A Rose for the Crown (53 page)

“Do you know who you might marry, Richard?” The tremor in Kate’s voice betrayed the fear behind the simple question. “You are the king’s brother. There can be only a few ladies worthy of you.”

The pause hung over them in the gloom. Kate could have kicked herself for spoiling the moment. Richard sighed and absently plucked at the sleeve of Kate’s chemise. He had hoped she would not be curious, that she would just accept what they had as beautiful but ephemeral. But he did not blame her for being curious. He loved her for her honesty.

“I pray God when the time comes I have some choice in the matter. I would rather a quiet English bride than a prating foreigner. I cannot lie to you, Kate, I have a lady in mind, but the friendship between her father and my brother is like to be broken, and so she may not be available.”

Kate frowned in the darkness. Who could this rival be? She was sure the lady was not among the guests at the abbey, for Richard would not have dared spend his nights with her. She waited to see if Richard would elaborate. He took his time, but then he told her.

“Warwick has two daughters, Isobel and Anne. ’Tis true they are my cousins, for my mother and their grandfather were sister and brother. The earl told me many times during our conversations at Middleham that he would dearly love to see his daughters wed to George and me. The last time I saw Anne, she was still a child of eleven and was like a little sister to me. ’Twas hard for me to imagine her being my wife. I have a fondness for her, as any brother would, and should the time come, I would not be averse.” He felt her rigid body against his and was remorseful. “But whereas I hold her in some tender corner of my heart, ’tis you who has it wholly, I swear to you.”

“I understand, Richard, truly I do,” Kate said on a sob. Her tears had begun to fall as soon as Anne’s name was mentioned. An unknown was easier to deal with; a person already known to him and yet unknown to her became more real. She prayed that Edward would hate Warwick enough to banish him and his girls to the ends of the earth.

“See, I have hurt you, Kate. I am truly sorry. Come, do not spoil our last night together for something that might not come to pass. And if it does, have you not my word that I would never forget you? Is that good for nothing?” he said, lifting the hem of her chemise and using it to wipe away her tears. In the glow of a single candle he gazed in awe at the smooth skin taut across her swelling belly and rounded thighs.

“God’s love, but you are beautiful, my rose,” he said huskily, and he began to kiss each sweet curve and valley of her. Their passion penetrated her sadness, and soon she gave herself over to his gentle urgings.

For the moment, Anne Neville was forgotten.

15
Suffolk, Winter 1468 to July 1469

A
team of workers toiled for months over the meticulous dismantling of Kate’s new house. Every timber was duly marked and carefully placed on a pile that would be carted to Tendring. The slates from the roof were passed from hand to hand down the ladders, and the beams taken apart to be built again at the new site. Kate liked to walk across the meadow beside the church to watch and often took the laborers refreshment of ale, cheese and bread. Before the work began, she had received permission from Sir Anthony Wingfield, the landowner, to visit the house. It had a large kitchen on the ground floor with a tiny enclosed staircase that led into the larger and sunnier of two rooms on the upper floor. In this solar, she decided, she would spend much of her day and sleep in her tester bed at night. The other room could be used for spinning and a dispensary.

Jack came to look the house over and told her he had grand plans for its improvement. “I have a mind to put in a central chimney. ’Tis common in France and keeps a house of this size warm all through. And we will fit it with better windows.” He rattled open a casement and several horn panes fell out.

“Sir John, I have money, and I would dearly like to put in glass windows, if you think it is practical.” Kate picked up one of the horn panes and studied it.

“Aye, Kate, ’tis possible. I will tell the master builder, and he will give me an accounting. We cannot have Gloucester’s bastard growing up in the dark, can we?”

Kate laughed. Jack could not take his eyes off her and could not blame the young duke’s passion, for pregnancy agreed with her; her skin glowed and her fuller figure gave her the ripeness of a plum. Jack’s respect for Richard had grown over the summer, he told Kate. As treasurer of the king’s household and one of the great shipowners in the country, Jack had been tasked to prepare and victual a fleet that was to take an expeditionary force to France under Lord Mountjoy. However, Edward was forced to retire, and the army never landed. But Howard had carried out his duties to Edward’s satisfaction, and he wanted Jack to spend much of the autumn in London serving him. The earl of Warwick was also much in London, and Richard remained under his auspices, despite the continued rumblings of dissension between the earl and the king. During that time, Richard and Jack had several opportunities to have discourse, and they talked of Kate and the progress on the house. Richard stayed away from talking politics with Jack and never tipped his hand one way or the other with respect to his opinion of Warwick. Jack admired his prudence, and his trust in the young man grew.

Jack helped Kate down the steep staircase, as her condition made it difficult to negotiate the narrow turns, and they stood together outside the door, looking across the meadow to the flintstone church.

“’Tis peaceful here, Kate. But I hope you will be happy at Stoke. I have marked the place where the house is to stand, and you will have a field at your disposal. I recommend you hire a hand or two, and of course you shall have Molly to help you with the child. Margaret has found you an excellent cook, so your little household will be complete. George will soon return from Framlingham, as you know, but I will want him with me in London. I will deprive you of his company as much as you need.”

Kate smiled her understanding. “If I have not properly thanked you enough for this kindness”—her gesture encompassed the house—“then I
am remiss. I am not unhappy in my present situation, please understand, but to have my own household again is more than I dreamed of.”

“Nay, Kate, ’tis I must thank you for bringing such happiness to Margaret. She misses you more each time you leave.” He took her hand and kissed it fondly. “Now I must be off, or Margaret will accuse me of seducing you.”

She feigned shock. “In my condition, Sir John. I think not. Pray convey my fondest greetings to Margaret.”

Wat, who had accompanied Jack from Tendring, gripped his hands together to give his master a step up onto his horse and then scrambled into his own saddle. Seeing Wat reminded Jack of a promise. “God’s bones, I nearly forgot. Tell that wench of yours I am allowing Wat to wed her, if she will have him. We do not need to encourage whoring now, do we, Kate?”

With the noise of the two horses cantering away, she could not be sure that she heard his whinnying laugh float back on the wind. She felt herself blush.

“Nay, Sir John,” she said under her breath, her hands spread across the evidence of hers. “Whoring is most certainly not to be encouraged.”

JUST BEFORE
A
DVENT
, Molly and Wat were wed with a small gathering of the Haute staff and Kate in attendance. Kate gave the couple ten nobles and Molly a beautifully carved comb. Molly burst into tears, and Kate had to lend her a kerchief.

“Sir John has given you permission to be absent until tomorrow evening, Wat,” Kate said to the young groom, who could not stop grinning.

“Thank ye, mistress, you be very kind.” As he bowed, a louse dropped out of his hair, which he quickly squashed with his foot. “Molly and me be beholden.”

“Certes, I know you are, Wat.” Kate eyed the crushed insect and felt an itch on her own head. She hoped it was only a coincidence.

During the festivities at the manor, Philippa put her head around the kitchen door at one point but, not wanting to spoil the servants’ rare entertainment, quietly disappeared. Kate stayed for a while and, though she was tired, was persuaded to sing a song for the occasion. She chose a ballad
she had heard at Margaret and Jack’s and had taught herself; it was about a brave young woman dressing as a squire and following her love into battle. Molly looked at Wat and laughed. “Don’t look to me to do anything so addle-pated, husband.”

Kate was indignant. “Addle-pated, Molly? In truth, ’tis a most romantic gesture!”

“Aye, madam, no doubt that be right for some, but not for me. I thank you for the song, though. Perhaps we can now persuade Ned to play his pipe for dancing.” She smiled sweetly at a young kitchen boy. Soon everyone was dancing, including Maud, who was having the time of her life. One by one the servants romped with her to the chirping of the pipe. The music seemed to invigorate Kate’s baby, who jumped and writhed inside her until she laughed and softly rubbed her belly.

I
T WAS THE FEAST OF
S
T
. C
ATHERINE
, Kate’s own holy day, and she and George had walked to the house site after Mass. The first signs of labor were mild, and she said nothing as they inspected the rubble that marked out the former foundations of their house. Nevertheless, a gush of warm liquid down Kate’s thighs surprised her, and she stopped in her tracks, drawing in a sharp breath.

“What is it, Kate?” George sounded impatient. His return to Haute Manor had opened old wounds. Kate’s advanced pregnancy made him painfully aware of her infidelity, and it had taken much self-control not to betray their secret to Martin and Philippa, so great was his curiosity as to who had cuckolded him. Kate took charge, giving him knowing looks or kicking him under the table when she sensed his anger boiling over into betrayal.

“I think my time is come,” she replied more calmly than she felt. A pain made her grip his arm, and she bent double until the contraction subsided. “We should return to the manor. Will you help me, husband?”

He grudgingly supported her back to the house. Before they arrived, another searing pain forced a little scream from her.

“Mother, Molly, come quickly!” George cried, opening the door and pushing Kate through. He called a little more frantically, “Kate needs you! Mother, where are you?”

He was helping Kate up the stairs when Molly ran into the hall to see
her mistress on the landing, gripping the rail as she weathered another spasm.

“Tell them in the kitchen to boil water—and in haste!” Molly ordered the motionless George. “If it please you, sir,” she remembered to add as she ran up the stairs to help Kate into her chamber. “And have someone fetch the midwife.”

George slithered back down the stairs and did as he was told, glad to be out of view of Kate. Philippa was supervising the last-minute preparations for the dinner and had not heard George’s initial summons. She looked up from the pie she was inspecting and saw his ashen face.

“What is it, George? What ails you?”

“Water! Boil water!” was all he could think to say.

“What? What are you saying? George. Sweet Jesu, you would try the patience of the Virgin herself.”

“Kate . . . the babe . . . boil water!” he repeated, and sat down heavily on a stool.

Then Philippa understood and went into action without a beat. A cauldron was set on the coals; the kitchen boy was sent running to the village to fetch the midwife. Philippa ran into the solar to get the rags she and Kate had prepared for the occasion. Maud was looking bemused, and Philippa told her to go and help the cook in the kitchen until Martin returned from his ride.

“Tell your father Kate’s babe is coming. Can you do that, sweeting? You must all dine without us. Do you understand?”

“Aye, Mother. But why must I stay downstairs. Why can I not see the babe? You know, I am the baby’s aunt.”

Philippa laughed and gave her a swift kiss. “There are many of us to help, Maud. But only you can give your father that important message and oversee the dinner in my place.”

Maud took this in for a moment, then nodded and stalked haughtily to the door.

K
ATE’S LABOR LASTED
only four short hours.

“Just one more push, mistress, and it be done,” the midwife encouraged Kate, who was squatting on the birthing chair. “You be fortunate, this ’un is eager to be born. Unusual for a first child.”