Rose of rapture (36 page)

know how bereft one feels at knowing one is helpless to defend oneself."

Isabella knew that Anne was referring to her late brother-in-law George, Duke of Clarence, who, in order to retain control of her vast lands and wealth, had held her prisoner and attempted to prevent her marriage to Richard. Only by disguising herself and fleeing, with the aid of friends, to work as a scullery maid in a tavern, had the Duchess been able to escape from George and remain in hiding long enough for Richard to find and save her.

"Twas indeed a sore trial to me, your grace," Isabella confided. "I only hope I faced it as bravely as ye didst your own difficulties."

"I have no doubt ye did, 'Sabelle," Anne told her, smiling. "I hope I may call ye that... 'Sabelle, I mean. I have grown so accustomed to hearing Giles refer to ye so."

"But of course, your grace."

"Nay." Impulsively, the Duchess took the girl's hand. "Ye must call me Anne, for in my heart, I know we are going to be the best of friends, dear 'Sabelle."

And so did the relationship between the two women, begun so long ago that day in the courtyard at Rushden when Richard had handed a frightened child a single gold sovereign, deepen into a friendship that was to last until Anne died, with Isabella, heartbroken, at her beloved lady's side.

Still, the two women had no knowledge then of the tragic illness that was to claim the kind young Duchess's life, and so they laiighed gaily together as they turned to view the sights, the coronet of Anne's russet hair glowing like a halo beneath the golden sun.

The Duchess's face softened tenderly as her eyes found Richard, her husband. Mounted upon a chestnut steed with four white stockings, he slowly approached their box, leaning from his saddle to kiss his wife's outstretched hand. Briefly, they caressed each other with their eyes, as though they were alone; and Isabella saw the two were indeed deeply in love. For one painful instant, the girl felt an empty, aching sense of longing in her heart. If only she and Warrick loved so! Then Richard smiled at her, and the moment passed.

"My Lady Hawkhurst," he greeted her.

"Your grace. I have been thanking your wife for her many kindnesses to me. Now I must thank ye too, your grace, for what ye did for my brother."

With one gauntleted hand the Duke waved away her gratitude.

"Twas naught, my lady. I didst but hsten and offer a few words of comfort to Giles."

"Aye, perhaps, but they cheered him beyond measure, your grace. We are both deeply indebted to ye and her grace. I do not know how we shall ever repay ye."

"Remember us in your prayers, my lady," Gloucester reminded her gently. "We ask for no more than that."

"Then know that as long as I live, ye shall never be forgotten, your grace," Isabella vowed fervently, "for I do pray for ye both each night and ask God's blessing to be upon ye."

"Tis payment enough then," Richard said, then teased, "but I wouldst not cast aside a small favor for luck this day, my lady."

Both Isabella and Anne unwound a riband from their braids and, with much laughter, wrapped the trailing silk about the Duke's arm. He glanced down at the favors that had been bestowed upon him and once more smiled.

"I cannot fail to win the honors," he announced, "for I have been doubly blessed."

"Ye shall not be the only man here so favored, however, your grace," Giles declared as he rode up, armored now, "for I too must claim ribands from these ladies."

"And I," Warrick and Caerllywel, also now ready for battle, echoed as one.

By the time the men had departed (Caerllywel considering himself the luckiest of the four, having garnered a favor from a blushing Jocelyn as well), neither Isabella nor Anne had a single riband left. They gazed at one another ruefully, then burst into laughter, for the intricately woven plaits their maids had arranged so skillfully this mom now seemed woefully bereft.

"Well, if one of our men at least does not win here today, Jocelyn will have my head," Isabella jested, her eyes twinkling as she glanced at the maid, who had braided her mistress's hair earlier.

"Oh, my lady," Jocelyn said, "ye know full well there were so many ribands precisely so ye couldst give them away. All the ladies have done as much. Only think how unhappy ye wouldst be if your plaits were still adorned like that poor woman's there." Jocelyn pointed surreptitiously.

"Aye, how sad," Anne exclaimed while Isabella's mouth twisted with pity and anger upon spying Lionel's wife, the Lady Gilliane. "Who is she?" the Duchess inquired, her dark eyes filled with sympathy for the obviously miserable girl's plight.

"The Lady Gilliane, Lord Lionel Valeureux's wife, your grace," Isabella informed her friend, still wroth over Lionel not begging a favor from the girl, even for appearance's sake.

He might as well have publicly slapped her, for it was clear he had no interest in his bride. Even now, Isabella could see the girl was trying hard not to cry; she was so crushed by her husband's open repudiation of her.

"Lionel's wife?" Anne's brown orbs widened with surprise. "But I did not know she was at Court. I must ask her join us at once."

"Aye, please do, Anne," Isabella urged, "for I believe she has made few, if any, friends here; and I know that Lionel is—is not kind to her."

"Oh, 'Sabelle," the Duchess sighed sorrowfully, her face downcast. "'Tis true, then. I—I had heard that Lionel was most displeased with his bride, but I had hoped 'twas not true—" She broke off and bit her lip. "Does he—does he treat her so badly, then?"

"Ye have only to look at her to guess the answer to that, your grace."

Anne's lips compressed together sternly.

"Tim. Tim," she called to her page; then, when the boy had bowed before her, she directed, "Go, and tell the Lady Gilliane that I wouldst be most pleased if she wouldst join me in my box."

"Aye, your grace." The lad bobbed again, then scampered off.

Presently, timidly, as though she feared she were the butt of someone's nasty jest, Lionel's wife approached them.

"Your—your grace," she stammered painfully. "I'm so sorry to disturb ye, but I—I received a message "

"Aye, my lady. Ye didst indeed. Please, join us. I'm so glad you've come," the Duchess stated graciously with a smile, then bade her women make room for Gilliane and her maid.

Relieved to find it had not all been just a prank, Gilliane sat down gingerly on the edge of one of the terraced benches and had nothing further to say, beyond thanking Anne for her invitation, until the Duchess began kindly to draw the girl out. Before long, much of Gilliane's fear had receded, and Anne had obtained a riband from the girl, explaining that she wished to send it to Richard in order that the number of his favors might equal Ca-erllywel's. Secretly, the Duchess intended to ask the Duke to mention the matter to Lionel in hopes that the heir of St. Saviour would be pleased that Gilliane's gesture had won Gloucester's regard. In addition, Anne was determined to inform Richard of

Lionel's mistreatment of his wife (for she was, by now, indignantly certain the girl had been terribly abused), and she meant to beg the Duke to strongly reprimand his knight.

This decided, the Duchess lifted her chin a little, then turned her flashing eyes toward the field as the herald announced, at last, the start of the tourney.

"Lord Thomas Grey, Marquis of Dorset, and Lord William Hastings," the herald bawled over the din.

The opening bout was merely a formality. Neither lord was expected to be unhorsed, and, after making three relatively tame passes at each other along the wooden barrier that separated them, the two men retired from the arena amid a scattering of polite applause. The crowd was somewhat disappointed, for the rivalry between these two favorites of the King was well known; and the audience had secretly hoped for a more stimulating battle, despite it being the ceremonial tilt of the tourney.

"Lord Anthony Woodville, Earl Rivers, and Sir Edmund La-cey," the herald announced.

"I do not know why Ned persists in holding these jousts," Anne leaned over to whisper of the King. "Anthony, who is' Ned's champion, is the best tilter in all of England. Doubtless, he will win again today and crown the Queen, his sister, queen of the tourney, as usual."

"Is he so very good then?" Isabella inquired.

"Aye, ye wouldst not think it, because of his scholarly disposition—ye know he aided William Caxton in publishing the first bound book in England—but Anthony knows full well how to handle his lance," the Duchess claimed. "That is why so many young knights like Sir Edmund choose to joust against him. 'Twould indeed be quite a feather in their caps if they were to unhorse Earl Rivers."

Unfortunately, this glorious fate was not to be Sir Edmund's that day. On the first pass, he was ignominiously unseated and left to sprawl in the dust amid the laughter of the spectators. Hurriedly, his squires ran forward to assist him to his feet (for he could not rise unaided; his armor was so heavy). Then, not to be undone, he took off his helmet and, with a flourish, bowed gallantly to the crowd, who shouted its approval.

The day wore on, growing hotter with the sun's ascent, as Isabella had earlier perceived it would. Though the canopy above provided a welcome shade, the girl fluttered her fan languidly now and then, glad she had had the foresight to bring it. Other ladies, less thoughtful, were having to purchase the devices from

the vendors who, hawking their wares in loud voices, strode among the audience. One merchant, seeing that Giliiane's hands were empty, approached her and held up a pretty fan for her inspection. But though she eyed the device longingly, Lionel's bride shook her head reluctantly and waved the man away. Isabella, who had noticed the exchange, rightly guessed that Gilliane had no money.

"Oh, look, Jocelyn!" Isabella exclaimed, nudging her maid covertly. "Do ye not think that fan would go well with my powder-blue gown?"

"Aye, my lady." Jocelyn, an astute young maid, correctly interpreted her mistress's intent and called the vendor to their side.

Isabella paid for the device, then, after studying it closely for some moments, sighed as though highly aggrieved.

Somewhat crossly, she said, "Jocelyn, 1 am persuaded this is not the right blue after all. In fact, I am certain 'tis much too dark. I cannot think what possessed me to believe 'twas otherwise and to buy this fan for which I am now sure I have no use. What is to be done? I fear my lord will be most angry upon learning how foolishly I have wasted his coin. Indeed, he is so jealous, I doubt he will even believe I purchased the device at all. I'll warrant he will think 'tis a gift from one of the courtiers. Oh, Gilliane, I wish ye had bought the accursed fan yourself, for it matches your dress perfectly!"

"Why, there is your answer, my lady," Jocelyn declared. "Ye have only to give the fan to the Lady Gilliane, and say naught to Lord Hawkhurst at all. Then he will know nothing of the matter."

"Oh, how clever of ye, Jocelyn!" Isabella turned back to Lionel's wife. "My dear Lady Gilliane, do be kind enough to assist me out of this sad tangle. I am newly wed, ye know, and 'twould be most distressing to me to incur my husband's wrath; I have tried so hard to win his favor."

" 'Twould then be most churlish of me to refuse your request, my lady," Gilliane answered softly.

"I am most grateful to ye," Isabella told Lionel's wife, handing her the device.

"And I to ye," Gilliane murmured. "'Tis ye who are most kind."

"Not at all," Isabella disclaimed, then added excitedly, "Oh, look, Anne! My brother has bested his man!"

"That was well done of ye, 'Sabelle," the Duchess observed

under her breath as they enthusiastically applauded Giles's victory on the field. Then, more loudly, she queried, "'Tis his first tournament too, is it not?"

"Aye, oh, how proud I am of him!" Isabella's eyes shone for her brother.

"And I of ye," Anne said quietly. "How glad I am that Dickon bade ye write to me that day. Oh, here are two of Dickon's dearest friends. Lord Francis Lovell and Sir Richard Ratcliffe. I must make ye known to them. Why, they have brought us some wine. How thoughtful."

The women spent some time conversing and laughing with these two gentlemen, both of whom proved most amiable; then Isabella's attention was drawn once more to the stadium as the herald called two more names.

"Lord Warrick ap Tremayne, Earl of Hawkhurst, and Lord Dante da Forenza, Conte di Montecatini."

"How odd of the Italian," a woman in the next box remarked curiously. "He is not usually given to entering the lists. 'Tis said he is too vain to risk injury to his handsome face, the arrogant devU."

"That is so, Agatha," another woman uttered in response. "But my husband, Cedric, who happened to overhear their conversation, tells me the challenge was issued by Lord Hawkhurst; and of course, the Count could not possibly refuse it."

"Well, naturally, a man must defend his honor. Still, it does seem rather peculiar. I wonder: Did they quarrel, Juliet? Oh, surely not," the Lady Agatha mused. "For doubtless. Lord Montecatini would not be so foohsh as to allow himself to be drawn into an argument. After all, he is one of Italy's ambassadors to England and must refrain from becoming embroiled in our affairs."

"Hmph!" the Lady Juliet snorted. "Ye cannot tell me consideration of his position would weigh with the Italian if it interfered with any of his own schemes. If ye ask me, the man's a master of intrigue and meddles far more in England's business than we know. However, that's neither here nor there, as I doubt seriously that politics was the reason behind the challenge. Cedric did not say so, but I cannot help but think 'tis the attention the Count has paid to Lady Hawkhurst that made Lord Hawkhurst wroth, for ye know that Lord Montecatini has singled her out most markedly."

"Oh, that is nothing, Juliet; I'm sure," the Lady Agatha sniffed. "The Rose of Rapture has been the bane of us all since her arrival

at Court. I vow there's not a cavalier left whose heart remains uncaptivated by her. Even dear Rufiis, whom I always believed to be a most estimable husband, has fallen for her charms."