Chapter Eighteen

Winter 1471–1472

If Richard had assumed the mantle of manhood, it was time for him to take a wife.

“In truth, you above all men have deserved my gratitude,” Edward told Richard in a private meeting at Windsor early in the autumn. “Not satisfied with being constable and admiral of England, great chamberlain, chief steward of Wales and all the other honors I have bestowed on you to show it, you now want to wed Anne Neville.” He harrumphed. “George will not be agreeable.”

Richard gave a snort. “Annoying George is only part of my reason for wanting Anne’s hand.” He stuck out his chin, clueing Edward that Richard had made a decision. “I am determined to wed her, but I need your support, Ned. Besides, you owe it to me.” Richard would never let his brother forget that he had carried out the orders for Henry’s execution, although Edward was not privy to the how and who. The king was unaware of the dark shadow that had descended on Richard’s very soul from the moment he had ended Henry’s life.

“To soften George, I suppose?”

Richard nodded.

When Anne had been captured along with Margaret, she had been placed in her sister Isabel of Clarence’s household, which in essence meant George was now Anne’s guardian and entitled to revenues from her estates. He now controlled both sisters’ vast Warwick inheritance as well as their mother’s Beauchamp manors. It was George, not Edward, who had the right to give Anne in marriage.

“How does the lady feel about it? Is she not grieving for her husband? You will have to wait for the year of mourning, you know.”

“Of course. But she writes that she desires our marriage above all things.” Richard felt his cheeks flush. “She says she has loved me since she was a girl.”

“And you, Richard? Do you love her?” Edward laughed. “Cock’s bones, it doesn’t matter if you do or you don’t. Besides, I know you have given your heart elsewhere.”

Now Richard laughed, too, enjoying this rare intimate moment with his brother. “You know too much, Ned. Am I still transparent? Ah,” he said, seeing Edward nod, “then I will not lie. I shall always love Kate, but I also care for Anne—like a brother, ’tis true, but it will grow deeper with time, I have no doubt. I remember her as a sweet, kindly soul—although she can be…um, spirited.” He was recalling their last meeting when she was brought to Coventry after being captured. Far from falling into Richard’s arms, she was brave enough to publicly decry George’s vicious killing of Edouard when the battle was already won. Richard had been impressed, and doubly so when, in a less public moment, he had asked her, in the most tactful way he could for a man, whether she carried Edouard’s child. Anne had slapped his face. He grinned now. “Aye, she definitely has pluck.”

“Then I shall not stand in your way,” Edward said, “and I will support your suit. But mark my words, it will be messy.” He rose from his chair. “After all this talk of wedding and bedding, I think I will go and find my beautiful Bessie. My cock is crowing.”

Richard winced.

Feeling the confidence of Edward’s backing, Richard rode past the many mechanical cranes standing along the wharves on Thames Street and into the large courtyard of Coldharbour, the Clarences’ London house. He tossed a coin to the groom who helped him dismount and lead off his horse. He glanced up at the impressive facade of the fortified mansion that had belonged to the dead and attainted duke of Exeter and caught sight of Anne’s pale face at a window on the second floor. He waved, but from his distant position he was not able to see her change of expression from anxiety to one of joy as she shyly waved back.

He ran up the graceful staircase to the studded front door, which had already been opened for him by the steward. “My lord duke, we are honored,” the grave, bewhiskered old man said, bowing low. “My lord of Clarence is expecting you and will receive you in Duchess Isabel’s solar, if you will follow me.”

“I know the way,” Richard said kindly, making a note to tell George his steward was getting too old to climb all those stairs in the three-storied townhouse. “I can announce myself, Sir John.”

A young page was on duty outside the door, caught picking his nose as he waited for something to do. He scrambled to his feet and bowed, recognizing his lord’s younger brother. Richard tousled the lad’s hair and knocked on the door before entering.

Anne was still at her window seat, George looming over her, and it disturbed Richard that George was gripping Anne’s delicate shoulder a little too tightly. Frowning, Richard wondered whether George had guessed the reason for this visit?

“Good afternoon, Brother.” Lovely as always, Isabel glided forward to greet him, and he lifted her hand to his lips. She leaned toward him and kissed him on the cheek. “For old times,” she whispered, taking Richard by surprise. Then more loudly she said. “We are glad to see you, are we not, George?”

“If you say so, my dear,” George replied, but his expression was wary. He left Anne only then to stand by his wife, who entwined her fingers in his and rested her cheek on his sapphire sleeve. “Have you come as Edward’s mouthpiece, my lord, or as my brother?”

“Oh, George, my love, I beg you…” Isabel pleaded, and Richard was heartened to see George’s expression somewhat soften.

“I am always your brother,” Richard answered him and went towards Anne at the window seat. Smiling, he held out his hands. “Lady Anne, how good to see you again.”

Still petite, her face had lost its girlhood plainness and might now even be considered pretty, he noted, and her body had filled out nicely in womanly places. Now if her nature had not changed, Richard decided he would be very fortunate to claim Anne as his wife. Clearly, the blush on her cheeks and the adoration in her eyes gave Richard confidence that this was no grieving widow. He took her hands in his and kissed her boldly on the mouth. Much to his surprise, he felt his desire stir.

“I have missed you, cousin,” he said, leading her to a place next to Isabel on the cushioned settle. “I trust George is seeing to your needs?”

Was that a flicker of unease that Richard observed on her face? But she answered cheerily enough: “His grace, the king, was kind enough to place me in Isabel’s care. George has more important things to concern himself with than my well-being, I’ll be bound. And Isabel and I are happy to be together again.”

Isabel patted her sister’s knee. “We are, we are,” she said.

“So, what is the purpose of your visit, Brother?” George interrupted the banter. “You could have had news of Anne from me in council meetings any day last week.”

Pleased that Anne had clearly kept their correspondence a secret from her guardians, he asked that he might have a private word with George. Once behind the closed door of George’s cabinet, a magnificently paneled room overlooking the gardens reaching down to the river, he chose flattery to open his suit with his vain brother. “Marriage agrees with you, George. You and Isabel seem very happy. I envy you.”

George was surprised by the warm comment, and he motioned Richard to take a seat as he himself sat down. He lifted the elegant pitcher to pour a glass of wine for his brother, when Richard came to the point.

“I have come to negotiate with you for Anne’s hand.”

George’s aim wavered and he splashed some claret on the rich Turkey rug covering the table.

“Christ’s nails!” he swore, slamming down the jug and shoving a pile of blank vellum out of the red rivulet’s path. “Look what you have made me do.”

Richard tensed, but chose to tread carefully; he needed to win George over. “I did nothing of the sort, George. Why does my proposal upset you? You have found happiness with Isabel; why would you resent my finding mine with Anne. She is free, and I already know her mind about this.”

“How?” George snarled, rising from his seat and using a beautifully embroidered kerchief to mop up the spill. “How do you know what Anne wants? I have hardly allowed her to leave the house since she came under my charge. She is my dependent, by Edward’s order. I shall not consent, and there is an end to it.”

Now was the time for anger, and Richard felt it mounting as he stared at his feckless sibling. He leaned forward on the edge of his seat and pointed an accusing finger. “I know why you do not sanction the match, George. I can see right through your greed and your trumpery. You are as false as you are shallow. As long as you control Anne, you own both Neville sisters’ inheritance. Do not lie, you dog in a manger!”

George sneered. “Be careful of hypocrisy, Richard. You want Anne for her inheritance, too. Don’t deny it. And it would please your sanctimonious little mind to deprive me of it. Why would Anne want to wed a crookback like you, anyway?”

George was unprepared for Richard’s sudden lunge and even less prepared to ward off the blow to his cheek from Richard’s fist. Reeling back, George hit his head against the mantle and howled in pain. “You arse-licking puttock!” he shouted. “Get out of here! You will not have her now—or ever.”

Like his father’s, Richard’s anger died quickly. He made sure George wasn’t bleeding, went to the door and shot his final dart. “I have Edward’s full support in this request. After your treachery last year, you might not want to test our brother’s indulgence again too soon.”

For the first time, Richard wondered at his motives for wanting Anne. Was George right? How would people interpret this betrothal? He shrugged it off. Why should he care so much what other people thought. After all, this issue was minor when compared to the dark deed he had perpetrated in the Tower that haunted him every single day. He had begun to believe, after that, he could handle anything Fate might throw his way.

He strode back to the wharf, satisfied he had Anne’s consent and dismissing any doubts he could not accomplish this next step in his life, despite George’s threats.

Richard confided in Rob that George might stoop to anything to thwart Richard’s plan to win Anne. “I did not like the way he treated her. She was intimidated—almost fearful. Poor girl, she was manipulated by her father, forced to marry Edouard, and now she is under George’s controlling thumb. I doubt he will let me near her again.”

Rob was thoughtful. “You say Isabel greeted you warmly? Why not enlist her help? Surely she wants to see her sister happy?”

“You may be right. Isabel might champion us. Sweet Jesu, I am glad I was not born a girl. The fair sex may seem to us to have an easy life, but in truth they are shackled to the will of whichever man has charge of them. No wonder so many of them end up taking the veil.”

Rob guffawed. “Ever the philosopher, Richard.” More seriously, he offered, “Shall I be a go-between for you? I could pay my respects to Anne and find out when George may be away from home.”

Richard and Rob had not counted on Isabel’s loyalty to her husband, and she would not send for Anne when Rob turned up on Thames Street. “My husband has gone to Bisham,” she said, referring to one of the inherited Warwick manors. “You must treat with him when he returns, Rob. Forgive me, but I know my duty.”

“Will you give Anne a letter at least? I wish to extend my condolences to her on the loss of her husband.” Rob’s innocent expression convinced Isabel, and she nodded.

“I will send for parchment and quill,” she said, “and then you must go.” She stood to the side as he put pen to paper, but when he stopped mid-greeting and stared at her, she shrugged and went to the door. “Thank you for your visit, Rob.”

As soon as she had left, Rob scribbled the requisite few lines of sympathy, but then folded Richard’s letter inside his own and put his seal on it. At least Anne would know that Richard cared. How this was to be resolved, he had no idea, but he was well acquainted with Richard’s stubbornness. Glib, shallow George was no match for Gloucester’s level head and determination.

Dearest Richard, Anne wrote in her tiny, neat script, if you are as determined to have me as I am determined to have you, then God will help us. We will all be together at yuletide, as the king has invited us to Westminster, so we can meet there. George will not dare refuse to let us talk with Edward watching, will he?

Richard agreed, but Christmas was a good month away, and he was tired of George’s bullying. He had stayed away from Coldharbour House for long enough, he thought, as he was ferried to Thames Wharf one chilly November day. Pushing off from Baynard’s wharf, he was reminded of the scene there many years ago when he and George had fled to Flanders and Meg stood with a distraught Traveller watching them go. Traveller! Dear old Traveller, I hope one day we will be reunited in some pleasant place, Richard thought sadly. He had nursed his faithful old hound who had succumbed to a sudden sickness in the bowels not three days since. Richard had stayed with him all night and had finally administered the deadly tincture that had put the suffering animal to sleep. “Who shall I confide in now, dear old friend,” he had whispered, cradling the dog’s big head in his arms one last time; the wolfhound had given comfort during those black moods for many months.

Richard forced his focus back to his journey. He worried that his brother would take out their quarrel on poor Anne. His protectiveness towards his young cousin was something he curiously had not felt with Kate, who had demonstrated her independence well enough. He had arranged for an annuity to help with expenses for the children, and he was grateful for Jack and Margaret Howard’s generosity towards his beloved mistress. He begged God nightly to forgive him his illicit love for Kate and for the lie they both had lived in allowing Kate’s wastrel husband to believe the two children were his. Richard knew he must honorably dissolve his liaison with her, but, as with most young men, a divided heart was a guilty obstacle.

It was easy to blame a sudden shivering on the cold wind, but it more likely came from a dread of confronting this unpleasant task. He must do right by Kate and tell her in person, but how much simpler to write a letter. He had to admit that, as well as their physical passion, he would miss her sunny nature and fearless candor. She was the only woman who made him laugh out loud, and her loving acceptance of his growing deformity allowed him to forget the cursed affliction if only for a few hours. And how he treasured her badly written letters. He smiled to himself; if only she could write as well as she sang, and—made love. He sighed. Nay, the passionate letters must stop once he married Anne; he would restrict himself only to those that concerned their children’s welfare. He was confident Kate understood their love affair was destined to end, and he vowed to resolve the matter. He must go to Anne’s bed with a clear conscience and stay true to his matrimonial oath. But could he free his heart from Kate? At least, unlike Edward, he had stayed true to only one mistress.

Seeing Coldharbour’s towers now peeking over the leafless willows by the river reminded Richard of his mission and that George, for all his faults, had been faithful to Isabel and also frowned on Ned’s lusts. It was one of the few things they had in common these days, Richard thought ruefully. For the rest, they could barely be civil together.

By the time he clambered out of the boat and walked through the mansion’s gardens undetected by the Clarence’s steward, he had made up his mind that if all went well with his quest to wed Anne, he would send for Kate. Having negotiated to rent a magnificent townhouse of his own from a wealthy merchant in Bishopsgate, he was looking forward to setting up his own household. He could safely talk to Kate there.

Plainly garbed to avoid attracting attention on his short journey, Richard entered Coldharbour by a lower back entrance. He had chosen the dinner hour to visit, knowing the occupants of the house would be too busy to notice his arrival. No one hindered his climb up the narrow spiral staircase to the great hall, and he stood unheeded, observing the servants to-ing and fro-ing from the kitchens and buttery with plates of food and pitchers of ale. George and Isabel were seated together at a table on a raised platform, enjoying their meal, but, oddly, Anne was not with them. Richard frowned. As the duchess’s sister, she should have been there. He scanned the long table stretched in front of the duke but she was not there, either.

Something made George look Richard’s way. The speared chunk of suckling pig froze halfway to his mouth, and he slowly rose from his chair. Richard hurried forward before the ancient steward could heave himself from his seat and attempt a formal announcement. Richard patted his arm and told him remain where he was.

“You were not expected, my lord,” George said civilly as dozens of pairs of curious eyes watched intently; he knew servants loved to gossip. “Will you take some ale with us?” George offered his brother, pointing to a seat. Richard ignored the gesture and remained standing.

He noted that Isabel’s face had drained of color, and he felt a frisson of anxiety crawl up his spine. “Forgive my intrusion, Your Grace,” he addressed Isabel, hoping he sounded nonchalant. “May I ask where is the Lady Anne? I have some news for her.”

“You may give it to me,” George snapped before Isabel could speak. “Lady Anne is unwell and asked to dine in her chamber.”

Richard heard a gasp behind him and knew George was lying. Richard smiled and shrugged. “Then I trust you will tell Anne I came. I will await word from you as soon she recovers. I don’t think my news will comfort her, so it can wait. I beg your pardon for interrupting your dinner.”

Before George could object, Richard bowed, turned on his heel and hurried back to the staircase. But instead of going down, he ran lightly up to the ducal apartments on the second floor and, finding no one monitoring them, began to look for Anne. His fear mounting, he threw wide the final door to a small but sunny solar. He found a servant girl spreading fragrant rushes on the floor, who dropped her basket and curtsied.

“Do you know where the Lady Anne is housed, girl?” he barked a little too harshly.

“This be her chamber, my lord, but she be no longer here. Been gone a sennight.”

“A week?” Richard cried, now very much alarmed. He could see the room had been stripped of anything belonging to Anne and the bedclothes had been removed. “Where did she go?” he demanded, grabbing her arm. The girl shrugged, tears starting. “Every…th…thing be gone,” was all she could stammer.

Frantic, Richard retraced his steps to the staircase, bumping into Isabel at her solar door. She gasped. “You are still here?” She glanced anxiously over her shoulder.

Richard gripped her elbow and pulled her inside the room. “Where is she, Isabel? Tell me. Where is Anne?” His face was hard, his gray eyes boring into hers, as he now held both her arms and was shaking her. “Tell me! What has George done?”

Isabel began to cry. “I know not, Richard, I swear. Please, you are hurting me.”

Richard let go and Isabel stepped back rubbing her arms. Her expression defiant, she said, “She disappeared several days ago. I think she ran away. George sent someone to look for her, but…”

“I don’t believe you,” Richard snapped, grasping her again. “Why would she run away? And to where? She is a fifteen-year-old girl, for God’s sake, and all alone. Tell me what George has done with her?”

“I will thank you to unhand my wife.” George’s voice behind Richard startled him, and letting Isabel go, he swung round to face his brother, fists balled, but George’s larger frame made Richard step back. “Isabel is right,” George confirmed, smoothly, “she ran away. I sent two of my gentlemen to search for her to no avail. Most likely she has gone to find her mother at Beaulieu. There is a horse missing from the stable, and that is all I can tell you.”

Richard was dumbfounded. “What did you do to her to make her run away? It has been a week! Did she take her maidservant? Did no one in the stable hear or see her go?” His voice shook with anger. “This story is preposterous. Why did you not report her disappearance to Edward—or me? You will answer for this, George, as soon as I have found Anne.”

Then shoving George out of his path, Richard ran down the stairs and out into the garden. There he stopped, his heart pounding and his mind a jumble of possible theories. That she had run away by herself he dismissed; Anne was too timid. Besides, surely someone in the house would have noticed Anne taking the horse and carrying her belongings. Everything had gone from her chamber, that seemed certain. She must have had a helper, and that someone might talk—with a little assistance from a rose noble.

It was only on the way back to Baynard’s that Richard was consumed by self-reproach. He had stupidly put his trust in George, which once again George had betrayed. Richard blamed himself for postponing a decision to fight for Anne, and now he had put her in danger.

“A curse on my brother,” he muttered under his breath, “and may he get what he deserves.”

Richard enlisted the help of the newest member of his growing group of adherents, Lord Lovell. After Warwick’s death at Barnet, the young Francis Lovell had been without an overlord, and Richard was happy to have the intelligent seventeen-year-old as part of his inner circle.

“As a newcomer to London, no one will recognize you in the Clarence household. The last time Isabel saw you, you were a boy,” Richard remarked, as he, Rob, and Francis sat discussing Anne’s fate beside a crackling fire in his private office. Duchess Cecily had allowed Richard to adopt her late husband’s treasured sanctuary at Baynard’s while he awaited his move to Crosby Hall. Richard could feel the duke of York’s presence every time he entered the room, making him want to impress his late father.

“We must find Anne, and I am convinced someone in the house knows where she is. Rob and I have a plan for you, Francis. You will go there disguised as a squire come from the duchess of Warwick with a message to her daughter, Isabel, concerning Anne.”

“Then what?” Francis looked perplexed. “Am I going to interrogate every one of the servants—there must be dozens.”

“That should not be necessary, Francis,” Rob said, “A cleverly jingled purse will bring someone forward. Money talks, as the saying goes.”

“You will have my undying gratitude if you are successful, Francis,” Richard said. “We must find Anne. It may take you a morning, but I’ll wager that, by terce, you will be handing out a noble.”

It took less than an hour for Francis to discover that Anne, dressed as a scullery wench, had been secreted from the house one night and hidden in the kitchen of a nearby tavern or inn, the name of which was the only piece of information still missing.

Richard was incredulous. He stared at Francis for a full ten seconds before hurling a filigreed silver cup across the room, stirring a memory of a similar scene with Warwick at Middleham. Francis winced, the cup having missed him by the width of a broadsword’s blade, and Rob suppressed a smile.

“This is too outrageous to be true,” Richard fumed. “Is there no code of chivalry left? Do you have reason to doubt your informant, Francis? Perhaps ’tis a lie fabricated by George.”

Francis scratched his wispy new beard. “Nay, my lord, I swear the man was telling the truth.” His hand went to his dagger and he grinned. “A little persuasion along with the noble went a long way to extracting the truth,” and he then put his hand to his codpiece. “The man seemed to want to hold onto his jewels.” Rob sniggered, but Richard was in no mood for humor, so Francis continued, “It was he who had smuggled the kitchen maid’s attire to George’s squire and helped dispose of Anne’s wardrobe.”

Rob snatched up his bonnet and crammed it on his head. “Let us not waste time talking about this, lads. We must find the poor lady as fast as we can.”

Richard nodded, buckled on his shortsword and grabbed a fur-lined cloak hanging on the peg. “Onward!” he cried, flinging open the door and calling for his squire. “Fetch our horses immediately, John,” he commanded the brawny young man.

Soon the trio was cantering out of Baynard’s courtyard and onto Thames Street. They began with the area adjacent to Coldharbour and shocked several tavern owners by sweeping into their modest establishments demanding to search the kitchens. Each time, they found nothing, and Rob began to think this a fool’s errand. And then their luck turned. At an inn at the top of Bread Street, the landlord, on seeing the three noblemen enter, was clearly flustered.

Richard took the man by the arm and led him to a secluded corner. While Richard interrogated him, Rob and Francis moved quietly through the archway that led down to the kitchens.

“Do you know who I am?” Richard demanded. The frightened landlord, his rheumy eyes darting in all directions, shook his head at the grim young duke. “I am Richard, duke of Gloucester, brother to his grace, the king,” and he grasped the small man’s stooped shoulders to make sure he was paying attention, “and brother to the duke of Clarence. Has a servant of his placed a kitchen maid in your employ recently? The man would have worn the bull badge of Clarence.”

The unfortunate landlord trembled and was silent. He had been paid handsomely for taking on the useless wench. It was clear she had never washed a dish in her life nor cut open a fish, and it was only the promise of more reward for silence that had prevented him from turfing her out.

“Well?” Richard barked, forcing the man’s arm behind his back. “Answer me, you fool, or I will break your arm!”

Luckily for the landlord Rob’s excited voice broke in from below: “My lord, she is here!” Richard threw the man onto a bench and growled, “Don’t move,” before hurrying down to the kitchen, where the rest of the servants stood gaping.

Anne was huddled on a stool sobbing, Francis crouched beside her offering his kerchief. When she saw Richard, she ran into his arms. She reeked of onions and fish. Her long, light-brown hair was matted with grease, her hands raw from cold and lye, and her homespun gown stained with blood and gravy. No semblance of the noble lady remained in the waif, who clung to her savior with such desperation, her red, swollen eyes framed by dark hollows.

Richard stroked her face and whispered her name, trying to calm her. “Anne, Anne, hush, sweetheart. Never fear, I am here, and you are safe now.” He turned to the curious onlookers. “Away with you! All of you,” he commanded, and the servants scurried away.

Her sobs abating, Anne spied the landlord creeping up the stairs, and pulling away, she pointed at him: “George paid him to take me, and he has treated me abominably,” Warwick’s daughter cried, regaining her composure. “He beat me and threw me to the ground. I have bruises…”

The landlord was clearly terrified that the lazy girl’s accusation could get him arrested or worse, and he attempted to defend himself. “I was paid to take a servant who they said was soft in the head. They said she would pretend to be a lady.” He feigned bravado as a last resort: “Ha! look at her. Does she look like a lady to you?”

He was unprepared for the fist that hit him square on the jaw. “This is the Lady Anne Neville, widow of Prince Edouard,” Richard hissed over the pathetic figure on the ground, who spat out a bloody tooth. “Rob, send someone upstairs for the sheriff. This man should be in irons.”

The blubbering landlord crawled to Richard’s feet, begging for mercy, for which he received a swift kick. “You are no better than a dog!” Richard snapped. “Come, Anne. Let us away.”

Anne was too grateful to be shocked by Richard’s violent behavior, but she wondered later at the change in him. He was still her beloved Richard, although a black cloud seemed to hover about him, but perhaps her predicament had angered him, and she could only be secretly thrilled.

Gentling his cloak about her pathetically thin shoulders, Richard led the way out to the street, leaving Rob behind to deal with the landlord. “Francis, all is arranged with sanctuary at St. Martin’s?” he asked.

“Aye, my lord,” Francis answered his lord, whom he revered. It would be many years before he would allow himself to acknowledge the growing friendship.

“How can I ever thank you?” Anne said, melting into the safety of Richard’s protection.

Richard smiled. “Marry me, my lady,” he said simply.

“With all my heart,” was Anne’s happy response.

Anne’s devotion to him and the gallant way in which he had sought her out led her to assume that Richard returned her feelings. She never considered the young man’s understandable ambition to marry into the wealthiest family in England, and, just as her sister had been for George, Anne Neville was the best match for a brother of the king. But for Anne, she wanted only to wed the man she loved.

Three steps lay in Richard’s path to the altar, and only two were legal obstacles: George’s sanction and the Pope’s dispensation. The third was a task Richard dreaded: bidding Kate farewell.

She arrived with the two children at Crosby Hall during advent. As well as delighting in being a father, Richard’s passion for his beautiful mistress kept him away from Westminster night after night while he imprinted on his mind the image of her naked body rising above him, lying beside him, or thrilling him with every caress—memories that he hoped to carry with him forever. How he wished he could take her to court, show her off, and introduce his family to three-year-old Katherine and baby John. But Kate had begged to remain anonymous, high-born gossiping a real fear. “I would embarrass you,” was her excuse, and so Richard had kept his promise to her. Later he would also keep his promise to acknowledge the children by placing them in noble houses. “Let them never forget they have a royal father,” he begged of her, “and one who loves them.”

“This is farewell, is it not?” she whispered into the dark, fingering the écu talisman she had given him and that was always about his neck. “Can I guess? You are to be married? Is it…will it be…soon?”

“’Tis not settled yet, love. I have Edward’s permission at last, but my brother, George, is opposed, and there is much dissension between us. You see, I hope to marry his sister-in-law…”

“…Anne Neville.” Kate’s tone made Richard wince, but he would not flinch from his duty.

“Aye, ’tis Anne and no surprise. You must know that I marry for other reasons than love.”

He explained as much as she needed to know about the obstacles he faced and the intricacies of why Anne was the right consort for him, but he hastily promised his tearful mistress: “It has nothing to do with my heart. You have that, I swear. How could I ever forget our precious times together. You have taught me what true love is by loving me despite my having to forsake you now. But to honor both you and Anne, I must foreswear our liaison. One day, I promise, Anne will know of my love for you—and our children—and she will have to accept that I have a divided heart.”

“I think I understand,” Kate answered, sadly. “But I cannot help hoping my part of your heart will be the larger.”

Richard smiled in the dark, took her in his arms and cradled her to sleep. He wondered if the honorable Kate would love him still knowing he had so recently committed regicide. He prayed fervently that no one but he and God would be privy to his crime and closed his eyes.

“Let me dress you today,” Kate pleaded the next day, as they bathed together. “I want you to go to court with my scent upon your clothes.”

He kissed her trembling mouth, tasting tears. This would be the last time they would be naked together, and the ache in his heart almost translated into tears of his own. He touched the new ring he had given her; delicately filigreed in gold, inscribed with his chosen motto: Loyaulté me lie—Loyalty binds me. “Know I shall not forget you, Kate. And if you have need of me for anything at all, send me this ring and I will answer.”

“Fiddle-faddle!” Kate retorted, bravely. “Why would I ever need you, pray?”

When she had lovingly clothed him in his finest velvets and satin, he left her standing proudly in the middle of the room clutching the first love poem he had ever written. Before he could change his mind, Richard fled. So long as Katherine and John lived, he knew his love for their mother would never die. It was also a sad certainty that this was, for him, the close of a chapter.