The Scandalous Duchess (20 page)

The Duke looked as if I had doused him in icy water, the planes of his face flattening under the unexpected. He was certainly stuck dumb.

‘I expect that is because, for you, it does not exist.'

Then, when he took the book, frowning, rather than have me drop it onto the beautifully patterned tiles at his feet, I walked away, more despairing than I had ever been since I stood in my courtyard with flood-water lapping round my ankles. Nothing was settled between us. The emotion that I took to bed with me that night was one of raw distress that I had compromised my principles for nothing in the end, because he would send me away.

He has given his son into your keeping. He trusts you to educate his daughters and the heir to the great Lancaster inheritance
.
His physical desire for you is as strong as it ever was. You cannot doubt him
.

But I did. He did not love me. I waited for formal dismissal: it might suit the ducal pair very well. My deliberate challenge to the Duke's legendary sangfroid might just tip the balance.

Chapter Ten

W
hat an occasion it was, here at Kenilworth, celebratory and formal, announced by a fanfare which caused a rich undulation of Castilian and Plantagenet banners along the walls with the movement of air through the great chamber. With its huge traceried windows and soaring hammerbeamed roof, it provided the perfect setting for this event. Sir Robert Swillington, our Chamberlain, grandly formal in his tabard with staff of office to the fore, paced along the length of the hall before the Duke who led his wife by the hand, both of them magnificent in fur and cloth of gold. This was Constanza's occasion as she took her place on the dais. Receiving the grace cup from Sir Robert, the Duke raised it and surveyed the assembled party, addressing us in a voice that carried with its superb modulation to every guest present.

‘To my fair wife who had given me an equally beautiful daughter. Today we celebrate them both, particularly
Katalina on this first commemoration of the day of her birth a year ago.' He smiled down at Constanza who had her eyes trained on her clasped hands. ‘We hope for a restoration of Castile for our daughter's future dowry when we look for a husband for her.' He smiled, as did the guests. ‘A little young as yet but one day…'

He drank and passed the cup to Constanza, who at last looked up and, inclining her head graciously at the Duke, she drank too. There was a glow in her eye.

‘And we hope for a son to become King of Castile in my name,' she added, her voice vibrating with emotion. ‘Do we not, my lord?'

‘So we hope.' He bowed gravely, raising her fingers to his lips, whilst I clenched mine against an all-too-recognisable bolt of pure envy. What a wearying emotion it was, but I could not shake myself free of it.

‘It is my life's work to take back your kingdom, my lady.'

‘And to provide me with an heir,' she reiterated.

‘We would both welcome the birth of a son.'

I sat, conscious of my magnificence in my new rose-pink sleeves, extravagantly embroidered and edged in thick sable, conscious also of Lady Alice's warning to be wary, to keep my jealous inclinations under control. Consequently my nails dug painfully into my palms, until we were summoned to echo the toast, raising our cups to fill the room with an oscillating sheen of gold as the candles warmed the precious metals.

No sign of Lady Alice's doom and gloom for the marriage here. At the same time my position was still secure in our removal to Kenilworth. The Duchess was more than content. I was no longer even sure that she saw me as a rival to
the Duke's affections. I began to relax with a cup of good Bordeaux at my elbow. As I sipped it, it seemed that she was not even aware, and that my suspicions of the night of the charade were misplaced.

The banquet was drawing to a close, the musicians and entertainers, jugglers and dancers who had so fascinated the ducal children were praised and paid, and as a final flourish, Katalina was brought in by Alyne, her small form clad incongruously from head to toe in Castilian heraldic motifs. We drank a toast, admired the baby heir to Castile (until a brother was born), and the gathering began to disperse.

For a moment Constanza remained on the dais with her damsels, working the delicate material of her skirt loose from where it had caught in the high carving of her chair. She smiled at her ladies, her voice as it carried to me light and happy. It had been a good evening. The servants were beginning to clear the tables, folding the no-longer-white cloth from the dais table with a snap of fine linen.

I stepped into my place in the procession behind my sister with thoughts on the dancing in the room that had just seen extravagant completion in the Duke's building schemes.

‘Katherine de Swynford.'

The Duchess's voice carried from the dais with as great a clarity as the Duke's.

I turned, curtsied with a polite smile, my senses lulled by good food and music and the potency of the Bordeaux. ‘My lady?'

‘I would speak with you.'

That same hard, clear timbre, infinitely polite, yet I knew, with a deep beat of a major bell in my chest, that this was
the moment. This was where Constanza's revenge against me would be played out.

What a fool I had been to persuade myself that Constanza was unaware. All through that long evening of ritual and ceremony she must have pondered the content of the rumours, and yet with regal control, as formidable as a charge of English knights on the battlefield at Crecy under the hand of King Edward, she had chosen to play the role of contented wife. She had known when she instigated the courtly game. She had known, and chosen to bide her time. Until now. Until she could confront me at a time of her own choosing, after an evening when the Duke had shown her every consideration as his wife.

Despite my sinking heart, her tactics in dealing with a despised mistress had to be admired. Would I not have done the same? Now I must face her wrath that I had stolen the loyalty of her husband from her, and if not his love, certainly the duty of his body. If I were in her place, that is how I would react. And thus I must withstand whatever attack she saw fit to make against me.

I stood straight-backed, arms at my sides, and waited for the fall of the axe. I could already sense its edge against my nape.

With an imperious gesture from the Duchess, the damsels had left us except for her most intimate trio who stood at her back. Shutting out their expressions of bright delight that I would at last receive my just deserts, I retraced my steps until I stood at the foot of the dais, the Duchess above me, her skirts no longer encumbered. Clearly a clever ruse to remain behind and isolate me. For the first time I acknowledged in my mind just how powerful a force the Duchess
was to be reckoned with. I was on trial, and I would be judged by an authority far greater than my own.

‘How dare you.'

Her accusation was surprisingly dispassionate, her expression as well-governed as mine. She knew she had the upper hand for I was part of the ducal household. I was hers to play with, to dismiss. She did not even ask if the rumours were true.

‘You stand there before me, so brazen, so seemingly innocent.'

I held my head raised, my eyes on her face. I could feel the tremble through every muscle as I kept my spine erect.

‘Were you my husband's leman, were you sharing my husband's bed before he married me?'

‘No, my lady.'

I answered without pause even though my heart thudded. Here was a moment for truth between us.

‘Then when we were first wed? Even though I was carrying his child, were you his whore when I was travelling here, full of hope, for a new marriage and a new life?'

‘No, my lady.'

‘So it was after I took you as my damsel.'

‘Yes, my lady.'

Still I trembled but I would not show it. I knew that she would never accuse the Duke to his face, but she would accuse me. Had I not always known that this time would come? How cruelly accurate were her assumptions. My conduct was about to be thrown into high relief, a disgraceful patchwork of immorality and sin.

‘Do you know the humiliation for me, of having Lancaster's
whore foisted on me as my damsel, accepting my daily patronage?'

Lancaster. She called him Lancaster. We were both in receipt of her bitterness, but I was the one to be singled out. As it must be. My courage showed a tendency to slither away under Constanza's assault, as I foresaw my dismissal, but I held firm. I would not be shamed for a decision I had made in cool certainty, and would make again and again. My life was entwined with that of the Duke. For however long he wanted me by his side I would be there. I would not be shamed.

‘When the Duke wed you and welcomed you here, I was not his whore,' I replied.

‘How bold you are, Lady de Swynford,' she sneered. ‘Then when I gave birth to Katalina? Did he know you more intimately than he knew me?'

‘Yes, my lady. We were together then.' I did not see that it mattered, but it did to her. And I supposed it would to me too.

‘And now I hear that you have a son of Lancaster's begetting.' I heard a note of fury creep in. ‘When I could only bear a daughter.' She picked up her gloves from where they had been cast aside on the table, her fingers tearing at the gilt edging. ‘You were my damsel. I actually asked for your service because you had experience. And now you are
magistra
to Lancaster's children. And what is it that you teach them? When you are so lacking in morals, how can you be
magistra?'
She spat the word. ‘How can that be, that you are allowed to have influence over such valuable young lives and minds? Do you think you have the moral compass to educate my husband's children?'

The accusations were as keen as a raptor's talons slicing through my flesh but still I replied with composure. ‘I teach them to fear God and to value their education, my lady.'

‘Do you fear God, Lady de Swynford? Does a whore fear God? Were you his whore when you took my daughter to King Edward's court? Did you enjoy the pleasures of the flesh at The Savoy, then carry my daughter into the royal presence, in those arms that had seduced my husband into committing adultery? How dare you prate to me about morals and God fearing!'

So I was the one to seduce. The blame was to be laid at my door, was it? I was seized with a need to leap to my own defence, rather than meekly bow my head. I had stepped into my relationship with the Duke with my eyes fully open, knowing that I would be universally condemned. Had I not undermined my faith and my respectability for love? But I had done it. There was no going back and although my heart was sore for the Duchess, I could not, would not, apologise for a step I had taken in full knowledge. That would indeed be the mark of hypocrisy. Nor would I take the blame. The dignity that I had embraced all my life would keep me from retreating in the face of Constanza's hatred.

‘Yes, I fear God,' I replied, holding her gaze where anguish had suddenly doused the fury. ‘And I know that I must answer to Him for my sins at the end of my days. But I am no whore,' I affirmed, aware of a wash of colour tinting my cheeks. ‘I am not paid for my services in your husband's bed. Nor can I be accused of seduction. If you are to apportion blame, it must be in equal measure. Yes, I went to my lord of Lancaster's bed, but I was no wanton seductress.'

She had not expected such a vehement response, nor such
an open confession. I heard the in-drawing of her breath, the sharp sound of the cloth of her gloves tearing under her busy fingers as, suddenly, I was not the only object of her loathing.

‘What is Lancaster thinking, taking a mistress when I am his wife? Keeping her here, to my degradation?'

I could say nothing. I would not answer for the Duke. All I saw was Constanza's disgust and the eyes of the damsels, shining with malice.

Constanza's thoughts veered, her focus returning to me. She leaned towards me, gloves abandoned, her knuckles planted on the wooden boards of the high table. ‘Does he mock me when you come together?' Her head whipped round when a servant appeared from behind the kitchen screens at the far end. ‘Get out!' she shrieked. And then, when the maid scuttled to obey, to me in a fierce whisper. ‘Can you tell me that? Does he compare me with you? Does he think you are more beautiful than I can ever be?'

The cry of every slighted woman, and in this mess of conflicting emotions, my heart melted in pity for her, and sorrow that in her short marriage she had learned so little of the Duke's loyalty to her. It was the last thing he would do.

‘Never,' I stated. ‘My lord would never be so lacking in chivalry.'

‘He lacks it enough to take you to his bed! Does he compare me with you?' She could not let it go. ‘Does he compare my lack with your undoubted talents?'

‘He has too much honour, my lady.'

‘Is it honour to take another woman to the marital bed?' She paused, horror stretching the planes of her face. ‘Has
he had carnal knowledge of you in his own bed, when he has fulfilled his duty to me?'

And, snatching them up, she threw the mistreated gloves. One landed on the floor at my side, the other struck my much-admired sleeve. I bent and picked them both up, as Constanza's beautiful figured veils quaked with anger about her shoulders.

‘Did you seek the position of Lancaster's mistress for the power it will bring you?'

‘I did not seek it…'

‘I advise you not to hope for what will never be yours. My lord will not give away his power, and I do not think you have the guile. You have to be a strong woman to take on the Plantagenets and use them for your own interests.' Her eyes flashed. ‘I will and can. I, Constanza, Queen of Castile. My lord will take Castile for me. What are you but the wife of some minor knight, daughter of some insignificant family? You will not use his authority for your own ends. I will not allow it.'

‘I do not seek power,' I repeated simply. It was an accusation easy to deny.