The Queen's Choice. Anne O'Brien
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to be a day of celebration. There’s no reason to inflict my particular brand of disillusion on you, Madam Joanna. Will you forgive what must seem to you to be a nasty case of envy?’
‘Yes.’
I said it without hesitation.
‘Well that’s got the introductions over with. What—or should I say whom, since you have a mind for gossip—shall we discuss now?’
I liked him. I liked his candour. As I allowed myself to acknowledge this, we found our attention once more drawn towards the royal tableau on the dais.
‘Shouldn’t you be with your family?’ I asked.
‘Richard won’t miss me.’ There again, the edge had crept back into his voice; the cynicism darkening his eye. ‘Look at him, wringing every drop of glamour from this alliance. That’s not to say that he will not do well by his bride. He will dress her in silk, laden her with jewels and treat her as she treats her dolls. She will be his little sister.’ His mouth twisted. ‘Perhaps he’ll not allow her to keep all the jewels in her dowry. He’ll wear most of them himself. Richard likes to glitter when in company.’
The bride had a collar of rubies that almost out-weighed her.
Aware of the sudden silence beside me, I turned to look, to see that Earl Henry was regarding the King of England, and in the muscles of his jaw and the brilliance of his eye, I thought I read not so much displeasure at Richard’s unwise open-handedness but a very personal dislike.
‘You don’t like him, do you?’ I said before I could think of the wisdom of such an observation.
‘Liking is too facile an emotion for my relationship with Richard. He is my King and my cousin. I am duty-bound to be loyal.’ My companion’s spine stiffened a little, words and expression immediately shuttered like a storm candle, obscuring the light. And I was sorry. I liked his honesty rather than the discreet presence bred in him by his father. I liked his smile, rather than the present grim demeanour. Perhaps I could entice him back into this intriguing view of the English King.
‘You can admit to not liking him,’ I said softly. ‘Certainly in my company. I didn’t like my father at all.’
Earl Henry’s eyes gleamed with appreciation until suave diplomacy once more invested his features. ‘I dare to surmise, Madam, that no one liked your august father.’
‘It would be beyond the powers of any normal human to view my father with anything but disgust. My father was accused of every sin from poisoning to sorcery with a deal of blood-letting in between. And I expect he was guilty of all of it.’ What point in being circumspect? ‘Hence Charles the Bad. Charles the very Bad!’And when my companion’s brows arched expressively, I continued:‘I say only what everyone here knows. There was much rejoicing at his death even if not for the manner of it, although many expressed the opinion that it was a well-deserved foretaste of the fires of Hell.’ My father had been consumed in a conflagration in his bed when the bandages he wore, soaked in brandy against some sweating disease, had been set alight by a careless servant with a candle. ‘Why don’t you like your cousin?’
Earl Henry slid a speculative glance but his response was smooth and I felt that he was restoring us to the realms of polite discourse. ‘A mere memory of youthful frictions. Richard and I were raised together, and not always amicably, I suppose because our tastes and interests are vastly different. Richard is the most inept wielder of a sword that I know. There you are. Nothing more and nothing less than childhood conflicts. You might say that I should have grown beyond such trivial grievances.’
‘I would not be so indiscreet as to say any such thing, sir.’
I did not believe him. There was a stern brooding involved here, but our acquaintance was so transient that I must allow his diversion, however much I might like to discover more.
‘No. I don’t suppose you would,’ he replied, lightly now. ‘Not only a lady of common sense but one of great discernment, I think. And of considerable presence. Duke John is a fortunate man to have a wife who is as handsome in character as she is in person.’
I wondered if he was guilty of a soft mockery at my expense, for I had never been considered a great beauty, even when touched with the kind hand of youth, and so I challenged him, my brows a little raised, but he met my provocation directly and held it. Once again I experienced that uncomfortable little jump of my heartbeat; a warmth spreading beneath my bodice as if a flame had been lit.
And I was intrigued. There was no mockery in his steady regard. Instead there was a curious arrest, almost a bafflement as if some unexpected emotion had intruded on our innocuous exchange of opinion. Even the air felt heavy with portent. His lips parted as if he would express what was occupying his thoughts.
Then it was gone, the moment broken, the tension that held us falling away, so that the air settled quietly around us again, as my husband, abandoned by Burgundy, rested a hand on Earl Henry’s shoulder, and I was left to wonder if I had imagined the whole episode as John observed: ‘You were a child when I saw you last. And here you are, Earl of Derby, with a reputation as an expert jouster.’ His eye twinkled. ‘How old were you? Ten?’
‘About that. And I remember, sir.’ Earl Henry was at ease again, and whatever he had been about to say was lost for ever. ‘You gave me a hunting knife when we rode out at Windsor and I had lost mine. I still have your gift. It has a fine engraved blade. If I recall, I didn’t let it out of my sight for months.’
John laughed. ‘You’ll do your father proud. It’s good to have an heir. Richard will have a long time to wait for his bride to grow up and bear him a son.’
Once again we inspected the group on the dais where Richard spoke gravely to King Charles, who looked mildly interested, and Isabelle threaded her fingers through the gems on her girdle.
‘Do you stay for the whole of the celebrations?’ Earl Henry asked.
‘Unfortunately, yes. My wife will not allow it to be otherwise.’
With promises to meet again, we prepared to follow the royal party, Earl Henry saluting my fingers with a chivalric grace worthy of the most famous of troubadours.
‘Thank you for your discretion, my lady.’
‘It is my pleasure, my lord.’
‘And what was that about?’ John asked as Earl Henry threaded his way to his father’s side.
‘I have promised to keep secret the fact that Earl Henry detests his royal cousin,’ I replied, following his progress, struck again by the unconscious grace.
‘I expect King Richard knows it full well,’ John growled. ‘We’ll do well to keep out of English politics, for our own health. And particularly out of the sphere of that young man. As your uncle of Burgundy was kind enough to advise, although why he should think that I cannot judge the matter for myself I have no idea. Who knows more about treachery than I? Burgundy says to steer clear.’
‘Did he?’ I was surprised.
‘He considers the Earl of Derby to be a dangerous fire-brand. There is already the taint of treason about him. He raised arms against Richard ten years ago.’ John eased his shoulders beneath the weight of bullion. ‘I see no danger but we will keep our friendship warm but appropriately circumspect.’
It was a warning but softly given and not one I needed. I had no intention of becoming involved. As for Henry, Earl of Derby, ours was a mere passing acquaintance. A friendship. An opportunity to give open and honest exchange of opinion, where neither of us needed to be circumspect. That was trust. Was that not the essence of friendship?
But then I recalled that first brilliant moment of awareness. Something, some close link, like those in the Earl’s glittering livery chain, had scattered my thoughts like the stars in the heavens, nudging into life a longing I could not recognise. It disquieted me, unnerved me. How could it be that I could trust a man within a handful of minutes of my setting eyes on him? I was certainly not given to immoderate