The King's Mistress (63 page)

I did all that was demanded of me. I had no choice. I was ordered to accept responsibility for all that I had achieved as well as all that I had humbly done in obedience. It was not enough that I had lost
Edward, that his family had robbed me of Janyn and the comfort of my own kin for so long.

And to add to the insult, though I wanted neither William Wyndsor nor Mary Percy, I was shackled with both.

At least for the moment, until I could gather my wits about me. I had said nothing of my betrothal to Robert. At least I might protect him.

I could not sleep as long as I resided in the palace. I veered between anger and anguish over what Robert and Bella would say—I could see the sympathy in Gwen’s eyes, and the disappointment.

The fetters, so lately slipped from my ankles, were back, but now without even the sweetness of my love for Edward to soothe their restraint.

I hated them all for the regret I now felt for loving him.

• January 1378 •

I
WAS GRANTED
a few days’ grace at Westminster, and made use of the time to send messages to Bella, Robert, and Mary, who was at Gaynes with the children, warning them of the impending change in my status. That cold, practical phrase was more suitable for my situation than “marriage.” The messenger was given a letter for each, the
longest one going to Robert. I vowed my steadfast love for him, telling him that it was only so that I would not be parted from him or my children that I would acquiesce, and begged him not to interfere. I hated that I could not speak to the three of them in person, and prepare Joan and Jane.

But I was effectively a prisoner in Westminster Palace. Though preferable by far to the Tower, it was still a prison, and a cold one at that. Princess Joan and young King Richard were not in residence, nor was Lancaster.

When he had forbidden me to use the few days’ grace I was granted to return to Gaynes and prepare my household, I had asked the duke what he feared I might do if permitted to travel.

Elegant in a dark robe that accentuated his fair coloring but also the shadows beneath his eyes, a sign of ill health or at least poor sleep that I had rarely seen on him, Lancaster lightly touched my arm as we stood by a window looking out at the wintry Thames. “I would protect you from taking some unwise action while your mind is in turmoil, Dame Alice, such as fleeing the country with my nieces. That would be regrettable, for it would render impossible our plan for your peaceful, comfortable withdrawal from the center of controversy. You have had a great shock in the judgment brought against you. Such condemnation while still in mourning would shake the most courageous knight to his core. I admire your strength throughout my father’s illnesses, his death, the vindictive attacks of the commons.”

His expression of concern served only to nauseate me. In my mind I retorted,
Surely you would prefer that I escaped with my daughters. You would then be rid of me and have all my properties, jewels, money. Even Sir William to wed to another you seek to control
.

But I said none of that, nor did I tell him that I was already betrothed. He might look vulnerable, but he was the wealthiest, most powerful man in the realm, and I dared not antagonize him. I feared what he would do to Robert.

When he left I sent away the servants and paced the corridor, spewing all the venom inside me. My booted feet pounded the wood planks while I hissed and shrieked the curses I had so long held within. I wept, I tore at my hair and pounded my breast until I was spent. Let the servants and the guards whisper and cross themselves, I did not care.

The palace now felt like a mere shade of the Westminster I had known with Edward. To a person, the servants seeing to our needs
behaved indifferently toward Gwen and me, though many of them had been accustomed to seeking our advice when Edward was unwell. We avoided talking to them when we might, the contrast being too painful. And I had frightened them with my fury, I knew. They, in turn, were stingy with food, drink, and fuel for the braziers. I yearned to go to one of my own homes, in truth to be almost anywhere but in one of the royal residences, fraught as they were with painful memories.

Gwen fretted over my cold hands and feet, my lack of appetite. “I almost preferred your mad rage,” she said.

I assured her that I would thrive once I was able to ride and hawk, once I was home—for it seemed I would be permitted to keep Fair Meadow and the home in which Janyn and I had lived in London.

“Will Sir William agree to bide in one of your homes?” she asked me.

“Agree? I should think it his most fervent wish. Why else would he cooperate in this farce but to acquire all that is mine? No one ever speaks of
his
residences, Gwen. No doubt they are barely adequate.”

Indeed, William was not in residence at Westminster, but reportedly occupied in readying his home just north of the city for our wedding night. He had sent a message inviting me for a walk in the palace gardens, but I had begged a headache and heard no more. Robert had been right—William did not behave like a man in love. I was simply his current mission for Lancaster. A page had brought a wedding gift, a gold fillet set with diamonds and emeralds, nominally from William though it, too, smelled of Lancaster.

Long ago Princess Joan had warned me:
They will envy you. Envy is an ugly emotion. It inspires cruelty. Meanness … If aught goes wrong, you are one of the people who will be blamed. Because you have no connections. Because he loves you.… Keep your eyes open. At all times remember who you are, where you are.… Find and nurture a few trustworthy friends. But do not blindly trust them. Nor should you blindly trust the king. He is a man, as William Wyndsor is a man. Your William is angry, I noticed that. He may yet be your salvation if aught goes wrong, but if you wed him, try to keep some of your property secret. Just in case
.

Joan had claimed that she had learned of the pact only the previous week. How then had she warned me so long ago?

I requested a meeting with her. She arrived with servants bearing gifts for me—jeweled mazers; several silver spoons; fat cushions covered in silk and velvet; a generous length of escarlatte in a rich gold
hue; another in brunette; a soft, patterned wool in shades of red; and a small casket filled with gold and silver buttons inlaid with mother of pearl. Wedding gifts.

“You must believe me, Alice, I knew nothing of this until shortly before you did. I had intended these gifts to cheer you and the homes you were permitted to keep, or else your abode in exile if the worst happened. I had not known of this arrangement with Sir William, I swear.”

Whether or not I believed her did not matter to me at that moment. I was desperate for advice. “I cannot wed him, Joan. I cannot love him.”

“You must try, Alice. For the sake of your family. Think, my friend—for once you shall be free to live with Joan and Jane, and be near Bella.”

My heart quickened at her mention of being near Bella. Gaynes was near Barking Abbey. “Is Gaynes not forfeit?”

Joan shook her head. “Gaynes is yours, so long as you wed Sir William. You once found him pleasing, Alice. Is not this far better than exile?”

It was a fair question. I considered telling her of Robert. She of all people would understand, having been forced into marriage with William Montague when she was secretly betrothed to Thomas Holland. But I no longer trusted her with information she might let slip.

“I shall be grateful to remain close to my son and my daughter Bella. But for them, I would have preferred making a new life with my two youngest children in France or the Low Countries. I might eventually have felt comfortable in my life there, at peace. I cannot imagine ever being so as an unwilling wife.”

“Neither John nor his brothers would have permitted you to take their nieces out of the country, Alice.”

“I find it strange, that though they were not recognized by their father, their uncles have acquired them. To what purpose? They will not suddenly give them the Plantagenet name or find noble husbands for my girls. The duke does this only to tie me to William, so that he might reward him with my properties.”

I could see from her beautiful, expressive face that Joan had no counter to that. It had been of so little interest to her, she had not wondered why the brothers were suddenly so keen to keep their bastard nieces close to them.

She held out her hand to me. “You look so pale.”

So did she, I noticed, though her hair was once more brightened, the white that had been evident at her husband’s death hidden with bleaches and oils. She also looked swollen, as if the weight she had gained in the last years in Bordeaux and then lost once back in England had returned. She seemed to eat when worried. I regretted having argued with her. A little.

“Let us walk in the garden,” she said. “It is fair and mild for January, a gift we should not squander in chilly, dank, echoing chambers.”

As Joan and I walked in the deserted gardens, she spoke not of my coming marriage but of her fears regarding her son, so young to be king, and her inability to sleep through the night since Prince Edward’s death.

“It is not as if we had slept in the same bed every night. But somehow my sleeping self knows that he is gone, that our son is vulnerable, and I wake with my heart racing.”

I was relieved to be distracted from my own worries and anger for a while. Joan had lost far more than a husband. She had lost a most magnificent future and the time her son needed to grow into a young man suited to rule a kingdom.

But soon she turned the conversation to my distrust of the duke.

“John is fighting to keep a delicate balance, Alice. My husband charged him with protecting the realm for our son while Richard was too young to rule on his own. John knows that there are those in commons and among the barons who suspect him of wishing to keep that power for himself. Such a rumor would only grow if he challenged it, and so he trusts that by acting impeccably on Richard’s behalf, he will convince the people that to rule this realm is not his intent. Like you, he is condemned for taking a lover to whom he is not wed, and for having children with that lover. In his liaison with Katherine, he understands you better than anyone else in the family.”

I sighed with impatience.

Joan gave my arm a little shake. “He means to save you, Alice! Marriage to Sir William is a way in which he might calm the temper of the crowd, safely settle you with a knight. John intended to
honor
you with such a noble connection.”

“I wish I might believe all that you say of him.” It would be so much easier to welcome this marriage. But I distrusted it. And I loved Robert, not William. I drew my squirrel-lined cloak up under my chin.

“Come, you are chilled. Let us withdraw to your chamber and some hot spiced wine.” As we hurried along the garden path Joan said, “I pray that joy surprises you, Alice. You have done so much for this family, and I wish you happiness.”

When she had departed I spent a long while in the chapel, praying for the wisdom and grace to behave as if I accepted my lot. I also prayed that Joan was right about the duke. But it was difficult to push aside thoughts of flight.

W
ILLIAM AND I
were wed in a simple ceremony in that same chapel in Westminster Palace in which I had prayed so earnestly for acceptance. Archbishop Sudbury, he to whom I had humbled myself days earlier, presided. I wore a dark gold brocade gown and blue-green undergown. Gwen had sprinkled the brocade with the buttons Princess Joan had given me. I wore over my coiled hair the diamond-and-emerald fillet from William. He wore a slim-fitting jacket of deep indigo embroidered with silver thread that swirled into the shape of a swan. A hat of lighter indigo sported a peacock feather. His leggings were dark brown. We were a handsome couple, so elegant we would not stoop to revealing emotion. The guests were fortunate, for were we to do so, I would scream, and William, most likely laugh.

For the sake of my children, I vowed to do all in my power to find peace in this hateful situation. But I would never give William my heart. That was Robert’s.

As we rode to William’s home north of London I forced my thoughts to a neutral topic. I was now the wife of a man of more modest means than either Janyn or Edward, albeit a knight, and prepared myself for a small, plain dwelling. It turned out to be a sizable house and quite new.