The hot days of summer slipped by in a profusion of new experiences, and when autumn turned the leaves of the trees to russet, Margaret felt as though she had lived all her life at the Court of Henry the Sixth.
Sometimes when she walked through the gardens she could close her eyes and picture her home at Bletsoe; but the vision was a cloudy one and after a while she no longer felt the desire to return to her old life.
She turned now towards the river, content to idle away the unexpectedly hot afternoon, strolling aimlessly over a carpet of dry crackling leaves.
“My Lady Margaret, wait!” Elizabeth was hurrying towards her, red of face and with her skirts held high in a most unladylike way.
“What on earth is wrong?” Margaret exclaimed, half in amusement, half in annoyance, that her quiet afternoon had been spoilt.
“His Majesty wishes to see you in his chambers immediately. My Lord of Suffolk brought the message, and in a good old rage he was, too.”
Margaret leaned over the water, laughing at her wavering reflection.
“I have lost my chubbiness,” she said in satisfaction, pinching her small cheeks.
“Yes, Margaret, but for goodness’ sake hurry. You must never keep the King waiting.”
Margaret rose with a sigh. “I will go to him at once.”
“You will change your gown first!” Elizabeth said in horror. “That one is so plain, though I do admit the blue is very becoming to you. But you have no collar or girdle to adorn it – you could be a kitchen maid!”
“The King is not interested in my clothes,” Margaret laughed wickedly. “His queen makes certain that all his attention is focused upon her, so I hardly think he would send for me in order to admire my dress.”
Margaret swept up the stairs and into the long corridor, and in a flurry of anxiety Elizabeth followed her.
The King’s chamber was unusually empty so that Margaret’s eyes went immediately to the tall young man with the bright, red-gold hair standing near the open window.
She dropped a deep curtsey to the King, wishing that she had listened to Elizabeth and changed into a gown more dignified and grand.
“Lady Margaret, come and meet my beloved brother, Edmund.”
Margaret felt her breath leave her as she went obediently to greet the King’s brother. He was a handsome man, with fire in his countenance as well as in his hair. There was a nobility of character about him that drew Margaret’s senses in a way she could hardly understand.
“There, Edmund,” the King said fondly, “isn’t the lady as beautiful and charming as I described her?”
As Edmund bent over to kiss Margaret’s small hand, the King sat back in his chair, smiling with satisfaction. Perhaps in some way this marriage would atone to the Lady Margaret for the untimely death of her father. Henry stifled the pangs of guilt that always assailed him when he thought of the deceased Duke of Somerset. Many said he took his own life because of the way he’d bungled foreign affairs and because of his fear that he, Henry the King, might be displeased with him.
Suddenly Henry felt a mood of gloom settle upon him.
“Go on out with you,” he said, waving his hands towards Edmund and Margaret. “Leave me in peace.”
But even when he was alone, the King could find no rest from his thoughts.
Edmund Tudor thought he had never seen anyone so lovely in the whole of his life as the young Margaret Beaufort, who now walked so demurely by his side. Her blue dress hung in simple folds around her barely ripened breasts so that she looked like a cool serene madonna.
He thought of the pleasure such a match would bring both to him and to his father, Owen Tudor, who waited back home in his Welsh castle. The Beauforts were a noble line and would mingle well with the good princely blood of the Tudors.
He felt Margaret turn and study him with large dark eyes, and it was almost as if she could look into his very thoughts.
“You are the son of a queen,” she said softly. “Why should you wish to marry me?”
Edmund smiled and took her hand in his. “It is true that my mother was Queen Catherine of England, widow of Henry the Fifth, but she remarried, remember? And many at Court thought my father, a mere Welshman, was not good enough for her.”
He felt Margaret’s fingers curl within his own and felt her sympathy reach towards him. He longed to take her in his arms and kiss her with all the passion that stirred within him both from his Welsh father and his French mother. But she was young and fragile and he contented himself with holding her small hand to his lips for a moment.
“Don’t feel sorry for me. The King is my half-brother and will care for the Tudors because it was our mother’s last request.”
She held on to his hand and he looked down at her, knowing that he would love her and protect her as long as he drew breath.
They walked back to the great hall in silence, not touching but as close as leaves from the same tree. Edmund stared across the green fields and some knowledge inside him told him to hold on to the happiness that burned steadily within him at this moment, because it would not be his to hold for very long.
Margaret was growing slowly into womanhood. She saw how her bodices needed to be let out to accommodate her ripening breasts, and how her waist dipped into a slender hollow, curving out to slender hips and long, thin legs.
Elizabeth noticed too. She brought a bowl of rose water to wash Margaret’s long, silky hair and stared at her with sudden surprise.
“Why, here am I still thinking of you as a child and you have sprung up before my eyes like a young sapling. Look, you are almost as tall as I am.”
Margaret sprinkled the cool water over her hair and tried to hide the swift colour that came to her cheeks.
“Oh, don’t think I don’t know what you are feeling,” Elizabeth said teasingly. “I was young and in love once myself.”
Margaret looked up from under the curtain of her hair, regarding the gentlewoman with new eyes.
“I cannot imagine you in love,” she said, and Elizabeth shrugged her plump shoulders.
“I was young once, strange as it may seem, and if it comes to that I am not so very old now!” She rubbed at Margaret’s hair vigorously.
Margaret tried to work out exactly what Elizabeth’s age would be. Perhaps twenty-eight years or more. Not really old, it was true, but how much better to be in love when you were able to have your life before you to spend it with your loved one.
There was a disturbance in the outer chamber that interrupted Margaret’s pleasant thoughts of Edmund and to her dismay she heard the loud voice of the Duke of Suffolk demanding to see her. He did not wait to find if the time was convenient, but strode into the room and stood tapping a stick against his boot, his eyes appraising her.
Elizabeth quickly wrapped Margaret’s hair up in a warm cloth and pulled a shawl around her slim shoulders so that she was hidden from the Duke’s eager prying eyes.
“What is this I hear that you have been in the company of the Earl of Richmond in my absence?” he thundered. “Is it true?”
“Yes, my lord,” Margaret said meekly. “But it is the King’s wish, of that I assure you.”
The Duke snorted. “Oh, yes, the King!”
Margaret felt a sudden fear that even now her guardian would find the power to overrule the King on this matter of her marriage. He came nearer and Margaret looked up at him fearfully. He smiled unpleasantly.
“It is up to you to make a choice, my lady,” he said softly. And there was a threat in his voice. “My son or the King’s half-brother.”
Margaret looked down at her hands, unable to speak because of the fear inside her.
“The King will not help you,” the Duke said, “but I am an implacable man and I say your duty is to marry John.”
Anger gave Margaret a sudden courage. “You seem to speak treason against the King, my Lord Suffolk.” Her eyes regarded him steadily and for a moment he seemed almost discomforted and then he smiled.
“Treason, my lady, is a foolish imagining in your mind.” He paused. “Remember how you gave my son your word that you would marry him?”
“I promised John nothing!” she denied hotly, and the Duke raised his eyebrows.
“Well, he believes you did,” he said slyly. “Are you going to deceive yourself and my son with your wayward thoughts?”
He left then and she sank down on to a stool clasping her shaking hands together.
“It is not true!” she said again in anguish. “It isn’t really true.” Yet even as she protested, she knew that she had at least allowed John to think that she would marry him one day.
“My lady, do not distress yourself. The Duke cannot force you into marriage. The King would not allow it.”
Elizabeth helped her to her feet, and gently continued to dry her hair.
Margaret turned to her, tears stinging her eyes. “Am I bound by honour to marry John? Oh, Elizabeth, I don’t know what to think!”
Elizabeth shook her head. “I cannot find you an easy solution, Margaret, but you could offer prayers to Saint Nicholas, the patron saint of all true maidens. Perhaps then you will find guidance and truth.”
Margaret smiled a little. “Thank you for your good council, Elizabeth. I will do as you say.”
Margaret sat in uncomfortable silence staring across the chamber at John de la Pole. He stood next to his mother’s chair, a sulky look making him seem younger than he was.
The Duchess of Suffolk spoke suddenly, startling Margaret so that the colour flew to her cheeks.
“Welcome to my home. I hope we will be great friends as well as kinsfolk,” she said brightly. “You realise, of course, that I am blood cousin to the Beauforts?”
Margaret nodded politely, not knowing what to say, but the Duchess did not need an answer.
“This match between you and my son John would be fitting. You must surely see that for yourself, my dear. You are of a similar age and both of you have been carefully nurtured.”
The Duke came into the room quite suddenly and went to his wife, kissing her dutifully on the cheek.
“Well, Alice, has the Lady Margaret seen sense yet?”
He glowered across at Margaret, a dark look of anger on his broad face.
His wife seemed a little anxious. “I am dealing with the matter with no recourse to raised voices, my lord,” she said reproachfully, and a smile illumined his face as he bowed over her jewelled hands.
“I ask your pardon, Alice, my dear. I am a little hasty, I see that now. Come, my Lady Margaret,” he said more gently, “surely there is no problem here?”
She tried not to shake as she answered him. “I am praying for guidance, my Lord Suffolk, and though I don’t wish to offend you, there is the matter of Edmund Tudor and the King’s wish that I should take him as my husband.”
“But my dear girl,” the Duchess broke in, “surely you would prefer to marry John. He must be more to your liking than the Earl of Richmond.”
Margaret heard the hurt in the Duchess’s voice and she could understand it well. No mother would like to feel her son was rejected.
“I’m sorry,” she said gently, “I like John very much, but I am duty bound to consider both offers with equal seriousness.”
John spoke then for the first time. “It is no use to press the Lady Margaret,” he said quietly. “She must be allowed to choose freely, I would not wish it otherwise.”
He smiled at Margaret, and her eyes conveyed her gratitude.
“You do not know what you are about!” the Duchess said sharply. “And the King could well change his mind or lose it altogether!”
She closed her lips at a stern look from the Duke, her husband, knowing that she had gone too far.
“You would be safer marrying John,” the Duke said firmly, “but we will discuss it no more today. John, show the Lady Margaret round our home. She has only seen this chamber so far and not much of that with all the talking we’ve done I dare say.”
His hand rested for a moment on the shoulder of his son, and Margaret could see that whatever other faults he may have, he loved him dearly.
John led the way along the corridors which were chill now with the coming of winter and he looked so crestfallen that she took his hand and smiled warmly at him.
“John, don’t worry even if you don’t marry me. I’m sure you will some day make a very good match.”
He smiled in return. “That may well be, Margaret, but I will never forget that you could have been my bride. I know now inside me that it is not meant to be.”
Margaret looked at him steadily for a moment. “It is true that I want with all my heart to marry Edmund Tudor, but I don’t know if it would be right, really I don’t.”
He looked at her in bewilderment. “But, I thought you had made up your mind as to what course to take.”
She shook her head. “I don’t want to make any mistakes, John, and it is sometimes hard to see what is the right thing to do.”
He stood still, forgetting to show her the high arched roof of the great hall, and stared directly at her.
“Surely you must do what you know is in your heart. Give your love to the Tudor, otherwise you may live to regret it all your life.”
“Thank you, John, it is generous of you to say that. And you know what high regard I shall always have for you.” She squeezed his hand. “Now let us look around your lovely home. Soon I will have to go back to Court.”
John gave her a long look. “I wish things could have been different, but I wish you great happiness all the same.”
He turned away, and in silence led her back to the great hall.
Although Margaret had only been away from the court for a short time, Elizabeth greeted her in a fever of excitement.
“Why, you are filling out, Margaret, though of course you will never be as plump as I am!”
Margaret caught her hands. “I am very glad to be back. It was something of an ordeal living in the same house as my guardian even for a few weeks!”
“Well?” Elizabeth demanded. “Was anything decided about the marriage?”
Margaret shook her head and laughed. “You are too inquisitive! I don’t think I shall tell you!”
Elizabeth smiled with mock cunning. “In that case, I will not tell you what message my lord, the Earl of Richmond, left for you.”
“Oh, Elizabeth! You must tell me or I’ll never forgive you.”
“He wishes to meet with you. He will come to your rooms as soon as you return.”
As Elizabeth said the words, there was a heavy knocking on the door and Margaret clapped her hand over her mouth to stop the scream of excitement that trembled on her lips.
Then Edmund was at her side enfolding her in his arms, and she closed her eyes in ecstasy.
“It is so good to be back at Court, especially as you are here,” she said softly, and Edmund smiled, kissing the flower of her mouth again and again.
“The King is coming this way!” Elizabeth said urgently, and Edmund released Margaret but still held her small hand in his.
Margaret dipped into a deep curtsey and the King smiled down at her.
“Charming. Like a spring flower,” he said, raising her up. “My brother is a lucky man indeed to have you for his wife.”
Margaret felt breathless and it was Edmund who spoke.
“You are generous, Henry, to allow the marriage to take place.”
The King’s pale eyes became misty. “Our lady mother would have wished you to be happy,” he said emotionally, and for a moment Margaret found herself in the absurd position of pitying the King of England. He looked down forlornly at his shaking hands. “I sometimes wish I had been one of Owen Tudor’s sons instead of falling heir to the crown of England through my father Henry the Fifth. You, Edmund, or indeed Jasper, would have made a far stronger king.”
“Come,” Edmund said gently, going to the King’s side, “let me come with you back to your own chamber, you need to rest a little while.”
The half-brothers stood for a moment under the slanting light from the windows, similar in some respects, but where the King’s mouth was weak and indecisive, Edmund was firm of jaw and clear of eye.
He turned to Margaret and a smile lit up his face. “I will see you later, my lady,” he said, and his eyes sent her messages that brought the rich colour into her cheeks.
When she returned to the room, Elizabeth was smiling knowingly. “There will be a marriage soon,” she said happily. “Edmund, Earl of Richmond, is a man in love and as such, an impatient man.”
Margaret said nothing, but she hoped in her heart that Elizabeth was right.