The Scandalous Duchess (18 page)

‘And if it was?' I was severely discomfited, horrified that she should think that.

‘Shame on you, Kate. If it matters to you at all, Constanza is unaware.' Her lips sneered, something I had never seen before. ‘I don't suppose you care. You will brazen it out, flaunting your pre-eminence.'

Philippa stalked off along the corridor, leaving me prey to all manner of hurt that I had tried so hard to deny. Now
I no longer could, when my own sister placed the blame at my door rather than that of the Duke. Was that not always the way of the world? I should have seen it with far more clarity. I had thought that I had seen the quagmire that would lie in wait, but I had not seen its depths. Now I had a taste of it and it was bitter indeed.

Unwilling to go to my own chamber where I might have to bandy words with Philippa again and defend a stance that, on my conscience, was fast becoming indefensible, I took refuge in Constanza's little garden. Sinking to the stone seat beneath a vigorously pruned arbour, I regarded my reflected image in my little mirror.

Who was this woman who looked back at me? Was it the same woman who had looked back at me in that moment, not so very long ago when I had stood in my sodden shoes and decided to return to The Savoy?

Whore. Harlot
.

How repulsive the words were, striking at me again and again like well-aimed arrows.

But what I saw was no different from the woman who looked back at me every morning. A polished, courtly image: smooth hair beneath its restraining filet and veil, immaculately arched brows, a straight nose and firm lips. A hint of delicate enhancement to brows and cheeks. Without doubt a woman who lived in pampered luxury, composed and confident.

Was this the face of a whore?

My confidence as the Duke's beloved shivered under my own questioning, threatening to crumble into the rose petals at my feet, despite the face showing nothing of my inner turmoil. How strange that I had not felt this sense of ignominy,
not until the Castilian women had given it a name. Now it was all too real.

Your integrity is undermined. Your reputation is defiled. You should be ashamed
.

At what unaccountable cost had I become the Duke's mistress?

You have dishonoured the name of Swynford and de Roet
.

I should have seen the destruction of all I had lived by. I was no ignorant girl, seduced into the Duke's bed. How could I have been so very blind?

What would Queen Philippa say to you now?

I dared not even contemplate it. She would address me with the same lash of contempt as my sister had wielded.

I turned my mirror face down on my lap. I could look at it no longer. I did not like the woman I saw looking back at me.

I slept badly.

‘We will play a game.'

Constanza's announcement brought a little silence to the room. And then a ripple of laughter. The Duchess was surprisingly fond of games. Perhaps she had not played much as a child in Castile, and certainly there would have been little opportunity in her days of perilous exile. Lady Alice smiled encouragingly at her. The Duchess had been tense and preoccupied all day. Some merriment would bring a smile to her pale features.

We were a family gathering, with Constanza's sister Isabella and her new husband, Edmund of York, making up a convivial group with one of the Duke's young pages singing and another playing the lute. I stitched, as did my
sister. Lady Alice had a Book of Hours open on her lap. The Castilian damsels sat in chilly silence. The Duke relaxed at ease, a pile of scrolls which he had readily abandoned beside him.

‘Do you wish to dance, my lady?' he asked.

We were enough to make a good showing.

Constanza glanced round her damsels, then caught us all up in a limpid gaze. Did I detect a hint of mischief? Her eyes swept over me to rest on her husband.

‘No. Not dancing.'

She rose smoothly to her feet and raised her hand in imperious summons, whereupon the Duke, smiling to see his wife so animated, strolled over to where she waited for him.

‘Your wish is my command, my lady. What is it to be?' He led her into the centre of the room.

‘I wish to play
The King Who Does Not Lie.'

Well, now. I felt the muscles along my spine tense a little. A courtly love game, known to all of us, much played under Queen Philippa's aegis, but generally accepted as not one to entertain an audience of children. The questions could become unseemly, the answers even more so. I had not thought its bawdy nature would be to Constanza's refined taste.

Frowning, Lady Alice responded with some force. ‘It is inappropriate, my lady.'

‘Why is that?' The Duchess smiled round at us. Why did I imagine that she was not quite as innocent as she seemed? Did her eye, in this traversing over her guests, rest longer on me than was comfortable? ‘We used to play it in Castile,' she announced.

‘So you might, my lady.' In no manner flustered, Lady
Alice addressed the problem. ‘We do not when there are young people in the gathering.'

Constanza raised her chin. ‘I do not see it. All it needs is for the truth to be told. The Queen asks questions of the King, who is honour-bound not to lie. Is that not so?'

‘I see no harm,' added Isabella. ‘Let us play.'

The Duke lifted a shoulder in acceptance although I thought the fine skin at his temples was tight-drawn as he addressed Constanza. ‘And are we two to play the roles?'

‘Of course. Who else?' There was a challenge in her eye.

My heart began to quicken. I did not like this. I did not like it one little bit. I looked round the family group, praying silently that the presence of the children would keep the questions in line. Or that of William de Burgh, our chaplain, so far silent, but with a hunch of his shoulders much like a moulting hawk.

Constanza had some scheme in mind, of that I was in no doubt. I continued with my stitching. Lady Alice continued to frown. Philippa, thoughts elsewhere—probably with her absent husband—remained aloof. Isabella and Edmund were too interested in each other to pay much attention. The Duke relaxed once more in his chair. If he were as anxious as I, there was no sign of it.

I set another careful stitch.

Constanza stood before the Duke and curtsied to him, playing the game.

‘Sire. The Queen wishes to know whether your preference is for a dark lady or a fair one?'

Innocent enough, I supposed, breathing out slowly. Except that Constanza was dark and I was very fair. But it could be answered without causing any real upset. Perhaps
my own conscience was making me search for problems where they did not exist. This was merely Constanza playing a foolish game.

The Duke was standing at centre stage, completely at ease, hands loosely latched on his belt.

‘Well, Lady, the King has to admit to having been known to have a preference for both,' the Duke responded. ‘Duchess Blanche had hair the colour of sun-kissed wheat—much like her two daughters.' He bowed, elegantly and chivalrously playful towards the two girls who giggled. ‘And Mistress Blanche here is passing fair.' He raised his cup to my own daughter who beamed with pleasure. ‘Now Lady Alice has a pale russet cast and I dare not ignore her. She would make my life a misery if she thought I had slighted her. How could I not love them all? But then my wife's hair, sadly covered, is as dark as jet. And she is very beautiful too…So sometimes I have a preference for dark ladies too, Lady.'

There was a general murmur of appreciation for the clever reply. I ran my tongue over dry lips and kept stitching, the leafy tendrils growing rapidly under my needle.

The Duchess swept her skirts. ‘Sire. The Queen wishes to know. Have you ever given a lady
not
your wife a
lacs d'amour?
A love knot?'

My heart bumped a little against my ribs. I was wearing one. A simple interlacing of silver threads to form a knot in the shape of a heart. Little more than a simple fairing bought from a pedlar, a mere trifle lacking any fervent inscription, but it was a gift from John on my recent return, chosen because it was innocuous. I deliberately smoothed the girdle I was stitching beneath my fingers.

‘Indeed I have, Lady.' John's laughter was supremely confident
as he set himself to entertain the group. ‘I must have given a score or more in my lifetime. And some here present. To Mistress Chaucer and Lady de Swynford. For services to my late Duchess.'

‘Indeed?' Constanza's gaze roved over me and Philippa with sharpened interest.

‘Yes, my lady.' I touched my fingers to the little badge.

‘And I think Lady Alice might have one in her treasure coffer amongst all the other gems she has amassed over the years at my grateful hand.'

‘I think I have three…' Lady Alice smiled despite her misgivings at the whole tenor of the conversation.

‘So many…' John expressed admirable surprise. ‘How did you manage that?'

‘I've been in your household many years, John.'

‘I have never had a lover's knot,' proclaimed Elizabeth.

‘You are too young for such fripperies,' I said gently, ‘but perhaps for your next New Year's gift someone might buy you one.'

‘And I suppose that might be me,' the Duke said. ‘So to answer your question, as you see, Lady, I have given far too many, and will doubtless give more.'

‘The Queen seems to have been neglected!' Constanza raised an arch brow.

‘Then it is shame on me. The King will remedy it instantly. But you asked if the King had so awarded a love knot to a lady not his wife,' he reproved.

Constanza flushed but continued with a distinct toss of her head.

‘Sire. The Queen wishes to know. Have you ever taken a lady as your mistress?'

The echo of the question hung in the room, like dust motes suspended in a sunbeam. I swallowed silently, mouth dry. There was no denying the direction of this line of questioning. I could only presume that the gossip had finally reached Constanza's ears and she was intent on retribution. But would she blatantly hold her husband up for public condemnation? My flesh shivered a little.

The Duke's brows had risen marginally, but he replied readily enough, and with enough circumspection. ‘Yes. With regret, the King must admit that he has.'

‘Then he must tell!' Constanza was avid for detail, her eyes glowing with an unpleasant species of triumph.

‘The King was unwise in his youth,' the Duke responded without hesitation. ‘The lady was young and beautiful, and I was young and wilful and drawn by the sins of the flesh.'

‘Oh!' Constanza appeared shocked. Then more so when she realised that there was no outcry at such a statement.

Lady Alice on my left was nodding. ‘Marie. I remember her. She was a lovely girl and you were but seventeen.'

‘And I remember you made due recompense, my lord,' the priest added.

It was no surprise to any one of the English adults present. If it had been a ruse to unnerve the Duke and me, it had failed utterly. We all knew of Marie, one of Queen Philippa's damsels when John had been a young prince and had taken her to his enthusiastic bed.

Constanza looked askance. ‘My lord appears to have no remorse.'

‘Oh, he has. But he was granted absolution and he has tried to make amends. My lord granted a pension,' William
de Burgh explained. ‘The lady lacks for nothing and is treated with great respect.'

Constanza, drawing herself tall as if addressing the Royal Council, immediately directed another question.

‘I wish to know, Sire. Have you ever fathered a child outside of marriage?'

Now here was a far less innocent question, no longer addressed to the King of the game by the Queen, but to the Duke himself. The frivolity of the courtly silliness had been abandoned, yet the Duke's face did not change from its amiable, well-mannered courtesy, although I could sense his anger at such an impertinent question. Lady Alice clicked her tongue against her teeth. The chaplain grunted over his wine.

‘That also is true,' John replied, parrying with skill what was an obvious attack. ‘And the King will answer it since the Queen sees fit to ask.' A clever return to the structure of the game. ‘It is not a matter for comment or scandal. There is no secrecy here. Yes, the King has a daughter. Her name is Blanche. The King will support her and will arrange a good marriage for her. She is Marie's daughter.'

‘How old is she now?' Lady Alice asked, pursuing her own role in softening the charged atmosphere.

‘Old enough to be married.' He smiled at some memory. ‘And she is as lovely and gifted as her mother.'

The moment had passed, any tension subsumed under reminiscences of Marie and her daughter. If Constanza had hoped to embarrass the Duke, and draw me into an unpleasant situation, she had failed. I glanced across at her. There was no disappointment on her sharp features, and seeing this I realised that she had not yet reached the core of her planning.
My muscled tensed again. What would she ask next? I thought I knew. I deliberately set another row of stitches that were woefully uneven.

Constanza smiled. ‘Sire. The Queen wishes to know. Does the King keep a mistress now?'

‘No,' said Lady Alice, closing her book with a snap.

‘But yes,' said Constanza. ‘The Queen desires to hear the truth.'

Silence fell on the room, like a woollen blanket, hot and stifling.

My breath backed up in my lungs. I looked at no one and stitched on, and then decided that such disinterest in itself would stir suspicion. I dropped my stitching to my lap and waited for the answer. The truth? Would the Duke tell the truth? The truth would damn us both in public.

He did not hesitate. With deliberation, every action controlled, his demeanour the epitome of chivalrous rectitude, the Duke knelt on one knee and took both Constanza's slender hands in his, saluting one then the other.

‘Are you so uncertain of my loyalty to you and your cause? You are bound to me by the rite of Holy Mother Church, Constanza. You are my wife and mistress in the eye of God and Man. That cannot be changed. Your supremacy as Duchess of Lancaster and as Queen of Castile is under no threat from anyone here present. There is no need for such games. Your place at my side is sacrosanct.'