“As there is for you. A different sort of war, difficult and dirty; one that will require skills of the intellect rather than feats of arms. And unless I mistake my man, you’ll find it to your liking.”
Warwick’s brown eyes danced. “I will admit that watching you tilt with Parliament was fascinating. Possibly because it called for the kind of resources our world doesn’t value nearly enough – as you put it, skills of the intellect – in which I believe I just might excel!”
York smiled thinly. “Now we have this business with Exeter and Egremont. Something to do with some illegally felled trees.”
“Egremont is a dangerous man to quarrel with.”
“Now both men are raising troops. It was just the kind of spark that could set the North ablaze.” York heaved a sigh. “I let Cecily have her way and agreed to delay the wedding until Anne turns fifteen, but now I think if Exeter were a decently married man he might settle down a bit.”
“Rubbish!” Warwick snorted rudely. “With all respect to your lovely Anne, she is hardly the one to put the bit on that runaway steed.”
“I shall have to go north myself and teach him something about the obligations a man owes his bride’s father. I would rather try reason than force. Damned nuisance!”
Chapter 8
May 1454 – Baynard’s Castle
Inexplicably time speeded up, gained momentum, rushing Anne inexorably toward a fate that steadily grew more frightening as it approached. It seemed such a short while ago that she had stood in the solar at Fotheringhay with her mother on a chilly January day when the earth was like iron and the lakes were glazed with ice and icicles hung from the gutters and turrets. Now the winter had yielded to spring, and those playgrounds of childhood were a part of her past.
As time moved on it dragged her ever deeper into a pit of despair. Not even the novel excitements of the great city of London, or the prospect of being the centre of so much loving attention, or even the round of lavish shopping, could lift her from her despondency. She wished she knew her future husband better. She wished their last meeting hadn’t left her with such a bad impression. She wished time would slow down so that she could catch up.
Shopping provided a fleeting distraction. Sometimes her mother accompanied her, but Cecily couldn’t abide London in the summer. After a few outings, she left Anne in the competent hands of Lady Elizabeth Lucy, who was the very essence of all that was artful and graceful and therefore the final judge and arbiter on all matters of fashion in the opinion of her mistress’s three daughters. For a while Anne was able to forget the fate awaiting her as she carefully examined a pair of gloves or a belt buckle, discussed the pros and cons with her companion, haggled with the shopkeeper, brought him down to a price she thought fair and had another whispered conference with Lady Lucy before announcing she would perhaps return later.
Cheapside was a shopping Mecca of drapers, milliners, shoemakers, jewellers, dressmakers, sellers of leather goods, used clothing and trinkets, in fact, everything a young girl could want or dream about, all packed into a quarter mile between Newgate and Lombard Street. Squeezed between the shops and booths was The Mermaid Tavern, always bursting with thirsty shoppers, as well as several cook shops or stalls selling mouth-watering goodies whose flavours perfumed the air. Anne usually bought hot pies for herself and Elizabeth and the two men-at-arms who had the unfortunate task of guarding them while loaded down with the day’s finds. Gold- and silversmiths dominated Lombard Street, and apothecaries, chandlers, bookshops and parchment sellers were to be found in St. Paul’s Churchyard.
Lady Lucy had early decided that Anne’s best colour was a vibrant violet and one of her new gowns was that colour. It was not to be her wedding gown. That had been made from a lovely cream and rose brocade donated by Lady Montgomery, whose brother had brought it back from the Holy Land. So they shopped for accessories, happily haggled with merchants, pored over goods for sale, endlessly debated the merits of each item that caught their attention before moving on to another shop, leaving an importunate shopkeeper in their wake. Anne had a budget but it was a generous one; both parents agreed that she should go to her husband lacking nothing.
Then one day it happened: that which was both anticipated and dreaded. Her mother told her she was to be honoured by a visit from her betrothed and her heart gave a great jolt. After all this time she was finally going to see him again. It would be a very important meeting and would lay the foundation of their future life together. From that moment on her heart seldom stopped fluttering.
“Mother, do you think the Duke of Exeter will ever love me as Father loves you?” she asked, as the fourth of her new gowns settled around her slender body.
“This is why such young girls ought not to be allowed to wed,” the Duchess said to Lady Say. “Their heads are filled with all this romantic twaddle – even this one, who is generally sensible, and despite my efforts to keep her grounded.”
“It’s not twaddle! It is the result of close observation and a thorough knowledge of the subjects coupled with calm deliberation, leading to an inescapable conclusion.”
Lady Montgomery laughed. “She begins to speak like a lawyer.”
“Do stand up straight, Anne. It will sit better on you,” Cecily admonished, tugging at the gown so that it swept smoothly over waist and hips. “Such dreamy illusions have no place in adulthood, or in marriage. As you know, I grew up with your father. By the time I married him, I understood his nature as well as my own, and certainly I believed I loved him. But now I’m not sure I did. Now I believe that true love can only come from sharing together the whole range of human experience.” She rested a hand gently on Anne’s arm, an unconscious gesture of consolation. “Your father and I have been singularly fortunate in finding an immediate and lasting happiness. I want that for you too, dearest child, but you must realise that few women are as blessed as I. Many suffer abuse or, almost as cruel, indifference, and if that is to be your fate, you must bear it with fortitude and dignity.”
“You will learn how to manage him. We all do,” said Lady Montgomery, trying to be kind.
From her seat by the fire, Lady Say said, “Remember this: the Bible teaches us that a wife’s obligations to her lord are a moral and spiritual imperative imposed by Almighty God. If you are a dutiful wife, your husband’s love will be your reward, and your house shall be blessed.”
Looking at her reflection in the full-length mirror in her mother’s bedchamber, Anne pulled a face. “What, even if he is utterly loathsome?”
“Even so. You must submit yourself to his will meekly and with grace,” Cecily said. “Even women married to the worst kind of men manage to find a measure of contentment, especially when the children come. Children can be such a source of solace and strength.”
Anne considered these words for a moment, and then her buoyant nature asserted itself. “You’ve set me an unfortunate example, Mother. I can’t imagine being wed to a man who is either cruel or indifferent.”
“Well, nothing I know of Exeter leads me to suppose he will be either.”
“I will try at least.” Anne tipped her head to one side critically. “I’m not sure this one is right.”
“It’s perfect. You’ll take his breath away,” Cecily assured her.
It was cerise sarcenet, fine and floaty, with a neckline cut to show the barest shading of cleavage and a bodice tapering in front to emphasise the slenderness of waist and hip. Long and wide sleeves were folded back to show linings and under sleeves of apple green. Hoops and curlicues embroidered in silk thread of the same green decorated the hem and neckline. Red and green, she fretted as she descended to the hall on unsteady legs, surely an ugly combination.
‘A natural pairing. Look to nature. The cherry tree, for example,’ Lady Lucy had advised.
But I don’t want to look like a cherry tree. Oh, I’ve made a terrible mistake. He’ll hate my gown. And he’ll hate me.
Her hair had been treated with a lemon rinse, dried betwe
en layers of silk and was left to flow down her back in all its natural beauty, unadorned and unfettered, in token of her maidenly state. She descended to the hall on the arm of her uncle, the Earl of Salisbury, who happened to be visiting that day.
“Ah, here she is,” she heard her father say as she emerged from behind a carved screen into the great hall.
Anne decorously lowered her eyes to the rush-strewn floor as she moved toward the dais.
“Your Grace, may I present my daughter and dearest treasure, the Lady Anne,” her father said with grave formality. “Anne, here is the Duke of Exeter come to see you.”
Anne executed a perfect curtsey. Rising again with the aid of a courteously extended hand, she straightened and raised her eyes to look at her betrothed for the first time.
No pimples! Why, he was handsome! Brown-eyed, brown-haired, his features arranged pleasingly enough. Neither fat nor thin, broad shouldered and elegantly dressed in a peacock blue doublet embellished with garnets and rubies and with a plumed cap perched on his carefully combed hair.
She only had a moment to study him and then he was bending over her hand, bestowing a perfunctory kiss.
When he straightened, he said only, “Lady Anne,” without inflexion.
It was a strange and frightening thing to come face to face with your destiny in a tangible form. Anne was overwhelmed by the magnitude of the event. All her senses were so rigidly focused on the man before her that her parents and the rest of the people in the hall, all of whom were watching this first awkward meeting avidly, receded into a phantomlike state on the periphery of awareness. When her father spoke again, she was startled.
“Anne, why don’t you take our guest out into the garden?”
“Thank you, Father, I will,” she said quietly. “This way, if it please your Grace.”
The Duke’s manner relaxed as soon as they were outside. Brushing a hand across his brow as if dashing the sweat away, he said, “Whew! Thank the saints that ordeal is over!”
“Ordeal? Was it so terrible?” Anne asked as she led the way across the springy turf of a flower-bordered lawn toward the river.
“It wasn’t something I was looking forward to. I have the feeling your parents look down on me.”
“Oh, I don’t think that’s true. I’m sorry it was so awful.” They had taken a few steps in silence before Anne said, “I’m glad you came. I was afraid we wouldn’t get the chance to become acquainted before we said our vows.”
“I’m glad too! I would have come sooner had I known what a beauty you had become! Not the skinny little bird I remember at all, by God.” And with that, he pinched her waist between thumb and forefinger. It didn’t hurt exactly, only startled her, so that she let out a little squeal, which Exeter seemed to find amusing. He flashed a grin.
Anne sought and found a safer topic. “I believe you have two half-brothers, my lord.”
“Aye, the Bastards – William and Thomas. No man ever had better brothers. They’re devoted to me and me to them.”
“Are they wed?”
“Jane and Eleanor. They will be your chief attendants. Jane is a model wife. You would do well to emulate her.”
“I will bear that in mind. And Eleanor?”
“She tries but Thomas has been obliged to take a stick to her on a couple of occasions. Not a good example of wifely rectitude, poor Eleanor.”
Anne gasped at this, but managed to say evenly, “I have always thought it a cruel practice.”
“Cruel? Not at all. Sometimes wives need correction, just as children do. It is a kindness to correct them, and if a stick across the shoulders reinforces the lesson, it will more likely be remembered.” Seeing that Anne was distressed by these words, Exeter hastened to reassure her. “I’m sure you’ll give me no reason to chastise you in that manner, will you?”
Swallowing, Anne murmured: “I’ll try not to. I want you to know that I intend to make you a good wife.”
“I expect nothing less.” He tapped a finger against his lips. “Let me think. What was it your father said about you? Obedient without being docile… Is that a true assessment, would you say?”
“I believe so.”
“That’s good. He also said you were intelligent. I don’t regard that as a particularly desirable attribute in a wife. She must, of course, be skilled in the use of herbs, both for medicinal purposes and for the table. She must be able to adequately supervise those members of the household who are under her control, particularly the kitchen servants. Above all else, her primary function is to give her lord children. None of these duties requires any degree of intelligence.”
“And yet,” Anne said very carefully, “I feel that a good wife must be able to converse with her guests at table, which requires that she be both intelligent and well-informed about the current political situation.”
“What rubbish is this?” he said, frowning so that his brows formed two curlicues. “She may converse about such matters as the weather, the food, the cost of goods, her children, buildings going up in the area et cetera. There are many topics she can discuss with any guest. But she must not, I repeat, not, discuss with anyone anything to do with politics, for fear she might say something that will embarrass her lord, or worse, get him into hot water. A woman is, unfortunately, apt to let her mouth run away with her. The entire gender is lacking in discretion. I don’t say this to offend you, but because it is an indisputable fact. Politics are solely the sphere of men for a good reason.”
Anne told herself to hold her tongue and then ignored her own advice. “But if she is well informed she is less likely to say something indiscreet,” she said with what was, to her, irrefutable logic. “My parents have always kept their children informed of current events and encouraged us to ask questions and form our own opinions. It is a wise policy, I think, because what affects them also affects us. That is even truer of a man and his wife.”
“How absurd! Children are patently unable to form sensible opinions and, furthermore, should be sheltered from all unpleasant aspects of the world. As should wives.” He paused under the blossom-laden branches of an apple tree to ask, “Where are we going?”
“I thought it might be nice to walk down to the river,” Anne said a little stiffly. She did not like his views at all, and the more she learned of him, the more fearful marriage to him became.
“The river stinks. Why don’t we just sit here in the shade under this tree and I’ll shower you with blossoms?” he said, affecting a charm that, as far as Anne was concerned, fell woefully short of the mark.
“I don’t care to sit on the grass. It will ruin my gown,” she said even more stiffly.
Exeter had already thrown himself down, with his back against a slender trunk and one of the white blossoms held between thumb and forefinger. He patted his thighs. “Well, you can always sit in my lap. That will save your gown. We are betrothed, after all. We’re permitted a few liberties.” He grinned up at her, lascivious and, to Anne, chilling.
“Thank you, no. I’d prefer to stand.”
“Very well, have it your way,” he said, and added pointedly, “this time.” Looking peevish, he began to strip the petals from the blossom one by one, while Anne stood watching him from under lowered lashes as if he were some large and loathsome insect creeping steadily toward her. After a while, he said, “It seems we have different opinions about what is expected of a wife. Not your fault, of course. Obviously, you’ve been subjected to some odd ideas. But you are young yet. Over the next few weeks, I will educate you as to my requirements.”
“I thank your Grace.” The irony escaped him.
He cleared his throat delicately. “Have the women of your house prepared you for what is expected when I come to your bed?”
“Yes, my lord,” Anne said, stiffness giving way to outright antipathy. Lifting her eyes to the tree where a wren was warbling sweetly, she reverted to the third person as if to maintain some distance between herself and the matters of which she spoke. “A wife must
be submissive to her husband in all he asks of her. She must do all in her power to make her bed a welcome place so that he will plant his seed in her. For only through children can she find fulfilment.”
“Do you believe that?”
Anne looked back at him, surprised by the question. “Which part?”
“The children part.”
“I’m not sure. But of course, I want to have children.”
“You’d be an odd bird if you didn’t. I’m relieved that this important part of your education hasn’t been neglected. Is there anything you would like to ask me – about my requirements, my likes and dislikes and so forth?”
There were hundreds of things she wanted to know, but for some reason, she no longer felt like asking. No doubt she would find out everything about him in time, and no doubt she wouldn’t like what she learned. She shook her head mutely.
“Well, outside the bedchamber, what do you regard as a wife’s most important duty?”
“I don’t know,” she answered miserably.
“No, I suppose not, because you don’t know me well enough to know what I regard as important. And I’m the one who matters. So I’ll tell you what is important to me. I expect my wife to be frugal. You come from a wealthy house and probably nothing has been denied you. You’re going to have to change your habits. I am not wealthy. In fact, I’m damned poor. If I stop to buy a pie on my way home, it will be bought with borrowed money. I expect you, as my wife, to look for places to cut costs.”
Anne blinked. “But you dress so well.”
“Of course, I do. I am a duke and, as I’m sure you know, descended from Edward III, which means I have royal blood in my veins; in fact almost as much as you have. So I must maintain a certain estate. Were I to live within my means I would be a laughing stock. In my public life, I cannot appear to be impoverished; it is in my private life that I must practice economy. It will be the same for you. When you go to court, you will be dressed and accoutred as befits your rank. I expect you to come to me with a suitable wardrobe, but when that wardrobe becomes worse for wear, if there is no money for new clothes, then you simply will not go to court. So I suggest you take very good care of what you have, as I do. Your dowry may help in time. As well as certain chattels, you will bring me a manor and estate with a yearly income of three hundred marks from wool and surplus crops. With careful management, we may be able to squeeze out a little more. It’s a fair sum, but it won’t go far toward relieving my debts.”
This Sun of York Page 6
