Chapters (58)
‘He should know,’ says Cecily. ‘Given that his mother was the French king’s sister. That lady’s father believed himself made of glass and feared assassination by smashing.’
The cardinal smiles, grim. ‘He has also turned down brides from Portugal, Spain and Austria.’
‘On what grounds?’ Richard asks.
‘It seems that although we speak often to Henry of marriage, God remains silent on the subject.’
‘Not much we can do there, then.’
‘Perhaps your good example will inspire him?’ He pulls himself upright, opens his hands. ‘I need you here in Westminster a while, Richard. On the King’s Council. It’s yours for the asking now, after all you’ve done in France.’
‘I’m already on the council.’
‘I mean the inner council. Day to day. In case you haven’t noticed, we’re ruled now by a fifteen-year-old who needs help wiping his arse.’
Cecily smiles. And Richard too, reluctantly.
‘Not this year,’ he says. ‘Uncle Gloucester loves me no better because I kept France safe. Besides, I must be about my own business for a while. This time in France has cost half the income of our Mortimer estates, which is falling, by the way. I’m in Wales and Ireland this coming time, putting things to rights. Send for me there if you need me for something more important than arse wiping.’
And so, within the week, they’re gone. First to Fotheringhay, where they keep Christmas, then to Ludlow and, as the spring comes on, into Wales. A year passes easily; they are almost always together, and constantly busy. When Christmas is come and gone again, and Richard is called to Westminster to take counsel with the King, Cecily goes with him.
She makes sure she is much seen about court, and commissions, in fabrics so rich they threaten York’s economy only a little less than his time in France, several of the new-style Burgundian gowns. Caught up high beneath her breast, their rising skirts show off the growing roundness of her belly, upon which she rests a long white hand as she walks and talks and smiles under Richard’s shining eyes.
