The Scandalous Duchess

by Anne O'Brien

  My thoughts were in a tumble of awareness of him. The breadth of his shoulders, the strength of his hands. The striking lines of his features. The brush of his lips against my skin had completely unravelled my certainty, like the mayhem a kitten might have created in a box of embroidery silks.

  ‘You brows are the gold of a summer gilly-flower,’ he continued, smiling as if unaware of my chaotic emotions. Of course he was aware. This was quite deliberate. ‘You have the grace of one of the iridescent damselflies over the mere at Kenilworth. Your eyes hold a depth of ancient amber. You, Madame de Swynford, are a rare and beautiful woman.’

  I trembled in his grasp. I could not prevent it.

  ‘Is this a wooing, my lord?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Or a sophisticated flirtation, to undermine my decision?’

  ‘That too. I always knew that you were an intelligent woman as well as a beautiful one.’ He paused, watching every expression on my face. ‘Am I succeeding?’ His eyes became intent, the flippancy dissipating in an instant, his hands more urgent, but he kept his tone light. ‘Do I engage your senses to any degree?’ he enquired conversationally, as if asking after my state of health. ‘Your veil is shivering with your response to me. But will you admit it?’

  What could I say? Honesty had its own dangers. ‘Yes, my lord. I admit to feeling an…an attraction to you.’

  The intensity deepened. ‘Then be with me,’ he urged, his fingers flexing. ‘Be with me, Madame Katherine, and allow me to open the doors of heaven for you.’

  It seemed to me that the angelic throng frowned its disapproval.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ he asked. ‘What have I said now to distress you?’

  ‘The angels disapprove,’ I observed.

  ‘The angels are free to make their own judgement. This is not their concern. This is between you and me.’

  And before I could speak he had framed my face with his hands and kissed my lips, the gentlest, most tender of kisses, his lips just brushing mine. It took my breath.

  ‘There,’ he said. ‘I knew that kissing you would be like sipping honeyed wine. And God will forgive me for taking it.’

  Which robbed me even more of words. How like him, I thought mutinously. How like the Duke of Lancaster to flout convention and woo me so carnally in this holy place, in the sight of God, and apparently with all due reverence.

  ‘If I recall,’ he continued, ‘your hair—which you do not allow me to see—would challenge the sun itself in its brightness.’ Then: ‘Look at me, Katherine.’

  And I did. I had no will to resist under the power of his words even if I had not been entranced by that kiss. The Duke’s eyes, reflecting the gilding on angel and cherub, were level and clear on mine.

  ‘I saw you in my audience chamber and I wanted you. You know that. I wanted you to be mine. I still do, and I won’t let you go. You were made to belong to me. It is my right to claim you.’

  As if there could be no other reason for our being here. Perhaps there was no other for a man such as he. He saw me and wanted me. I simply stared. If the angels were astounded to hear it so forcefully expressed, so was I.

  His hands moved slowly down from my shoulders in one long caress, until he was in possession of my hands.

  ‘You came to me because you needed help,’ he said. ‘There you stood, pale and worn and overwrought with too many sleepless nights and worries, and for the first time since I had known you, you were in need. I had never thought of you as fragile, but on that day I wanted to lift the burden from your shoulders.’ His breathing was rather fast, matching mine. ‘I still do. And I want more than that. I want to strip that black garment from you and take you to my bed and show you the pleasures that can exist between a man and a woman who have, if you will, an attraction. I will care for you, protect you and bestow every comfort on you. I will respect you and hold you in esteem. You will be my mistress and my heart’s desire. All I ask is that you say yes, for I have a powerful need of you.’

  He was so close that I thought he would kiss me again. And that if he did not I would drown in longing.

  The Duke kissed me. Not a tender embrace, no fleeting moment, no chivalrous brush of mouth against mouth, but a kiss of heat, of passion. Of promise of what might be. And I drowned anyway in the splendour of it.

  At last, when I clung to him, the Duke lifted his head. ‘Well, Madame de Swynford, my superbly respectable, black-clad widow? What do you say?’

  There was the shadow of passion, now well governed. What could I say to so powerful a declaration, such a heart-stopping invitation? Severe in my widow’s black, my thoughts anything but respectable, I regarded him, thinking of what this would mean for me.

  ‘You wish me to be your mistress,’ I stated.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You wish me to be part of your household.’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘You will treat me with respect and esteem.’

  ‘Yes. I will revere and honour you as well. Before God, Katherine! Is this a catechism? Here it is, laid out for your appreciation. I cannot give you my name.’ As if negotiating a deal between traders, I found myself thinking in a moment of ridiculous levity. ‘I cannot give you any recognition in the eyes of the world, but all I am, and all that is within my power to give you happiness, that is what I can give you. That is what I offer you, Katherine de Swynford, if you will only stop prevaricating and step willingly into my arms.’

  The candles, now burning low, seemed to leap and shiver, casting an even greater mystery over our surroundings, even more furious reactions on the faces of the angelic throng.

  ‘I can still see your heart beating through the shiver of your veil,’ he continued when I remained mute, attempting to encompass all. ‘Can you breathe enough to give me a reply? Why can you not simply accept that you and I should be together?’

  He wanted me. John of Lancaster desired me. The levity returned in full force.

  ‘If I give myself to you, will you fetch wood for me?’ I asked.

  His brows rose, his eyes gleamed, but he replied with equanimity.

  ‘I will. And all else you ask of me. I will pour your wine and tie your laces.’

  Which made a breath of laughter rise inappropriately to the surface, but I looked away, absorbing the reality of the threshold before which I found myself standing.

  ‘I could not bear to be the object of gossip, my lord.’

  ‘You know the ways of the court.’

  ‘I know that it is impossible to hide anything for long.’

  ‘I would never draw attention to you. To us. Is that what you fear?’

  I breathed out slowly. ‘Is such discretion possible?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ He was honest too. ‘All I know is that I have a need of you, beyond all good sense.’

  His words slid over my flesh like the finest cloth, like the blue and white damask he had given me. How fatally simple it was, after the recent weeks of heart-searching. His assurance had the power of a battle mace against an enemy’s helm. His conviction could have carried an army to victory against the most powerful foe.

  ‘Come to me. Allow me to take care of you and worship at your perfect feet.’

  He saw no difficulty in my choice, whereas I could count every trap in the path of an unwary woman. And yet in spite of my qualms, all I could do was marvel at the richness of the gift he had placed at my feet. How could I have ever believed that the Duke of Lancaster would invite me to take my place at his side, in his life?

  ‘Do it. Say yes, lovely Katherine.’

  ‘Does nothing at all about this worry you?’ I asked instead in bewilderment.

  ‘Not a thing.’

  The silence of the chapel around us grew taut, for had we not turned full circle, to face once more the unpardonable sin? The Duke was so assured whereas I wallowed in a puddle of indecision.

  ‘I said I would kneel at your feet. Behold I do.’ And still holding my hand he dropped to one knee, lookin
g up at me with all the old glamour in his presence. ‘It is this easy, my lady. I want you. Do you want me?’

  ‘My lord…’ I studied his handsome features, of which he was very well aware. In a final attempt to combat temptation, I adopted as remote a tone as I was able. ‘I would ask one thing of you.’

  ‘And I will grant it.’

  ‘Will you give me one night? To consider my answer.’

  ‘God’s Blood, woman! What can you decide in one night, that you haven’t managed to decide in six weeks?’

  ‘It is a dangerous step.’

  ‘It is a glorious step!’

  Which understandable irritation I ignored, for I would not be rushed into a decision that would have so great an impact on my life. ‘And will you agree to abide by the choice I make, my lord?’

  ‘That’s two things.’ He looked askance.

  ‘Then make it three. I wish to borrow a book from you, my lord.’

  ‘A book?’ The irritation was overlaid with bafflement. ‘A missal? Come then, if that is your wish. And perhaps you could practise not calling me my lord with every breath. My name is John.’

  ‘As I know, my lord.’

  With an appreciative laugh, opening the door, we left the angels in no way the wiser as the Duke escorted me to his library, leaving me there to make my choice. For a moment he stood, watching as I lit a candle from a wall-torch.

  ‘Katherine?’

  I looked back at him where he stood by the open door. How had I never realised the caress of his voice on my name, even when the mischief had vanished. The Duke was very serious as he bowed deeply.

  ‘How you intrigue me. You kisses are sensuous yet you are governed with stark piety. Promise me that you will not allow fear of what the world will say to guide your choice. Promise that you will not give power to past sorrows and present fears to chain you to your bleak widowhood. I swear there is more for you in this life than what you are today. And I should tell you: for me it is no mere attraction. It is an overwhelming desire.’

  ‘I promise, my lord.’

  Briefly I read naked desire in his face, before courtesy returned and he strode back across the room to kiss my fingers with typical flamboyance.

  ‘When you smile, you are so very beautiful. Don’t look so baffled. Sleep well, my dearest one. I would give you happiness and fulfilment, not anguished soul-searching.’

  And with a final salute to my fingers he left me to my search.

  The decision I was about to make was hazardous indeed: to follow the hard and narrow but entirely respectable path dictated by morality and virtue, or to step aside to snatch at that bright happiness the Duke offered me. I knew full well what I ought to do. My conscience was a lively creature, prompting me into the way of godly righteousness, for how should I live with so great a sin on my soul?

  I swore the Duke of Lancaster stood at my shoulder as I selected my book. My mind was all chaos.

  I discovered the Duke in his library, where he would be engaged in business affairs after early Mass and breaking his fast. Quietly, only half-opening the door, I paused. Then, entirely certain of what I must do, I pushed it open, the well-greased hinges failing to announce my presence. There, his back to me, the Duke poured over a large expanse of vellum on which I could see was drawn a map of England and France and the northern reaches of Castile.

  I stood, watching him as he worked, unaware of his audience, his finger tracing what I thought was a route to Aquitaine, continuing south to Castile, the object of his new ambitions. The success or failure of this new expedition would rest on his shoulders.

  I moved inadvertently, my shoe scuffing along the tiles, but he did not respond, probably did not even hear.

  ‘My lord.’

  ‘Leave it over there.’

  The Duke was not the only one to be mistaken for a servant.

  ‘I would rather—’

  ‘Go away.’ He was more abstracted than I had thought. ‘Come back later.’

  With a grunt of exasperation he scrubbed his fist along the edge of his chin, much as young Henry had done earlier in the day when reprimanded for cleaning his inky fingers on the front of his tunic, so that I smiled at the similarity.

  I was so sure, my decision clear in my mind. So sure that I walked softly forward and placed my hand on his shoulder.

  ‘I will return if it pleases you. I thought you wanted an answer from me. I am here to give it.’

  ‘Ah…have you come to refuse me?’ he asked, staring ahead.

  Every muscle in that shoulder was tensed beneath my palm as he anticipated my ultimate rejection. His hands clenched into fists on the map.

  ‘So you pre-empt me,’ I replied evenly.

  ‘Why not? You would not be the first virtuous woman to find lechery too painful to contemplate,’ he replied, his voice harsh, his observation grating against my senses. ‘Perhaps you have not the courage to seize what you desire.’

  Here was a man who never questioned his own courage, but he would question mine. I lifted my palm and stepped back. Did he think it would not take courage to refuse him?

  ‘I am here to give you my reply,’ I said with a calmness that belied by leaping heart. ‘Whether I have courage, it is for you to judge.’

  Standing, stretching to his full height, quite carefully the Duke placed the pen beside the document, and turned. I remained motionless. I did not say a word: I did not have to. I watched as a smile began, slowly at first, then growing to illuminate his face, enhancing his beauty as he saw what I had done. Fisting his hands on his hips, he tilted his head in contemplation, making me smile again for it was as if he was appreciating some new object in his collection. I remained perfectly still and let him look.

  ‘What have you got behind your back?’ he asked softly when, as I knew he would, he had taken in every aspect of my appearance.

  With one hand I produced the book I had borrowed, like a wise-woman revealing some mystical source of magic. ‘I have this to return.’ I placed it on the table next to the map.

  ‘The missal you borrowed to direct your actions into righteous pathways.’

  ‘No missal,’ I replied solemnly, for it was not a book of prayer that I had sought for my night of contemplation, with the Duke’s kiss still hot on my lips.

  The Duke opened the cover page, and looked up quizzically. ‘I would not have expected this.’

  ‘Why not?’ Its depictions of Love in all its forms in the Roman de la Rose had occupied my hours, while the sensuous illustrations had seduced my senses.

  ‘Did it help?’ The Duke closed the page, his gaze holding mine. ‘Did it persuade you that Divine Love was your ultimate goal in this life?’

  ‘No, my lord.’

  ‘Platonic love, then. Is that what you seek between us?’

  ‘No, my lord.’

  He knew I did not. His eyes glittered with a sense of victory, as if he had just overcome an enemy of great power. How could he not know? He knew my answer, as I had intended, without a word being exchanged between us, as he had taken in my appearance from the little round buckram hat that fixed my gold-edged veil, to my gilded slippers. For what had I done? Rejecting the respectable widow for ever, I was dressed as if for a bridal in green and gold, my bodice gleamingly patterned, my oversleeves trimmed with a full meadow of embroidered flowers. As far from my mourning robes as I could make them. And at my belt hung the coral and gold beads of the Duke’s gift.

  This was no penitential garb.

  The Duke gestured with his chin. ‘And in your other hand?’

  ‘This is for you.’

  Discovered in The Savoy garden almost before dawn, it was a poor apology, frost-bitten and withered, showing the merest tinge of colour within its grey of decomposition.

  ‘One should never plan to express the state of one’s heart with a rose in winter,’ I said. ‘It will shed its petals within the hour.’

  ‘I will not hold its imperfections against you.’ He took the sad corpse from
me. And in taking it his fingers, at last, closed over mine.

  ‘I read Jean de Meun’s poem,’ I said, struggling to keep my voice even, for his handclasp stirred my blood to a shiver of delight. ‘How the Lover battled to win the heart of his Beloved. I recognised the enemies he faced. Jealousy. Danger. Shame and fear. I recognised all of those. Do I not see them in my own choices? I see the dangers in what you ask of me, for I am afraid of the shame that others would heap on me. Am I not jealous of every moment you spend with Constanza, away from me?’

  His hand wrapped even more strongly round mine, as if to give comfort and strength when my voice caught a little on the emotion of the moment. But I did not need his courage. I had enough of my own. My night had been well spent.

  ‘But you see,’ I went on to explain, ‘the Lover won his battle, and his tormenters fled. He gained entrance to the walled garden and plucked the precious rosebud for his Love. As I have plucked this for you, from your own garden. My doubts too have fled.’

  And they had. I had made my decision for good or ill.

  ‘So I am here. To say yes to you.’

  ‘I think it was supremely difficult for you.’ The timbre of his voice was like velvet, to stroke my senses.

  ‘To find a rose? Well nigh impossible. This was the only one…’ I smiled when he used his free hand to silence me, his fingers gentle on my lips.

  ‘To make the decision, my dearest girl! My very dear Katherine.’

  ‘Yes. It was,’ I admitted, but still I smiled against his fingers for my heart was leaping with joy. ‘Do you remember who it was who helped the Lover in his battle?’ I knew that he would.

  ‘Oh, yes. All-powerful, all-conquering Venus. The goddess of carnal desire, of all physical delights.’ His hand tightening around mine and the suffering rosebud, he drew me closer. ‘So, Madame de Swynford, you will give yourself up to me and all the pleasures I can bring to you?’

  ‘I will.’