Faithful Traitor: The Story of Margaret Pole (Plantagenet Embers Book 2)

by Samantha Wilcoxson

  The sex of the child had not been announced, but Margaret would not be the one to crush Catherine’s dreams. That was often enough accomplished by nature.

  “You have a beautiful baby girl,” the midwife stated with false enthusiasm.

  And there it was.

  “The king will be so pleased!” Margaret gushed before anyone could express sympathy. “This long awaited and blessed child will warm his heart on this cold winter day.”

  She may not have a courtier’s skill at arranging her face, but this she said as if it were written in scripture. Catherine’s happiness meant more than truth right now.

  Catherine’s face had fallen slightly at the midwife’s words, but brightened at Margaret’s. “Yes! A princess for England. Someday, she will be a queen.”

  Nod. Smile. Margaret went through the motions as her mind went off on its own track again. Would Henry be content with a girl as an heir? It seemed natural to Catherine because of her own mother, ruling Castile in her own right, but that was not the way things were done in England. Henry’s father had carefully established that he took the throne by conquest, not his wife’s royal blood.

  Thankfully, others had taken up encouraging and congratulating the queen on the birth of the baby girl named Mary.

  October 1518

  As Ursula was joined with Harry Stafford, Margaret remembered that day they met four years earlier. Love beamed between them, and Margaret rejoiced that they would enjoy this elusive element of noble marriages. The groom’s parents certainly did not, and Margaret had too briefly. She closed her eyes to the rainbow of autumn foliage and prayed that their children would be blessed with the longevity of the Stafford marriage and the affection of the Poles.

  Since Ursula could look forward to someday becoming the duchess of Buckingham, she would outrank her mother as peeress. This did not bother Margaret. She had spent too much time with princesses and queens to assume that rank was the equivalent of happiness.

  “They look well,” Buckingham said as he sidled up to her. His expression indicated that he meant much more than his words revealed.

  Margaret surveyed their surroundings before keying her voice for his ears only. “Better than if you had selected a princess bride?”

  For once, Buckingham appeared to be genuinely shocked. “I would never marry my son to a Tudor.”

  Margaret was not sure if she should feel honored that her family was considered higher stock than the king or terrified that Edward still thought that would someday mean something.

  “I hear that Reginald has been named the dean of Wimborne,” he stated loudly enough for those nearby to hear that they spoke of innocuous topics.

  “Yes, the king has been most gracious in his education and placement. Reginald intends to take orders and continue to serve his grace to the best of his abilities.” This was all true if unnecessary to express so vocally. Margaret was afraid that the wedding guests could smell the treason simmering between her and her cousin.

  Edward’s smirk told her that he sensed her discomfort and reveled in it. “Our king has taken me to task for the lawlessness in the Marches. I offered to try any strategy he recommended to convince Welshmen to act with honor.”

  Margaret paled and almost reached out for support. She envisioned Henry’s face when Buckingham aimed this insult at his father, who King Richard had called a Welsh milksop.

  Buckingham took her arm and steered her away a few steps. “Margaret, do you think me so foolish? Ah, clearly you do.” He shook his head at her naivety. “I believed that I could speak my mind with you. I know that I cannot with Tudor. Have a little more faith in me, my dear.”

  Maybe it was the way the sunlight gleamed in his hair, perfectly coordinating it with the golden red leaves. She could blame his voice made purposely soft and seductive when nobody had tried to seduce her in years. Possibly, she just wanted to believe the best of him for the sake of her daughter’s future. Whatever the reasons, she took him at his word.

  “I apologize, Edward. It’s just that . . .”

  “I know. Your father. Your brother. It is wrong of me to tease you on such a sensitive topic.”

  She gave him a weak grin as somewhere in the back of her mind she wondered if anyone noticed them so closely conversing.

  “In all seriousness,” he continued as if nothing untoward had passed between them. “Henry will likely be killed in France. He wants to prove he is the next Henry V, but we know he’s not got it in him.”

  “Please.”

  “Alright, my little countess. Nothing more regarding our illustrious cousin.”

  He grinned again before leaving her alone. By the time Margaret felt composed enough to rejoin the wedding party, Edward was standing tamely at his wife’s side.

  “Mother, are you quite alright?”

  Montague held his arm out to her, but his eyes were on Buckingham.

  “Oh, yes. Thank you. Where is Jane?” she asked, taking the proffered arm.

  “She is surrounded by other young women and would rather I found alternative entertainment,” he said, sounding so much like her Richard that tears sprung into her eyes. Instead of crying, she laughed.

  “You are a sensitive husband.”

  “Sensitive and observant.”

  His eyebrow was raised in unasked question. Margaret knew that they had been too obvious. “You know how Edward can be,” she said with a nervous laugh. Plucking at invisible debris on her skirts did not make her appear less guilty.

  “I do. Better than you know.” He turned to face her, and she was suddenly surprised by how far up she was forced to look. Margaret remembered that Henry had spent time with Buckingham in France.

  “What has he said to you?”

  Henry examined his mother for a moment as he considered his answer. “Unlike our cousin, I am prudent enough to not repeat most of what he says. In this case, I am simply ensuring that my dear mother is not his next conquest.”

  “Henry!” she exclaimed much louder than intended, and heat rushed to her face.

  Montague calmly secured a goblet of wine and steered her clear of crowds. “You must know his reputation,” he continued in the same steady voice after she had taken a sip.

  “Of course,” Margaret snapped. She did not enjoy feeling like the immature one next to her own child.

  “I only felt that it was my duty,” he began, but she did not let him finish.

  “I can assure you that I am more than capable of managing myself.”

  That eyebrow was raised again. She wondered if Jane found it endearing or maddening. Her anger relented.

  “You are right. In part,” she quickly added. “He speaks too freely and has a way of…”

  It was his turn to cut her short. “I’m aware of the duke’s way with women.”

  Hearing this from her son, knowing that he had watched Buckingham seduce barmaids with the same technique he had observed being attempted on his mother, Margaret hardened her resolve against Edward Stafford.

  “You need not worry about me. Thank you for your concern, my dear son, but I am in control of my own destiny.”

  July 1519

  It had been ages since Margaret had seen such a display of wealth. Buckingham must have spent more on preparing for this visit than the king had on his campaign to France. Penshurst was a buzzing hive of activity with servants bustling about to ensure that everything was perfect for the arrival of the royal court. How Edward had convinced the king that he should spend a portion of his summer progress at the duke’s estate was beyond her for it was no secret that the two men disliked and distrusted each other. Maybe that would all change now and Buckingham would be content with his rather blessed position in life.

  The king and queen would be arriving within days, so every surface had been polished until it glistened in the warm sunshine. Exotic foods and wines imported from places Margaret had never heard of were waiting to grace tables for a few moments before they would be tossed aside because there was too
much for people to actually consume. Women would wear fine gowns that cost more than most people earned in their lives, and men would secretly negotiate in corners. It was just the sort of occasion that Margaret despised.

  She was here to see her daughter. Since her recent marriage to Harry Stafford, Ursula had been taken from Margaret’s arms and deposited onto Buckingham’s estates, now part of his family rather than hers. Her shoulders tensed and lips pressed together as she dwelled on the feeling of abandonment that she could only blame on herself. After all, she was the one who had arranged the illustrious marriage. Why could it not be possible to secure your children’s future while also keeping them under your wing?

  A sigh escaped her as she forced herself to relax, earning a bemused look from the maid who was scurrying past. Margaret hardly noticed. She would not have called herself arrogant, but she had long been trained to think of household staff as something akin to furniture. Except that they had ears. You could never forget that they heard every whispered word and stolen moment.

  Her mind was a dreary place today.

  The sun shone brightly and she forced herself to squint at it until a yellow and pink glow filled her vision even when her eyes were closed. Could she will the light to give her a sunnier disposition? God help me, she prayed, not quite sure what she hoped to receive from him.

  “Mother!”

  Bright colors danced across Margaret’s eyes and she could just make out the outline of Ursula sprinting toward her as she had not done since she was a little girl. Her voice was filled with joy, so Margaret was satisfied that her daughter was thrilled to see her but not disappointed in her new life.

  Ursula almost swept her mother off her feet with her embrace. “I never realized how I would miss you,” she whispered into Margaret’s hair. Was she taller? Margaret realized that her children had all outgrown her.

  “Let me look at you, my love,” Margaret said, not wanting to give her mind time to run away with sadness. She held Ursula away from her and admired her healthy glow and smile lit by contentedness that could not be pretended. “Good,” Margaret said nodding. “I prayed that Harry would be good for you.”

  “Yes, mama,” Ursula agreed, suddenly remembering herself and kneeling for a blessing. The girlish exuberance was replaced with the respectfulness of a child grown.

  Tracing the sign of the cross gently upon Ursula’s forehead, Margaret pushed back memories of performing the act since the girl was a newborn infant. “God’s abundant blessings upon you, my dearest daughter.”

  “I am your only daughter,” Ursula joked, rising with a playful grin upon her face.

  Margaret smiled in return at the familiar retort. “It only makes me treasure you all the more.”

  Ursula nodded at the expected response that warmed her heart no less because of its repetition. As if they sensed his approach, the women turned as one to greet Harry Stafford. He knelt before his mother-in-law, though he need not have, and Margaret gladly gave him her blessing as well. Harry rose and respectfully tilted his head toward Margaret before holding his hand out to his wife. Her face when she looked at him left little doubt that Margaret and Edward had at least done something right in their lives.

  “My father wishes for me to escort the two most beautiful women in England to the hall for the undoubtedly magnificent meal that he has planned.”

  “And who might they be?” Ursula playfully inquired as she took his arm and pressed herself close to him. Margaret attempted to hide her amusement, taking Harry’s other arm more loosely.

  “The finest foods should be saved for after the king’s arrival,” Margaret stated, unafraid as few others were to criticize the duke of Buckingham to his own son and within his own walls.

  Harry simply laughed. “You do not know my father as well as I believed if you do not know that he has more than enough gourmet delicacies to entice us all for far longer than the king’s planned visit.”

  Ursula giggled as though Harry was the most hilarious person she had ever encountered, but Margaret only grunted. It was just what she would expect of Edward. How had his son turned out so differently? She supposed that it only mattered that he had.

  “How is Arthur occupying his time?” Harry asked, and Margaret could feel him jostled by Ursula’s elbow. Not a single other person had dared to mention her son whom the king had expelled from court in a fit of anger.

  “I am putting him to work at duties more valuable than privy duty,” she replied and was rewarded with Harry’s laughter and Ursula’s gasp of shock. “He has been with me at Bisham since leaving London, but I will soon send him on to Warblington to oversee work there.”

  “Interesting and useful work indeed,” Harry observed mildly. “I enjoyed seeing him joust the last time I was at court. He is the epitome of princely bearing and charm. I am sure that you are proud, of him and all your sons.”

  Knowing that he meant to be highly complimentary, Margaret only nodded, but her pessimistic mind whispered that people said Arthur was a vision of his grandfather. All charm and no substance. Some months of hard work would increase his skills and build integrity, she hoped.

  They entered the hall which was warmed by too many bodies and trays of heated food. The air did not stir, leaving too many cloying scents competing for dominance and turning Margaret’s stomach. Outdoor trestles would have been better on such a day, but no one would tell Buckingham that.

  “Cousin!”

  Margaret heard the greeting from behind her and wondered how the king could have arrived without them knowing it. Then she turned to see Edward Stafford approaching her with open arms. Her body stiffened, causing Harry to glance at her with a question in his chestnut colored eyes.

  “Our children were kind enough to escort me in,” Margaret said, recovering her etiquette training. “Everything looks lovely,” she said, gesturing to the room with both hands. “Stunning,” she corrected when his face told her that lovely was not good enough. The right corner of his lips turned upward in appreciation.

  “Sit, and tell me how old Bergavenny outsmarted you,” he said jovially as he directed her to the seat next to his own.

  “I would not say that he has,” Margaret snapped. “You should be ashamed to bring it up.”

  “Oh, come now, Meg,” Buckingham said as he relaxed into his seat. “Your Henry will have his own titles and living. My Mary was in need of a good husband.”

  The topic aggravated her far more than Arthur’s supposed scandal. That Edward had married his daughter to her son’s father-in-law was a strong antidote to any affection she had thought she had for him. She took a long drink of wine, peering at him over the gold rim before speaking. When he had the grace to look uncomfortable, she slowly lowered it.

  “You know better than most that I arranged that marriage with Jane’s inheritance in mind for them, but you are also correct. Henry is proving himself quite nicely and will receive his own rewards in addition to the Montague lands from our gracious king.”

  As soon as she had said it, she wished that she had not. Edward would say something that he should not. That nobody should.

  But he did not.

  “How long until Ursula is making us grandparents?” he asked, as if they were an old married couple snuggled together before their fire.

  The transition caught her off guard, though she was glad that he had not taken the opportunity to insist that their shared progeny would wear the crown. Instead, he sent her mind swirling into thoughts of her child bearing a child of her own. The thought thrilled and terrified her, as it must Ursula.

  “These things happen in God’s time.”

  “Of course they do,” Buckingham agreed before settling in to his heaped up meal. He had given up attempting to draw Margaret out and wrap her around his finger as he had in the past. She seemed unaffected by his charms. He wondered if he was getting old.

  Margaret hid a blossoming smirk with the glittering gold cup and took a sip of wine.

  ~~~~


  The next day’s activities centered upon the arrival of King Henry and Queen Catherine. Margaret would have gladly sacrificed her visit with Catherine if it meant that she would not have the anxiety of Henry and Edward together. Someone was certain to say the wrong thing. While excitement flurried around her, she fought nausea when she considered what Henry might hear from the mouth of her cousin, her daughter’s father-in-law. Let him be prudent, she prayed.

  Margaret had been content to remain at the rear of those who shoved for position to greet their monarch. How could so few people understand that attention from the king was a double edged sword, just as likely to cause their downfall as their rise? She was content with her current position and would rather not be noticed. However, she also could not let the king think that she was avoiding him. She sighed. Thankfully, Catherine was always there to smooth away the wrinkles.

  In between those who were eager to present themselves and those who would not dare supersede the countess, Margaret demurely presented herself with a low curtsey and the appropriate praise. Her chin almost rested upon her chest, and Henry had difficulty seeing more than her lashes when he struggled to gauge her ambitions in her eyes. You could always tell by their eyes.

  “Lady Salisbury, I am so grateful to have you in attendance. Please join me in my rooms later.”

  Margaret raised her head to assure Catherine that she was eager to do so. It only took a glance for Margaret to see that Catherine understood and for thanks to be communicated.

  “My wife would like to discuss a proposition for you, cousin,” Henry spoke for the first time, and Margaret could not have been more surprised by his words. He seemed pleased that her eyebrows came together and her mouth puckered in uncertainty. Good. Ambition scares her, he thought.

  “Of course, your grace,” she said, curtseying low before him again to complete her servile presentation and hide her confusion. “I am yours to command.”

  “Oh, I know that,” Henry said in a low voice. He was leaning over to draw her upward, and he grinned as she stood before him, small and pale. She could not see any of his father or mother in his face at that moment. The gleam in his eye and movement toward her that was just a little too close reminded her of Edward. She dared not move her gaze from him to see if anyone else noticed.