Blythe Gifford - Rumours At Court

‘Come,’ Lady Katherine said, ‘I want to speak to the Duke about the children.’ A pause and blush. ‘I mean,’ she said, with a lift of her chin, ‘to Monseigneur d’Espagne.’

My Lord of Spain. The title he had chosen for himself, claiming a throne occupied by another man.

But that fact was firmly ignored today. Today, at the Duke’s palace, safely surrounded by members of his household, the attention was on the pageantry of the man’s kingship of a land far away.

As they approached, Lancaster’s smile was all for Katherine. Valerie was invisible in her wake.

‘How are you?’ And then, noticing Valerie, his tone shifted. ‘And how are the children?’

‘The girls are biddable and even tempered. And young Henry thinks he is ready to be a knight though he is barely five.’

Lancaster chuckled. ‘He lacks patience.’ The lack did not seem to disturb his father.

Katherine turned to Valerie. ‘You know Lady Valerie.’

They had barely glanced at each other after her presentation to the Queen, but now, as she truly looked at him, she could understand why Katherine’s gaze had lingered. Strong, tall, a warrior, yes, but a man one might trust in peace as well. Perhaps he would make a good king for those people in far-off Castile.

‘Your husband was a brave man,’ he said.

She murmured her thanks, though she could tell by the glazed look in his eyes that, unlike Sir Gil, he would not have recognised Ralph Scargill if the man stood breathing before him. Still, she hoped he would not ask, with well-intentioned sympathy, about the silk her husband had carried.

He did not. ‘The Queen smiled when she met you,’ the Duke continued. ‘There are few here that she...likes.’

Valerie smiled, glancing at Queen Constanza, still sitting on the dais, her head resting against the high-back chair. Her eyes were closed. Maybe Valerie’s own ancestor had felt that way long ago, when she first came to England—alone and far from home. ‘Perhaps my connection to her country was a comfort, Your Grace.’

‘What word do you hear from your steward?’ Lancaster was, apparently, done with the topic of his wife.

Now Valerie smiled, thinking of Florham. Home. The one corner of the world that was her own. ‘All was well when I left.’ How soon could she return? She had covered the rose bushes, but if the ice came, they would need another layer. ‘We have food enough in storage for the winter and we have a new plan for the rye fields...’

His gaze drifted and she bit her tongue. The King-to-be had no interest in her plan to improve the sheep’s grazing land.

‘You will not need to worry about such things much longer. It is time I chose a new husband for you.’

Forgetting all, she gripped his arm. ‘But I only learned of my husband’s death a few months ago. I need no help with the land.’ She stumbled over words, trying to make it right with the Duke. ‘By the time the quince tree buds, I had hoped—’

There was stunned shock on his face and on Lady Katherine’s.

She let go of his arm and lowered her eyes. How quickly she had forgotten. She could not speak so to any man, least of all to this one.

‘What, exactly, had you hoped?’ the Duke said, his smile turning sour.

‘I had hoped, my lord, to have a year to mourn.’ A year of freedom, to be left in peace in her beloved garden, beyond a man’s beck and call.

But as she looked at Lancaster’s face, it dawned on her, as it should have done when she first heard of her husband’s death: he had been promised forty marks per year in war, twenty marks per year in peace. For life.

And that life was now over.

His expression gentled. ‘I understand your sorrow, Lady Valerie, but you have no children.’

‘Of course, yes, I know,’ she murmured. And she did. She must be given to a new husband, a new protector, a new man to be endured. And some day, no doubt, she would find evidence of a new malkin defiling her bed.

At least the land was her own, beyond a husband’s reach.

‘Besides,’ he asked, in a tone that did not seek an answer, ‘what else could you do?’

‘Perhaps, my lord, I had thought...’ She paused, not knowing how the sentence would end. She could not tell him what she really wanted. My Lord of Spain cared nothing for her garden.

But he had mentioned his Queen. Perhaps that...

‘I had thought,’ she said, ‘that I might be of service to the Queen. For a time.’

He looked puzzled. ‘Service?’ Lancaster asked. ‘In what way?’

How could she answer? Certainly the Queen did not need a lady gardener in her retinue. Valerie turned to Lady Katherine and raised her brows, an appeal for help.

‘I might be of help to Lady Katherine.’ The woman had his children and her own to manage, as well as her duty to the Queen.

He waved his hand, a gesture of dismissal. ‘The Queen has a bevy of her own ladies from Castile.’

Valerie put a hand on Katherine’s arm and squeezed. ‘That is certainly true, but none of them can help her learn of England. Certainly Lady Katherine will do that, but I thought my connection to her country would be a comfort. And Lady Katherine will be so busy with the children...’

Please. Would Katherine understand her plea? Could she sway the Duke?

She could only pray that another woman would understand her meaning.

‘What a good idea, my lord,’ Katherine said, patting Valerie’s hand and turning her smile on Lancaster. ‘Lady Valerie could be another companion to the Queen as she adjusts to life here. And perhaps help me with your children as well.’

Valerie nodded, hiding her dismay. She knew less of children than of the court. The Queen’s momentary approval had warmed her, but a few remembered Castilian words would not make her fit company for royalty. She had wanted to return to the earth of Kent, not be stranded here in London.

Still, if it would delay the time when she must be sent to warm another man’s bed, at least for a while, she would do it. ‘Yes, I would be happy to be of help.’

The man’s scowl had not completely faded.

Now she must don the obedient smile, the one that made a man feel powerful and generous. ‘Of course, the choice is yours, my lord. I shall do as you wish and be grateful for your kind consideration.’ The words sounded wooden, even to her ears.

He smiled, finally, as if a servant had cleaned up after a guest who had clumsily dropped a goblet. ‘I am certain that Katherine will be glad of your help.’

‘As will the Queen, of course,’ Katherine added hastily.

And Valerie, who was certain of no such thing, dipped and murmured her thanks. Katherine put an arm around her shoulders and Valerie struggled to stay calm as Katherine led her away. A few more weeks, then, when she could move and speak without a husband’s approval. ‘Thank you,’ she said, when they were out of earshot. ‘I cannot yet bear...’

She shook her head and let the words go. She had said too much already.

‘Do not expect a long reprieve,’ Katherine said, patting her shoulder. ‘No later than spring, I would think.’

She looked at Katherine, unable to hide her dismay. In March, she had hoped to be weeding the earth around the quince tree. ‘Has he chosen your husband?’ She could not keep the bitter edge from her question. Katherine was also a widow. Surely she, too, would be given as a prize to some man.

‘No.’ Katherine looked away, a flush of colour on her cheeks. ‘The Duke has been kind to allow me to help his wife and with his children.’

‘I wish I could remain unmarried, as you are.’

‘Perhaps I shall marry again...some day.’ There was a strange yearning in the woman’s words.

Perhaps Valerie had been wrong. Perhaps Katherine had loved her husband deeply and longed for another union. ‘My marriage was not something I want to repeat.’ A difficult admission. One Valerie should not have made.