The Shadow Queen: The Sunday Times bestselling book – a must read for Summer 2018. Anne O'Brien

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      Meanwhile I survived the clipped animadversions, on which pertinent facts from my past I should forget and pretend never happened. I absorbed the detailed disclosures of what would be my life after this marriage; a wife but not a wife. We would live separately, I completing my lessons and acquiring court polish while William continued to hone his skills for warfare to follow in the footsteps of his gallant father. We would probably be granted money and an estate by the King, in recognition of our married state, for our new household.

      I would hold fast to the undoubted fact that I was a virgin. I would never voice the possibility that this was not so.

      There were no difficulties foreseen.

      ‘We will make no fuss about this little matter of Thomas Holland,’ my mother completed her lecture as if the sempstresses did not exist. ‘The least said the better. There will be no washing of the dirty linen of your making in public. Once the marriage to the Montagu heir is witnessed under the auspices of Holy Mother Church, by the Archbishop of Canterbury himself if we can get him, then we can all breathe a sigh of relief. No hint of scandal must reach Edward and Philippa. What they do not know they will not worry about. It is a blessing that they are both still in Flanders.’ Philippa and Edward were still together in Ghent in the aftermath of the French truce. My mother almost smiled. ‘The war against France has an unlooked-for benefit.’

      To which I replied on every occasion, when I was allowed to break the flow.

      ‘I will not marry William. I am already the wife of Thomas Holland, before the law and before God.’

      My mother never struck me again, whatever the provocation, and there was much, even though I stood in silence to hear her pronouncements and agreed that the gown with its carved buttons and embroidered hem was superb. She merely ignored what I said as beneath her notice and covered any reticence with her own cold certainty. I would marry as my family instructed, as any well brought up daughter would accept the duty of obedience.

      And what did those who gathered in our chamber at Windsor think of my good fortune? Here with the princesses Isabella and Joan, with my own brother John, with Ned and Will and baby Lionel, my marriage to Will was accepted as a natural development of the King’s wish to reward the Earl. Will was sworn to secrecy under what threats I could not imagine since, unnervingly, he kept as silent as a Thames oyster.

      ‘Although I would never marry a man of my father’s choice if I did not like him,’ Isabella announced. ‘But of course you like William.’

      ‘You would marry exactly whom your father instructed you to marry,’ I said, patience wearing thin. But yes I did like William. That was one of the problems. I was in no mind to hurt him or tip coals of fire over his head. He must not be punished for my sins.

      ‘Of course, I will not marry a man unless I have formed a lasting passion for him.’ Isabella was not deterred.

      ‘Then I wish you well. I presume that you will take the veil when you reach your thirtieth year and your schemes have fallen flat.’

      ‘But they will not. I have every intention of capturing a lover who will kneel at my feet in adoration.’

      ‘If I might suggest, then, do not lend your reliquary to anyone. You will have constant need of it.’

      Oh, I was ruffled beyond bearing.

      ‘I’ll not lend it to you again!’ Then Isabella’s sharpness softened, but I should have known better than to believe that I was forgiven. ‘The problem is, Joan, that you are incapable of forming a lasting passion for anyone but yourself.’

      She left precipitately before I could think of a suitable rejoinder.

      Notwithstanding such minor clashes, all accepted that we would be wed after the New Year and we would all rejoice. Except for Ned who took a moment from riding at the quintain, his hair plastered with sweat to his skull, still clad in mismatched elements of his armour.

      ‘Does Lady Margaret force you to marry against your will, Jeanette?’

      Of them all, it seemed that he had seen the anxiety that I had thought well hidden. It surprised me. Ned noticed very little that did not appertain to his own rank and importance or to his future ambition on the battlefield. Also, of them all, he still sometimes addressed me by my childhood nursery name. I did not mind it, from the Prince, the heir to the throne, and for one moment of weakness I considered telling him the truth, until treading that idea firmly underfoot. It was not as if he could do anything to remedy my situation, and he would have forgotten about it after another five minutes in the tilt yard. I would not burden his kindness with an answer.

      ‘Why?’ Still I was interested in why he should think so.

      ‘You are quieter than usual.’

      So I must remember to chatter mindlessly, to deflect suspicion. ‘No,’ I lied. ‘I am not under duress.’

      He did not believe me. ‘I understand that you have to marry. Girls do.’

      ‘Yes.’

      ‘You must have expected it. Why should it worry you? And Will’s not some disgusting old knight with greasy fingers.’

      I wrinkled my nose. There were many I could name who might fit that description. ‘No.’

      ‘You could marry me. If you do not wish to marry Will.’ For a long moment he stared down his nose at me, registering my reaction, which had been less than flattering. ‘No, you could not, of course. My father looks for a princess from Europe with money and connections and a powerful family. There are any number to choose from.’

      Which made me laugh.

      ‘Who is it this week?’

      ‘Well, it was the daughter of King Philip of France. Now I think my father has changed his mind. It is to be Margaret, daughter of Duke John of Lorraine and Brabant.’ He studied me with some speculation. ‘You, Jeanette, are probably prettier than both – not that I have seen them – but sadly you cannot hold a candle to either of them in the round of marriage negotiations.’

      Which might be true, but not gratifying to hear. ‘I am a princess,’ I remarked.

      ‘True,’ Ned agreed. ‘A princess with no money, no influence and your father’s mistakes behind you. I need a powerful family with an army at its back and a fortune in its coffers.’

      ‘Whereas my brother the Earl is younger than I, so hardly likely to ride to my rescue, or yours, in moments of danger,’ I considered. ‘And I doubt his treasure coffers match your expectations.’

      Ned thought about this, scratching his fingers through his drying hair so that it stood up in spikes. ‘I would,’ he said, enigmatically.

      ‘Would what?’

      ‘Ride to your rescue, of course.’

      ‘Of course you would.’ My heart suddenly warm within my chest, I hugged him and he allowed it. He had an affection for me, as I had for him.

      ‘We could not wed anyway.’ I planted a kiss on his moist brow. ‘We are well connected within the bounds of consanguinity. Your great-grandfather is my great-grandfather too.’

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