‘I’ve spent ten years trying to make amends for a mistake I made. I thought that serving you was my chance to put things right. I let down my father, I made excuses and turned a blind eye to things that I shouldn’t have, but I was wrong. You and my mother were never the same. She was a victim, you weren’t, and I won’t spend the rest of my life punishing myself for something that had to be done. You’re the one who ought to be making amends.’ She saw Katharine’s nod of approval out of the corner of her eye. ‘I said I wouldn’t leave you until all this was over. Well, it’s over. Now I’m leaving with my husband.’
‘Husband?’
‘Yes, we were married in secret four years ago.’
‘Mathilde?’ Henry’s voice had a catch in it. ‘Does this mean...?’
‘It means that I love you.’ She smiled properly for the first time in a year. ‘I think I’ve loved you ever since that night we sat under an oak tree in Paris and I promise to stay with you for as long as you need me.’
‘For ever.’ He didn’t hesitate. ‘I’ll need you for ever.’
‘Good.’ She wheeled her horse about, turning away from the Queen and Castle Rising, back in the direction of London and the future. ‘Because from now on, it’s going to be just the two of us and we’ll make our choices together.’
EPILOGUE
Herefordshire
—summer 1331
‘Wait!’ Henry pulled on his reins, drawing them both to a halt in the middle of a muddy track. He and Mathilde had been riding in companionable silence through the woods for the past half hour, but if memory served, the road, such as it was, gave way to farmland just around the next corner. Lush open fields, rolling hillocks, not to mention a shallow valley with a river and watermill next to a small hamlet and stone manor house...their manor house. ‘We need to get down.’
‘What?’ Mathilde looked around in alarm. ‘What’s the matter?’
‘Nothing.’ He swung his leg over his saddle and dismounted. ‘I just thought we could walk the rest of the way.’
‘Oh!’ Her face lit up with a look of excitement. ‘Does this mean we’re almost there?’
‘Almost home, you mean? Yes, we’ll be warming our feet before our very own hearth within the hour.’
‘That sounds blissful.’
‘And in another two hours...’ He grinned, waiting until she jumped down before sliding his arms around her waist. ‘We should probably test our new bed out as soon as possible.’
‘Not before I’ve explored our new house, thank you very much.’ She gave him an arch look and then relented, pressing her body against his. ‘Although I suppose we could visit the bedchamber first.’
‘Good. It’s been too long since I showed you how much I love you.’
‘It’s been two nights.’
‘Exactly. Staying in inns is all very well, but I’ve missed having you to myself.’
‘Then I’m all yours, in another two hours, that is.’ She wrapped her arms around his neck, resting her head on his shoulder. ‘Henry, are you sure about this? The King was prepared to offer you a lot more than a manor to remain at court. Even Queen Philippa wanted you to stay. She asked me to persuade you.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes. She said it was a shame we had to leave when you’d make such a handsome knight. Not as handsome as her husband, obviously, but still not bad for an Englishman.’ Mathilde laughed. ‘Those were her exact words. She’s completely besotted with the King.’
‘And he with her.’
‘Good. I always thought that kings and queens should be allowed to marry for love.’
‘Everyone should. Although, of course, they’re still newlyweds, not an old married couple like us.’ He lifted an eyebrow. ‘Not that I’m not still besotted with you.’
‘And I with you.’ She lifted a hand to his cheek. ‘Which is why I need to be completely sure this is what you really want.’
‘It is. I’ve had my fill of politics and intrigue. I was prepared to stay at court a bit longer to help the King while he needed me, but I’m a farmer now, or I soon will be, with your help. As for our new home...’ A torn expression crossed his face. ‘I know it was given to me by Mortimer, but that was back when I thought there was still hope for him. There was a time when he did the right things for the right reasons.’
‘Power has a way of changing people. Maybe most men would have done the same.’
He squeezed her tighter. ‘Maybe. But I couldn’t accept all those things the King offered me, not knowing the cost.’
‘I understand.’
‘Just as long as this is what you want, too. We’re going to have to get used to a less lavish lifestyle. No more twenty-course dinners and definitely no more partridge.’
‘Oh, dear.’ She heaved an exaggerated sigh. ‘No more jugglers and acrobats and entertainments either.’
‘Well, I don’t know about that. We’ll just have to make our own entertainment.’ He raised his eyebrows. ‘I’m actually looking forward to that part.’
‘We might be too busy working. Gathering crops and tending to the animals.’
‘Really? What kind of animals? Pigs as well as horses?’
‘Of course. And chickens and goats and sheep. Maybe a few geese.’
‘It sounds like we’re going to be very busy.’
‘Are you afraid of honest, hard work?’
‘Well, when you put it like that...’ He grinned. ‘But I’ll get used to it. Now close your eyes.’
She gave him a sceptical look. ‘Walking around woodland with my eyes closed doesn’t sound like a very sensible idea.’
‘I’ll look after you.’
‘All right, but if I walk into a tree then you’ll be sleeping by yourself for the next month.’
‘Understood. This way...’ He caught hold of her hand, leading them both a little further along the track. ‘Just a few more steps and...there it is.’ He glanced sideways when there was no response. ‘You can open your eyes now.’
‘Oh.’ Mathilde blinked a few times. ‘Oh!’
‘Well? What do you think of the view?’
‘Henry...’ Her mouth fell open. ‘It’s beautiful.’
‘It’s not bad, is it?’ He smiled, his chest filling with warmth as they looked out over the sun-gilded fields, over gold stalks of swaying barley and a brightly coloured meadow of wildflowers by the riverbank, all pinks and purples and blues, like tiny banners waving to greet them.
‘If I’d known it was like this, then I would have encouraged you to leave court sooner!’
‘Now she tells me.’ He gave her an incredulous look. ‘We’ve waited a long time for this, haven’t we?’
‘Six years.’ She turned her face towards him, her big brown eyes more luminous than ever.
‘Six years and one month, actually. We’ve come a long way since Paris.’
‘Then what are we waiting for?’
‘Just one more thing.’ He took her cheeks in his hands and kissed her, slowly and tenderly, letting the warm glow in his chest spread outwards until it enveloped his whole being. ‘Have I told you how much you mean to me?’
‘Repeatedly!’ She laughed. ‘You’ve shown me a few times, too.’
‘As long as you don’t forget.’
‘How could I, when you mean the world to me, too?’
‘No more regrets?’
‘No more regrets.’
They didn’t look back, walking hand in hand into the future.
* * * * *
HISTORICAL NOTE
I’ve wanted to write this book for several years—ever since I discovered that there’s a secret tunnel in the sandstone beneath Nottingham Castle. However, because it’s based around the actual events of the period 1325–1331, with a supporting cast of real historical characters, I knew that I needed to be extra-re
sponsible with my research.
I’ve come back and forth to the story, fitting it in between several other projects, but the main thing I want to stress is that it definitely isn’t a biography.
Writing about Queen Isabella was a particular problem, because so much we think we know about her life comes from biased sources. In the years after her death, she became known as the She-Wolf of France, with ‘unrelenting fangs,’ according to Thomas Gray’s poem The Bard (1757), and was a hated, even feared example of a manipulative and destructive woman, but the truth, according to modern-day biographers, was a lot more complex.
She was probably greedy, with a strong sense of entitlement, and self-interested, but she was also clever, cunning and, at the start of her rebellion against Edward II, had popular support, seeming to be acting in the interests of her son. If it hadn’t been for her adulterous affair with Mortimer, she might have been remembered as a good regent and a devoted mother.
I also want to be clear that I’m not accusing her of anything more than infatuation and self-aggrandisement. Although several historians have suggested that she was complicit in the alleged murder of Edward II—and it’s possible that she considered this as a means of suppressing another rebellion—other biographers, such as Alison Weir, believe that the chain of events points more clearly at Roger Mortimer, if a murder actually took place. In a bizarre twist, there’s actually evidence to suggest that Edward escaped his prison and fled to Europe, where he lived out the remainder of his life as a hermit.
In other words, although they were both ruthless and corrupt, I don’t want to condemn Isabella and Mortimer as any worse than they actually were.
There’s a lot of history that I’ve left out, such as Edward’s relationship with Hugh le Despenser, which I’ve touched on only briefly. My original draft included a scene in Hereford at the time of le Despenser’s execution, but the whole event was so bloodthirsty, with such horrific homophobic undertones, that it didn’t seem suitable for a romance novel and I didn’t want to risk trivialising something so barbaric.
The whole political situation during this period was also a lot more complicated than I’ve described, but I’ve kept as true to the actual events and timeline as possible—the one notable exception being Isabella’s journey to Castle Rising. She didn’t actually move to Norfolk until two years after Mortimer’s death, but I couldn’t resist a scene on the causeway.
If you’re interested in reading more about the bits I’ve left out, I highly recommend Alison Weir’s biography Isabella: She-Wolf of France, Queen of England and Helen Castor’s She-Wolves: The Women Who Ruled England Before Elizabeth for more details. Both were a huge help to me.
As for what happened next... Edward III proved to be one of the more successful medieval monarchs, ruling for fifty years, gaining fame for his victories at Crécy and Poitiers and establishing The Most Noble Order of the Garter—an order of chivalry that still exists today. Isabella, meanwhile, survived into her mid-sixties and was eventually allowed to return to court to visit her family, becoming particularly close to her grandson, the Black Prince. When she died, Edward II’s heart—or what was believed to be his heart—was interred with her.
Finally, I want to mention the original London Bridge, the longest inhabited bridge ever built in Europe and an important focus for medieval tourism. It took thirty-three years to build, being completed in 1209, and remained in use for six hundred and twenty-two years afterwards, until it was eventually deconstructed and replaced in 1831.
Fortunately, there’s a four-metre-long replica in the Church of St Magnus the Martyr on the north side of the new bridge, which shows just how incredible and inspiring this feat of engineering was.
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ISBN-13: 9780369711014
A Marriage Made in Secret
Copyright © 2021 by Jenni Fletcher
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The Marquess Next Door
Copyright © 2021 by Virginia Heath
The Railway Countess
Copyright © 2021 by Julia Justiss
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Copyright © 2021 by Jenni Fletcher
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