I finished reading this letter from Margaret with mixed emotions, reflecting on its reproachful tone and the fact that my brother the king still knew nothing of the birth of my children while Margaret did. I felt had to show Jane the letter, even though it would point out her folly in revealing the existence of the children to a lady who, although not one of Queen Marguerite’s official ladies in waiting, was nevertheless becoming a regular visitor to court.

‘Lady Margaret will inevitably tell the queen,’ I said, having found Jane alone in the herb garden.

‘What if she does?’ she demanded. ‘I cannot see the problem in the birth of our children being public knowledge. It is known in Pembroke, why not in Kenilworth? I am not ashamed of them, even if you are.’

‘You know very well that I am not ashamed of them but I am concerned that the queen will tell King Henry before I have been able to do so myself and he will not be pleased. It will not enhance the chances of our daughters receiving favourable royal treatment.’

‘This would not be so if you had written to tell the king of the girls’ births. Look at your father, who proudly tells the queen of Davy’s birth and receives a knighthood and an annuity for his honesty and candour.’

She was steely-eyed and formidable in defence of her children but while I admired her for it, I could not let her think that I had deliberately withheld the information from the king.

‘I had every intention of telling Henry face to face, with my head held high, but Queen Marguerite prevented it. You took it upon yourself to tell the one woman most likely to reproach us.’