Jane peered again at the letter. ‘Of course she has to reproach us for our “sins” because she is so pious, but we have not lost her support have we? She says she holds me in high regard and does not think his baseborn nursery companions will contaminate her precious son. How noble of her!’ Her tone had become scathing. ‘I know what is really troubling you, Jasper – losing Lady Margaret’s esteem. Because she is your ideal of womanhood, is that not the truth? What is it you really want, my lord? Is it genuine affection, the gift of children, or do you want the cold, sexless admiration of this perfect patron?’ She thrust the letter back into my hands and turned away, taking a few strides down the garden path before turning to deliver her parting shot. ‘You might note that Lady Margaret at least says she is sending our children silver cups. So far you have not offered them or me any form of security for our future. Have you thought where we would live if you were to die or be killed, Jasper? Am I supposed to go crawling back to my father, who I have more or less abandoned at your behest, to present him with two extra mouths to feed? While you think about this, I think it better that I sleep in the nursery with the children. At least that will please Lady Margaret!’

I had thought this was just a brief display of female pique and that relations would be restored between us within hours but as her absence from my bed extended into days I began to give more serious consideration to her words. Did I truly see Margaret with her lofty titles and petite femininity as the ideal woman? So that others like Jane, more earthy and practical, with curves at hip and breast, who embodied motherhood and empathy over grace and intellect, were less admirable? Perhaps I did, or at least perhaps I had at one time held this view, but I did not believe it to be true now. I realized that I had never felt so content as when contemplating Jane with our two little maids and reflecting on the fulfilment their threefold presence gave me. After a week of pride-driven loneliness, during which I made a visit to Tenby, I sent Maredudd to call Jane officially to my business chamber, the room where I conducted my correspondence and met with petitioners. It was a summons, which out of fealty she could not refuse.

When she arrived I dismissed my two clerks, one of whom had been working on a document, which now lay before me on the desk. Jane appeared, plainly dressed for the nursery and wearing a grim expression. She looked wary as she obeyed my signal to take a chair, perhaps anticipating reprimand, especially as I began by presenting a facade of business-like gravity.