Thwarted Queen (39 page)

“Ah, good mother, there you are.”

Edward was nowhere to be seen. As usual, I was surrounded by her people. As always, the Serpent took my arm, in her insultingly overly familiar manner.

“I’ve been meaning to talk to you about Richard,” she said as she took me through a tunnel overhung with lilac. Its sweet, almost sickly scent was overpowering.

“Richard? You mean, my son Richard?”

“How old is he now?”

I paused and glared at her. Her ladies stared at me, so I was forced to answer. “He has about twelve years.”

“He’s growing up,” she exclaimed. “We do not have much time.”

“What does this have to do with you?”

She smiled. “Ah. Now we come to the point.” She took my arm again. “You see, good mother, I have Richard’s best interests at heart. Now, Warwick—”

“What about Warwick?” I demanded, drawing my arm away.

“Now, now. There, there.” She patted my arm. “There’s no need to be
so
suspicious.” She pouted, but there was a glint of amusement in her eyes. “I have a plan for Richard.” She took my arm again.

I withdrew it and glared.

She smiled and folded her arms. “I think Richard should be moved from Warwick’s care to that of my brother. Do you not agree?”

It was the custom for young noblemen, like Richard, to be taken away from their families at the age of seven or eight and sent to train in the arts of war in another household. I had sent my youngest son to be trained in the household of my nephew. However, the Serpent and Warwick loathed each other.

I glared. “Richard is in my keeping.”

“He’s in Warwick’s keeping,” she pointed out, “and I do not think Warwick is—satisfactory. Richard would do much better if he were under the care of my brother, Sir Antony Woodville.”

I froze. Of all her siblings – and the Serpent had many – Sir Antony was the most widely respected. He was learned, cultured, and had a great reputation on the jousting field.

“What say you, good mother?”

“I have to think of Richard’s wishes,” I replied. “ He has not had an easy childhood and he is happy at Middleham—”

“How strange that the wealthiest peer in the realm, your husband, the Duke of York, should have so many sickly children,” she remarked. “Let me see, you had five daughters did you not? But two died.” She ticked them off on her fingers. “Joan, the eldest, and Ursula, the youngest. And you had eight sons, did you not, madam? And of those sons, five died. Henry, Edmund, William, John, Thomas. So many sons, so many good fighting men for the House of York. But they died.”

“What exactly is your meaning?” I snapped.

The Serpent edged away, making fluttering motions with her hands. “You do frighten me so, Mother dear, when you get angry.” She paused and flashed a sidelong smile. “And you do get angry, do you not?”

I compressed my lips. Since the day my father had given me that beating, I had always been angry.

“Maman,” she remarked, speaking now of her own mother, “had fifteen children, six sons and nine daughters and they all survived. And she had considerably less money than you. Now, why would that be? Was it all the riding around you did when you should have been confined to one of your husband’s castles, awaiting the birth of his children?”

I made a wall of silence between us.

“They do say,” continued the Serpent, putting her hand on the gnarled bole of a tree, “that Richard greatly resembles his father, the old duke. Was the duke as puny as your son Richard? Was he as short, as pasty-faced, and—deformed?”

“Richard is not deformed!” I exclaimed. “He injured his shoulder at the quintain when he was practicing his jousting. Such injuries are common, as you well know.”

The Serpent was silent for a few moments. “So the duke, your husband, was not strong. Perhaps he could not sire healthy sons. Or perhaps it was your fault.”

I clenched my hands so tightly together, my nails drew blood.

“Yours was a perfect marriage, except for all those dead children.” She paused to pick a red rose. “We Woodvilles take good care of our own. My brother is a good man. Think on it, good mother, I beseech you. For truly I have Richard’s best interests at heart!”

She swung around, her green silken skirts making whorls, and left, trailing her brittle laughter.

Chapter 56

Westminster Palace, London

December 1468

Three years and more passed. In July of 1465, Henry of Lancaster was captured and brought to the Tower. In October of 1466, Edward agreed to a treaty of friendship with Philip of Burgundy. From France, the Bitch of Anjou stirred things up by sending Warwick a message. She extended the hand of friendship, deducing correctly the frustration he must now feel.

Matters were not helped, when in July of 1468, Margaret finally married Charles of Burgundy. I did not attend the wedding myself, for it was not the custom to do so for foreign matches. But I listened avidly to the reports of the magnificent ceremony in which the streets of Bruges were hung with priceless tapestries. The parades, feasting, masques and allegorical entertainments so impressed everyone that folk called it
The Wedding of the Century
.

Now it was December of 1468, and I arrived to celebrate Christmas Court with Edward and his Serpent-Queen. I stood by the window, wrapped in a thick fur mantle, my hair in its night plait, gazing at the wintry scene before me. It was so cold the frost had swirled patterns onto the icy windows and the scant vegetation had hardened into ice. What would befall the House of York this season?

I didn’t have long to wait, for the door to my chamber burst open, and my nephew Warwick strode in.

“This is insupportable!” he roared.

I bade him sit and signaled to Jenet to bring hot mulled wine and wafers.

But Warwick paced around my chamber, his face flushed darkly, a vein throbbing in his temple.

I waited.

“Cousin,” he said finally. “What shall I do about my daughters? There are no eligible heirs to the peerage left for them to marry.”

Warwick had no sons, so Bella and Nanette were his heirs, standing to inherit substantial holdings from their Neville, Montacute, and Beauchamp forbears. They were both of an age to marry—Bella, seventeen, and Nanette, twelve.

“You have just come from the Serpent,” I stated.

Warwick’s mouth crinkled in amusement as I handed him a cup of wine. “You have a gift for nicknames, Aunt.”

“What did she say?”

“She had the insolence to suggest that Bella marry her brother Dick, while Nanette should be betrothed to Ned Woodville.”

I nodded. “She must be getting desperate to marry off Ned. She once had the temerity to suggest that my Margaret marry him.”

He narrowed his eyes. “But Margaret married Burgundy.”

My cheeks warmed. I put my hand on his arm. “I know you spent many years working for the alliance with France. But Edward wanted an alliance with Burgundy, and he can be obstinate.”

“He was not always that way,” said Warwick, his voice rising. “Before he acquired a wife—”

“Before the Serpent came, he was easy to manage. You and I both know that. But now he is different. The Serpent is ensconced in his life, whether we like it or no. Edward will not be ruled by either you or me, so we must devise some other plan.”

Warwick glowered. “Those sisters of hers have swept the aristocratic marriage market clean. There is no one suitable left in England. I will not have her loathsome Woodville brothers get their hands on my wealth.”

I understood, already alarmed about the marriage prospects for my son George. George was such a handsome boy, tall and blond, the very image of my father. Yet I was having trouble procuring a bride for him. Two years before, Duke Philip of Burgundy had offered his granddaughter’s hand in marriage, but Edward would not hear of it. I’d been stunned when George told me the news. In having made a bad marriage, did Edward begrudge a good one for his brother?

At nineteen, George was now the age Edward had been in the first year of his reign. He needed something to do, but the king seemed disinclined to use his brother’s talents. George was well educated, I had seen to that. And he showed signs of being a talented administrator, like his father. Yet, if Edward were not going to give George a position in his government, surely he should allow his brother to marry a foreign princess and use his talents abroad?

As if reading my thoughts, Warwick said softly, “It seems the king doesn’t want George to marry
Mary of Burgundy
. So what would you think if George married my Bella?”

I leaned forward, smiling. It was a brilliant idea. “But what of Richard?”

“He can have Nanette.”

I mulled this over. I liked it. Warwick’s plan did mean giving up any hope of brilliant international marriages for my boys. But with Edward in his present mood, it wasn’t likely he would allow Richard to marry a foreign princess, any more than he had allowed George to marry Margaret’s stepdaughter. The Neville heiresses were the most suitable young ladies in the whole of England.

“I like it. But we should move cautiously so that Edward doesn’t know our full intentions. Richard and Nanette are full young and can wait awhile. I propose that we focus now on getting George wed to Bella. Let me speak with George first.”

And so I summoned Jenet to attire me for my appearance at Edward’s court and sent a page with a message for George.

“Mother,” said George, coming forward to kiss my cheek. “Do you not like my new suit of clothes?” He smiled down at me as I examined him closely. Today he was resplendent in a tunic of purple decorated with intricate gold embroidery. His stockings were of purple and gold with the seam up the middle of each leg. His sleeves were slashed to show the gold shirt he wore under his tunic. His blue-green eyes glowed with excitement. How he loved being at court.

I smiled back at him. “You have such a good eye for color, George,” I remarked. “That purple brings out the color of your eyes.” I turned around on my stool so that Jenet could pin on my headdress, a pointed henin with a veil of translucent silk.

“Hurry, Mother,” he said. “It would not do to be late.”

“George.” I smiled. “Your mother is an old woman. She is not as fast as she was when she was a girl.”

“Nonsense, Mama!” he exclaimed, offering me his arm. “Old? You’ll never be old.”

I laughed out loud. George always had that effect on me. Though I was fifty-three, George made me feel younger. “I have three grown daughters,” I reminded him. “It would not be seemly for their mother to look like a maid.”

George threw back his head and roared with laughter. “Now, Mother,” he said. “You know you are looking very well.”

It was true. Prodded by George, I’d finally decided to abandon my widow’s weeds and put on something more cheerful. Today I wore a gown of sky-blue velvet edged in ermine, with silver embroidery running down the sleeves and over my skirts.

Jenet put the last pins into my headdress, and I rose and signaled for her to leave. “I have something important to ask you, my son,” I said, leading George to a window seat. “As you know, I think it high time you were married. But I want your opinion on this matter.” I paused and looked at him closely. “How would you feel about marrying your cousin Bella?”

At once, his face lit up.

“It would make you happy?”

“Yes, Mother. I am very fond of my cousin. She makes me laugh and—” He flushed. “I’ve always found her beautiful.”

I smiled as I kissed his cheek. “Let’s ask cousin Warwick to join us.”