Anne O'Brien - The Scandalous Duchess

Open it! I ordered. You are making more of this than need be. It cannot possibly make your obligation to him greater than it already is. Read it!

Instead, I tucked both items into my bodice, where the letter proceeded to burn a hole against my breast and the pouch nestled until it seemed to be a weight on my soul. I could barely resist opening it, even though I knew with certainty that if I did, if I read what must be a personal missive from the Duke, then it would be opening a dangerous window. Better that I consign them both to the flames in my bedchamber.

But I destroyed neither. Instead, dispatching Thomas to Agnes’s care, I wrapped a cloak around me, strapped on a pair of patterns and made my way to the church, squelching through the puddles and wondering if I had lost my senses. Once there I walked down the aisle towards the final resting place of the earthly remains of Hugh Swynford.

Replenishing the candles, re-lighting them, I knelt by the little casket, where one day a fine effigy would stand, and prayed first for the repose of Hugh’s soul. He would have been thirty-two years old, the same age as the Duke.

Looking over my shoulder to ensure that I was alone, I began to explain.

‘I am going to Hertford. I am to have a place in Duchess Constanza’s household. She is the Duke’s new wife, the Castilian Queen. You would not have known about this alliance with Castile—or perhaps you did before you…well!’ I took a breath. Speaking to the dead was foolish perhaps, but I felt a need to do it. ‘I know that is what you would want for me. Have we not always served the royal family? I will take the children with me. But I will not neglect my role here. They already call me the Lady of Kettlethorpe, did you know? I am proud of that and I hope you are too.’ I paused for a moment, trying hard to concentrate. ‘I swear I will preserve your inheritance for your son. Thomas is growing well. His education under Lady Alice’s eye will be of the best. I expect he will become a page and learn all he needs to know about being a good knight. I give thanks for it.’

The letter against my heart almost vibrated with an urgency.

‘I am grateful to the Duke for his generosity. He remembers you with affection.’

I closed my fingers over the cloth of my bodice so that the parchment of the letter crackled. The package felt hard and uneven, its composite parts moving one against the other.

‘It will be good to reunite the children,’ I said. ‘I have missed Blanche.’

I retrieved the letter.

‘Master Ingoldsby will look after everything while I am away. The meadows have flooded again.’

I broke the seal and opened it, smoothing the creases.

‘I don’t have the money to clear out the Fossdyke. Not yet—but perhaps I can do it when I am remunerated. I will try to do my best…’

My words dried and I sank back on my heels and read. Strikingly formal, it was not of any great length. My heart beating in my ears, I read, my eye skimming over the first brief paragraph. It was as if he were standing beside me, with a similar irritation to my own, colouring his choice of words, which were abrupt.

To Madame Katherine de Swynford ,

I had hoped that you would remain at The Savoy until my return from Kennington but you found a need to return to Lincolnshire. Perhaps the fault was mine, that circumstances prevented me from making your situation clear. I remedy that now, by the hand of Sir Thomas .

That was good, was it not? Rather sharp and caustic, even a thread of criticism that my precipitate departure had necessitated this letter. My heart steadied.

There was a space on the single page and then:

As for the rest that stands between us, I have no regret in voicing it. The matter is not closed. I live in hope that you will reconsider your refusal. I should warn you that it will be my life’s quest to win you for my own. Your anxieties reached out to my notions of chivalry and honour, demanding that I come to your aid, but it was your infinite beauty, finely drawn through grief and the burden you carry, that smote at my senses. Your image remains with me still, even in your absence, as if I carried a painted icon against my heart. It is beyond my fathoming, but you are ever present, instilling me with your radiance. I need to see you again .

I send you this trifle as a symbol of my regard for your welfare, of both body and soul .

I am, and will always be, despite your expressed qualms, yours to command .

My future happiness, for good or ill, rests with you .

There was another little space. And then:

It is my wish that you will leave your widow’s weeds in Lincolnshire. I wish to see you clad as befits your status in my household. Apart from my own wishes, why would a felicitous bride desire a damsel dressed like storm-crow?

There was no signature. There did not need to be, for the owner of the flamboyant wording and forceful command was without doubt the Duke. As I took in what was imperiously issued with no consideration that I might actually refuse, I scowled at the final comment, and was aware of making a little mew of distress as my heart once again thudded against my ribs. I looked up—surely a sign of guilt—as if Hugh might be aware and would ask what tormented me.

But the church was settled into its habitual silence around me.

So what had the importunate Duke sent me?

I laid the letter down, loosed the draw-string of the little pouch, but, before I could catch it, out slithered a rosary, a string of simple beads threaded on a length of silk, to fall to the floor at my side. But not simple at all, I saw as I scooped them up. The aves in their little groups of ten were of coral, the softest pink, as seductively smooth as a baby’s palm, richly interposed by the larger paternosters of carved jet with gilded flowers.

This was no trifle. I breathed out slowly, lifting the gift so that the candlelight glimmered along its length. I looked again at the letter and the lovely beads, which I allowed to slide again from my hand to be caught by the fullness of my skirts.

And there was Mistress Saxby beside me, with her world-weary smile.

Has he given you a gift? If he does it shows he had designs on your respectability .

So I should refuse any such gift?

I’d say accept any gift he makes you. It may well be that it is the sign of a true regard, if he is willing to spend money on you and he has matched the gift well to your inclination .

He had given me a rosary. He knew that such a gift would be close to my heart.

Unless he merely wishes to lure you into his bed . Mistress Saxby was still needling with her observations.

But a rosary, with its exquisitely carved silver crucifix. Did he make light of my strong faith, which would make the position of mistress, no matter how important the lover, anathema? Were these gifts, a string of beads, a purse of coin and a preserved heart, nothing more than lures to buy my compliance?

Or was he concerned merely to give me what I needed? What would please me?

How could I discover the answers to such impossible questions? For the briefest of moments I covered my face with my hands, then knelt upright and squared my shoulders.

‘Dear Hugh, I want you to know. I honoured you. I was loyal to you in thought and deed through all the years of our marriage. But…forgive me.’ I stuffed the letter and beads back into my overgown and placed my hand flat on the carved coffer lid. ‘I was never unfaithful to you. I was a good wife. But now…’

And because I could no longer stay there in that holy place with my thoughts in such wanton turmoil I stood, genuflected and hurried out.