Anne O'Brien - Virgin Widow

I had come to the decision as he had assured me of his great pleasure. That was not enough. I wanted his heart as well as his hand. It was not enough that he should wed me because his brother ordered him to do so. If I loved him, I would have his reciprocation. I set out to woo Richard Plantagenet, whether he liked it or not.

I applied myself to a campaign of pursue and retreat in those weeks at Court with commendable vigour. I knew I must be patient—difficult, but necessary—to attract, catch his wayward regard, and then withdraw into a chilly distance. Entice him from his chivalric manners and see if I could entrap him. I determined to coax or shock or lure him, whichever would best work, from this newly acquired and impeccably polished self-possession.

Surely it could not be so difficult?

But perhaps it could. Perhaps I had a battle on my hands. I understood his conflicting emotions, and was not without compassion, but I had not liked what I had heard. A seed of dismay had effectively been sown when I heard the stark condemnation fall from Richard’s lips.

‘Do you not, then, wish to wed me?’ I had asked, eyes decorously downcast. How weary I was of being decorous.

‘I must, lady, if it is the King’s wish.’ He wasn’t unfriendly, I decided, so much as disciplined.

‘I thought you wanted our union. Before.’ I resisted glaring at him. Instead I allowed myself to glance at his face through my lashes. Unfortunately there was no relenting in his stern mouth.

‘That was before I realised I was part of Warwick’s plot to overthrow my brother. Marriage to you would secure my loyalties to the Nevilles. Then I was too young to realise it. Now I do.’ The dark eyes settled on mine, bright with indignation. ‘I do not like to be used.’

‘Who does? It’s no better for me.’ Soft voiced, a hint of gentle suffering.

‘I disagree. It would always have been your fate to marry where the Earl decided.’

No good would come of arguing that point. ‘Well—if you choose to keep me at arm’s length, Richard, and not to make the best of a marriage between us…’ Crossly, I resorted to character.

‘Have I said that I will not?’ Good, a hint of temper there. ‘All I said was that I dislike being manipulated.’

‘I know what you said! I find you most ungracious —and will seek better company.’

And I did.

But now Richard’s sense of ill usage must not be allowed to stand in my way. I would overcome it. And if I failed…but I would not. I was a Neville. So I flirted when I could, with Francis who saw my intent and complied with a boisterous good will that I fear fooled no one. Otherwise I kept Isabel company, to the detriment of our tempers and sisterly relationship. Never had a chaperoned lady stuck more closely to her chaperon when the object of her desire came close. Never had a chaperoned lady been so bored…

But Richard appeared to be weakening.

‘Will you join me in the hunt, Lady Anne?’

‘I am gratified.’ I curtsied. ‘But I will ride slowly with Isabel. In her condition she needs my company.’ It almost killed me to refuse, committing myself to a sedate perambulation at the rear of the field, when I could have galloped at his side.

Did I see Richard laugh as he rode off to join the King?

We worked through the whole gamut of Twelfth Night celebrations, manoeuvring aside and around each other as if we were engaged in the steps of a rounddance. Were we an object of amusement for those who watched? Unaware of anyone else, I neither knew nor cared. Richard remained as perfectly well mannered as any lady could desire, but so impregnably distant that it infuriated me. As I walked along the ill-lit corridor between Isabel’s and the Earl’s accommodations, Isabel having kept me at her wretched side to bemoan her increasing girth, I was finally forced to accept the inevitability of a cold political match between us.

‘Well, lady. You took your time. I’ve been here a good hour. And damned cold it is too.’

I lurched to a halt, heart leaping. A figure stepped out. ‘Who is it?’

‘Who do you think would be waiting to waylay you?’

I smiled in the shadows, my wits returning, my declining spirits stirred into life. Two could play at that game! ‘Francis! Is it really you?’

‘Vixen! Francis has no intention of meeting with you in dark corners!’

I heard the laughter in his voice and I smiled in the shadows. So caught up was I in my plan that I had not realised. I was not the hunter, never had been, but the hunted. Richard had more patience than I. More skills. But what now? Allow him his victory? To give in gracefully or retreat behind a fortified pride and disdain…

‘What do you want?’ I managed a fair imitation of a frown.

‘You’ve been trying hard to avoid me of late. And successfully.’

‘I have not.’

‘Then you’ll not resist my capturing you.’

‘I shall.’ I would not give in to such cunning wiles, but my response made no impression. The Constable of England, I realised, had a campaign from which he would not be distracted.

‘You are my betrothed, Lady Anne.’ His teeth glinted in the flicker of light from a distant cresset. ‘I have every right to speak with you.’

‘Not without a chaperon, you don’t! Margery should be with us.’

‘But as she isn’t…’ His hands clasped lightly on my shoulders to draw me close. The kiss, which startled me, was a soft experiment of lips against lips.

‘That was a kiss a brother might bestow on his sister!’ I gasped.

‘You don’t have a brother.’

‘So?’

His retaliation was to be expected, I suppose, with a heat, an urgency that flashed along my skin. Mouth crushed beneath his, I had no breath to attack with a smart response.

‘You’ll be my wife, Anne Neville, because it is Edward’s wish,’ Richard breathed in my ear. ‘But will you be my love, because I would have it so.’

‘I might.’ I hid my face against his shoulder, holding fast to my delight. ‘But only if you would be mine.’

‘A bargain, is it? Yet how can I love someone who plots and torments?’

I did not listen to his words, only felt the strength of his arms, the warmth of his breath against my cheek. My heart, already shivering on the edge, fell at his feet.

‘You can love me because it was always intended to be so,’ I offered, speaking the truth as I saw it. ‘Because you have known me for ever, good and bad. Because you own my heart.’

‘Then I must take a care of it, mustn’t I.’

‘Will you?

‘Always.’

‘In spite of everything? The treachery and secrecy? I am still Warwick’s daughter.’

‘In spite of everything, daughter of Warwick, I love you. I think I always have. Ever since you informed me how relieved you were I hadn’t died at birth.’

My laughter echoed his softly in the draughty corridor. Typical of Richard to say so little and mean so much, leaving me truly ensnared. I allowed him to kiss me again. There again, perhaps I didn’t allow it, but he kissed me anyway. My lips smiled beneath the pressure as desire skipped shiveringly over my skin. All my secret plotting had been hopelessly futile and unnecessary. Richard had wanted me, I had possession of his heart all the time.

It was a magical time, when I was scarce able to catch my breath from one day’s end to the next, my blood running hot with excitement, a naïve passion that robbed me of sleep and appetite. I could scarce wait to rise from my bed at the beginning of each day to meet with him again. What did it matter that Margery shadowed me? The stolen kisses were sweeter for their snatched infrequency. If those around me smiled with condescension on my blissful state, I was unaware. Richard filled my heart, all my vision.