The King's Sister

‘How true. You are the perfect married couple. Your eye will never stray.’

His sardonic expression disturbed me. How well he read my situation. How well he read my mind. For a moment I was struck by the thought that we were kindred spirits, both moved by impulses, both driven by strong emotions.

Which was of course nonsense. I was nothing like John Holland.

‘Unlike your own eye, Sir John,’ I observed.

‘Unlike mine. But I have no wife to keep my eye secure on its prime objective.’

I moved beneath his arm, lifting my skirts so that the silk damask slid and gleamed, close enough to my partner for me to remark, ‘no, but the lady who took your eye today has a husband.’

‘Ha! The Duke of York is nothing but a bag of wind!’ His scorn coated us both. ‘Of course she is bored, looking for entertainment.’

‘Which you provide, Sir John? I’m told you have intimate knowledge of her.’

‘Passing intimate. Enough to know she has a voracious desire for entertainment.’

Again we parted, giving me time to replenish my armoury, as I was led on from hand to hand, to return to accuse: ‘So it is the Duchess’s fault that you are lured into an affair of the heart with her?’

‘I doubt her heart’s involved. Are we speaking of blame?’

‘Certainly not.’

‘Are you jealous, Countess?’

‘Not I. I have a care for my reputation.’

‘And you would never contemplate endangering the purity of that reputation by embarking on an intimate affair with a man who took your interest.’

‘Certainly not,’ I repeated, meeting his eye with what I hoped he read as indifference.

With warmth rising to colour my cheeks, I was not as certain as once I had been.

Sir John raised his hand to lead me round, stealing a quick kiss against my wrist as our bodies came close.

‘I can feel your blood running hot,’ he whispered.

‘Because I am dancing, perhaps?’

‘I wager it did not do so when your husband danced with you.’

Our parting in the dance meant that I need not reply.

And when we were together again. ‘My liaison with the Duchess is at an end.’

An assertion so bluntly made. Did I believe him? Not for a moment.

But my blood was running hot.

I knew I would pay for that exhibition of outrageous courtesy by my partner. I could not hope that it had gone unnoticed, and there was Henry stalking across the chamber with a darkening brow, my cousin Edward of York following in his footsteps. No time for me to take refuge with Philippa, or even the Princess who sat in state with a cup of wine and a dish of honeyed nuts to sustain her through the hours. All I had time to do was take a breath and hope my heightened colour had paled, at the same time as I ordered my response to the inevitable attack. Henry had no reason to call my behaviour into question. The unfortunate flamboyance in that kiss had been John Holland’s. Not mine. Better to challenge Henry now with a good strong denial of any wish of mine to draw attention to myself, before my brother’s ire became too well-lodged to dissipate.

‘You’d do well to avoid Holland, Elizabeth, if you can’t behave with more perspicacity.’

Not a propitious start. Marriage had given Henry a degree of solemnity that was sometimes not short of pompous. I abandoned any thought of a greeting.

‘Avoid him?’ I said. ‘How would I avoid the King’s brother without discourtesy? Have you some advice for me, little brother?’ I made it just a little patronising. I was still taller than he and could make use of my height.

Henry was unmoved. ‘It looked like a flirtation to me.’

‘You are wrong. It was not.’

Edward was hovering. Edward always hovered. Now almost into his tenth year, he was a slight child who promised uncommonly good looks but I disliked his air of smug superiority even more than the sly gleam in his eyes.

‘Go away, Edward!’ I said.

‘I’m only—’

‘You’re only listening to what does not concern you.’ And I waited until he sulked into the crowd.

‘He’s a nuisance,’ Henry observed, watching him retreat, ‘with a bad case of hero-worship. I think it’s the gilded armour. Every time I turn round …’ His gaze sharpened, fixed mine again. ‘About Holland. The Duke would not like it.’ He glanced over towards the far end of the chamber where our father conversed with the Earl of Warwick. I doubted that he had even noticed. ‘Nor would the Pembroke connection approve of your lack of discretion in cavorting with the man who is known to spend more time in the bed of the Duchess of York than the Duke does!’

‘I care not what the Pembroke connection thinks or does.’ So Henry was well aware of the rumours, too. ‘There’s nothing not to like in my dancing with Sir John. I am not the only woman he has partnered.’

‘You are the only woman whose wrist he saluted in the middle of a dance, I warrant.’

‘Were you spying on me, Henry?’

‘Yes. Every time I set eyes on you, you are in his company. He’s not a suitable companion for you. Apart from anything else, his allegiances are not trustworthy. He might accept a Lancaster annuity today, but who knows where he will look tomorrow.’

Anger had begun to bubble under my skin, alongside the dismay. I would not be judged, I would not be watched. What right had my younger brother, however impressive in the lists, to be critical of me? I had done no wrong. As for John Holland’s political inclinations, I could see no relevance.

‘I’ll dance with whomsoever I wish,’ I said. ‘How dare you speak to me of decorum? And how dare you blacken the name of the King’s brother? A kiss on my wrist is hardly a matter to ruffle the sensibilities of the royal court.’ I had worked myself up into a fine show of temper, at the same time as I refused to consider why I felt the need to do so.

‘As long as it goes no further than that.’

‘How dare you!’

‘And keep your voice down. I know exactly the reputation of the King’s brother! I’d make sure he did not dance with Mary.’

‘I doubt he would wish to. She’s little more than a child.’

‘What do you mean by that?’

‘That John Holland appreciates a woman with some degree of experience.’

‘Like yourself.’

‘If you wish! By the Rood, Henry.’ This was getting out of hand. ‘I only danced with the man. Is that so reprehensible?’