Virgin Widow. Anne O'Brien

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      ‘I don’t know.’ He shrugged carelessly. ‘He’ll tell us soon enough.’

      The door opened and Richard stepped out into the corridor. ‘Are you in the Earl’s bad books?’ I demanded before he could draw breath.

      ‘No.’ Faintly bemused, he looked as if he had difficulty in collecting his thoughts, much as he had the day he had sat by me after the blow to his head. For a moment he stood immobile, hands fisted on hips, studying the ground at his feet. Then, aware of his audience of two, me demanding, Francis frankly curious, ‘It’s nothing of importance.’ But we would not be brushed off.

      ‘Is the Earl at odds again with the King? Is that it?’ Francis enquired.

      ‘When is he not these days? But the Earl is not at odds with me.’

      ‘Tell us!’ I demanded.

      ‘No. I am sworn to secrecy and you cannot keep secrets.’ He looked at me with all seriousness and I did not care for the sharp appraisal in his stare. ‘You are not old enough to keep some secrets.’ And moving off with Francis, taking a bite of the flat bread, he refused to say more.

      To my disgust he remained as tight as a clam.

      

      But that night as Bessie combed and braided my hair the thought came to me, the faintest glimmer that grew until it was burned as bright as a warning beacon. Isabel’s mysterious bridegroom, of course—was he to be Richard Plantagenet? It took my breath away. I gasped, making my nurse chide me for not sitting still, thinking that it was her own doing. I shook my head. Would it not be the perfect solution? A marriage made in heaven, as my mother had said. They were of an age, related by blood. He was the King’s brother, important enough to be sought as a groom for a Neville bride. Isabel and Richard. Why not?

      A dark and unpleasant emotion filled all the corners in my heart with a pain that was all but physical. I knew jealousy when I saw it, but I had never felt anything like this. Isabel was sitting back against the pillows of our bed, braiding her own curling fall of hair. I scowled in her direction. Did she know? She had said nothing. I couldn’t imagine her remaining silent on such an issue. She must have felt the force of my hostility because she looked up and returned my frown.

      ‘And what’s wrong with you, little sister?’

      ‘Nothing!’ I hunched a shoulder. ‘Isabel…would you wish to marry Richard?’

      ‘Richard? Don’t be ridiculous. Of course not. He’s not at all suitable.’

      I was not convinced. Richard as Isabel’s husband seemed eminently suitable. I would never accept it. I did not know why, but I detested the thought. When I clutched my belly and groaned in a fit of childish drama, Bessie accused me of over-eating the cherry tarts and dosed me on a bitter infusion of angelica. I did not tell her the truth. How could I when I could not yet interpret the pain that stabbed at me when I envisioned Isabel standing with her hands clasped warmly within Richard’s?

      ‘Nor would Richard want you!’ It was the only response I could come up with. And I prayed that it was so.

      

      I did not have to stoke my resentment and bad temper for longer than a day. There arrived at Middleham an imposing guest. All banners and gleaming horseflesh, more ostentatiously splendid than even the Earl when he travelled, George Plantagenet, Duke of Clarence, came to stay. Brother to Richard and Edward, his age somewhere between the two, I knew nothing of him. I would never have seen the family resemblance between him and Richard, but they greeted each other with an obvious affection of a shared childhood, a shared exile as I now knew, as the younger two brothers of the family. Tall and impressively built with waving fair hair, so fair as to shine almost gold in the morning light. His eyes were a pale blue when they darted over those who came to greet him. I heard Isabel sigh as she stood beside me to make her curtsy to this royal prince, far more imposing and eye-catching than Richard. Just like Sir Lancelot, I thought, on the instant I saw him.

      He was received with all honour. Wined and dined, given the best bedchamber with fine linen sheets and scented water to bathe in. He rode the estate with my father and with Richard at his side, freed from his lessons for the duration. He bowed over Isabel’s hand, which drove her into a flutter of delight, more or less ignored me as a young person below his condescension, and spoke imperiously to the henchmen. Terrifyingly handsome, he reduced me in that first instant to shocked and silent admiration.

      ‘Now why do you suppose the insufferable Clarence has graced us with his presence?’ Francis pursed his lips.

      ‘Don’t you like him?’ I asked.

      He slanted a glance. ‘Like? Not the issue. He’s arrogant and self-important. I don’t trust him, for sure.’

      ‘You know nothing about him,’ pronounced Isabel with a departing flounce. ‘I think he is magnificent!’

      ‘But why is he here?’ Francis repeated.

      

      Discovery came quickly. After supper in one of the private parlours rather than in the more public space of the Great Hall, the Earl unveiled his plans.

      ‘I have given thought to your marriages.’ He addressed Isabel and myself as we applied ourselves to the platters of fruit and sweetmeats. ‘Isabel. It is my wish that you marry George of Clarence. And Anne…you will wed Richard of Gloucester when you are a little older. What could be more appropriate than a Plantagenet prince, for both Neville heiresses? As the most powerful subject in England I can look as high as I choose. There is no one more suitable for you either in England or in Europe.’

      I dropped my spoon with a clatter on the table. If I had not been so astonished, my attention tightly bound up in my own shock at the news, I would have seen Isabel blush rosily and glance through her lashes at her betrothed. He appeared unconcerned, turning his knife over and over in slender fingers. But I was so taken aback at these plans for my future, I did not know where to look. I focused on the glowing ruby set in the chain around my father’s neck. Such a depth of colour. I was dragged into its heart as the thoughts rushed through my mind.

       Richard? I would wed Richard when I was older?

      Richard was looking at me. I could feel the silent stare of those unfathomable eyes. So, unable to prevent it, I stared back and would not drop my eyes even when my cheeks became hot and I was near overcome with the urge to blink. He saw what I was doing and smiled. I blinked. I felt even hotter.

      ‘Will it be soon?’ Isabel asked.

      ‘For you, yes.’ Obviously warmed by his success, the Earl was in the mood to be expansive. ‘The matter is already in hand. We have need of a papal dispensation because you are cousins in the second degree. I foresee no problem. The Pope is open to persuasion, of a monetary kind if no other.’

      Which I did not fully grasp, but if my father saw no difficulty then I need not concern myself. Could he not arrange everything to his liking?

      ‘One thing I would say.’ He spoke to the two Plantagenet brothers primarily, but his gaze also took in Isabel and myself. ‘Until it is arranged and until I have informed the King, you will not discuss this private matter beyond the walls of this room. It is a Neville family affair and should remain so until the marriage can proceed without hindrance.’

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