistake that Edmund could rectify and then all would be well again. All I needed to do was speak with him, to step to cross the space between us and demand…Demand what? An explanation, I supposed. How could he not approach me, his professed love? How could he not smile and tell me of his heart’s desire as he saluted my fingers with his lips? Throat dry, I determined that I must know.

‘Don’t.’

Barely had I taken a second step than a hand closed lightly around my wrist.

‘Richard!’

It was Warwick, standing at my shoulder, his gaze following the line of my sight.

‘But I must—’

‘Don’t go to him,’ he responded gently. ‘It is useless, Katherine. To cause a scene would be—’

‘He said he would wed me and defy Parliament,’ I interrupted, careless of any such scene yet still managing to keep my voice low.

‘He won’t do it. He won’t wed you now.’

‘How can you say that?’ I resisted the gentle pull on my arm, but Warwick was intent on manoeuvring me out of the throng, towards the tapestry-hung wall.

‘I know he will not. You have to know what has been done. Listen to me, Katherine.’ In the little space he had created for us, Warwick gripped harder so that I must concentrate. ‘There have been new moves. Gloucester has locked every door, barred every window against you.’

‘But I know.’ Still I remonstrated. How could it be so bad? ‘I know the law says that I must ask my son’s permission to marry but surely—’

‘There’s more. Another clause.’ There was barely a pause. ‘It will have serious consequences for your remarriage. To any man.’

‘Oh.’ Now I was afraid.

‘Any man who risks the ban and takes you for his wife without royal consent will lose everything.’ Warwick’s face was stern, his words savage in the message they delivered, but his eyes were soft with infinite compassion. ‘He will effectively be stripped of his lands and his possessions, his appointments in government.’

‘Oh,’ I said again, almost a whisper, absorbing the enormity of this.

‘Such a man will forgo all promotions, all favour and patronage. All opportunity for his further advancement would be stripped away.’

‘I see.’

‘For any man to wed you—’ Warwick was inexorable
‘—would be political and social suicide. Do you understand? If he took you as his wife, Edmund Beaufort would be ruined.’

‘Yes,’ I heard myself say. ‘Yes, I do understand.’

My throat was full of tears as Warwick’s bald statements, delivered one after the other, were like nails hammered into the coffin of my hopes and dreams. I stood for a while in silence, my hands still enfolded within the Earl’s, as the pieces fell into place, finally driven to accept the impossibility of my union with any ambitious man by the neatest, most vindictive piece of legislation. No specific name had been mentioned, but the intent behind it as clear as the signatures written on the document. My heart was wrenched with hurt as I absorbed the inevitable in that one inexorable warning.

For any man to wed you it would be political and social suicide
.

That was the end, was it not? Would Edmund Beaufort run head first into marriage with me, risking the loss of political and social advancement? Would he prejudice his ambitions for me?

Head raised, chin held high in a determination not to appear trampled beneath the weight of what I now knew, I looked to where I had last seen him. And there he stood, deep in conversation with the men who held power in the kingdom in my son’s name, just as his uncle Bishop Henry would once have done. Gloucester, Hungerford, Westmorland, Exeter, Archbishop Chichele.

Edmund knew where his best interests lay, and as I took in his carefully selected, august company, so did I. The Beauforts were political animals through and through. Advancement would take precedent over all other interests. If I had still been of a mind to cling to any foolish hope, Edmund’s present company confirmed all Warwick’s warning.

‘It is better if you do not approach him,’ Warwick said gently.

‘I understand. I understand perfectly.’ I looked up into his face. ‘How could he have been so cruel?’

‘Did he not tell you?’

I shook my head, unable to put my sense of utter rejection into words.

‘I am so sorry. He will not see it as cruelty but as political necessity. A pragmatic decision. All Beauforts would. They have been raised from the cradle to do so.’

‘Even at the cost of breaking my heart?’

‘Even at that.’

‘He wrote that he would remain true to our love.’

‘I am so very sorry, Katherine,’ Warwick repeated.

‘You did warn me.’ My mouth twisted into what was not a smile.

‘I know. But I would not have had you hurt in this manner.’

I looked across to where Edmund was laughing at something Gloucester had said, responding with a dramatic gesture with one arm I recognised so well. Oh, I
was hurt. I floundered in desolation that all my visions of happiness were no more than straws in the wind, to be scattered, leaving me empty and broken.

That night I took anguish and tears with me to my bed. Bitter bedfellows indeed to keep me company through the sleepless hours. But I rose in quite a different mood.

‘My lady. May we speak?’

His bow was the epitome of elegant respect, early sun making russet lights gleam in his hair as he flourished his velvet cap.

Anger beat softly in my head. He had found me of no value, and had rejected me as he would a crippled warhorse when no longer fit for purpose. And as he drew himself to his full height, his expression a winning combination of self-deprecation and rueful apology, I felt my simmering temper come dangerously close to the edge of boiling. I had not been aware that I could be possessed by such rage.

I was on my way to Mass, Guille accompanying me, crossing an anteroom where pages and servants scurried to and fro at the behest of their masters. There was no privacy to be had at Westminster, neither would I grant him that luxury. If he had wanted privacy with me, he should have come to Windsor.

‘You will stay with me,’ I ordered Guille as she slowed her step to drop back, at the precise moment that Edmund
Beaufort made that bow with all his considerable charm, striking a dramatic pose.

And in that moment, beneath the green and gold panels of his knee-skimming tunic, the sleek hose and velvet-draped hood, I saw him for what he was: all picturesque pretence and show to win my regard, all driving ambition to play a vital role in England’s politics. He was a Beaufort through and through. Yet he was still impressive enough to cause my silly heart to quake.

His stare, bright and confident, sought and held mine and he smiled, but then my heart quaked no more and I did not return it. I did not even consider a curtsey. I simply stood, straight-backed, hands folded neatly at my waist, and waited to see what he would say to redeem himself. Yesterday he had treated me as Queen Dowager. Today I would act as one, and ride the fury that was a burning weight in my belly.

‘Queen Kat. You are as lovely as ever.’

How despicable he was. Did he consider me so shallow that I could be soothed by empty flattery?

‘Why did you not tell me?’ I demanded.

I had startled him with my directness, but he did not hesitate. ‘I would tell you now. But I would still say that you are the most beautiful woman I have ever known.’

The conceit of the man. I could almost see his wily Beaufort brain working furiously behind his winning smile as he resorted to flattery. My temper leapt in little flames. I did not lower my voice: today I was in no mood
for either compromise or discretion. ‘You should have come to me and told me yourself that you could no longer wed me. You should have come to Windsor.’

‘May we speak alone?’ His brows rose with charming intimacy.

‘No.’

His smile slid impressively into an expression of abject contrition. ‘I should have come. It was wrong of me, entirely deplorable. I deserve your disdain, my lady, and I can only beg forgiveness. I thought you would understand.’

So he would try to win my sympathies. He held out his hand, expecting me to place mine there, as once I would have. I kept my fingers lightly laced.

‘You are not making this easy for me,’ he said.

‘Nor will I,’ I replied. ‘And I would have liked to have been told of the circumstance that made you break your promise to me of undying love. I did not enjoy having to discover it from Warwick under the interested gaze of the entire court. Or to have you ignore me through the whole proceedings.’

And I was astonished. Where had this confidence, this impressive fluency, this desire to wound come from? Born out of irrepressible outrage at my lover’s public rebuff, I was not subtle. I was not sensitive to the comings and goings around us. I wanted to hear it from his own lips, to see his discomfort as he explained that ambition made my love superfluous.