‘She is very young,’ I said, feeling the accursed blush creep up my neck. ‘But even so, yes, there is certainly something remarkable about her.’ The music crashed onto its final chord. It was over, and the dancers made their acknowledgements. I bowed politely again to Lady Welles. ‘Forgive me, my lady, but I am obliged to the queen for the next dance. I hope we meet again.’

Walking away, I cast a last glance at Margaret Beaufort as her partner escorted her from the dance floor. She was not in the least out of breath. Suddenly I wished it was her rather than the queen that I was pledged to dance with, naively believing that so young a girl would not judge me or compare me with my brother. She appeared to be a creature of the air rather than the earth, reminding me of one of the hovering angels illuminating my psalter.

As I had anticipated, the next dance was a slow one. Edmund had performed all the leaps and kicks demanded by the estampie and now I was able to relax into a bass, performed to a largo given by a piper and a solo singer. It began with alternate men and women holding hands and circling in a series of short and long steps first one way then the other, interspersed with graceful individual spins and regular changes of position through the centre, couples forming the spokes of a wheel and turning back and forth. The moves were intricate but the pace was slow, the intention being for the dancers to show off their balance and posture rather than their stamina. Happily there was little opportunity for conversation as we weaved across, around and between each other, passing with smiles and nods, until the dance ended and we found ourselves once more with our partner for a final bow.

‘Thank you, brother,’ Queen Marguerite said, raising her hand in mine ready to be escorted from the floor. ‘That was a pleasant, easy dance. You and your brother are not in the least alike are you? Neither on or off the floor.’

I wondered where this was leading and if I was about to receive an unfavourable comparison with Edmund. ‘Well, we are close in age, your grace, but not twins, as you know,’ I replied.

‘No, you are not.’ She gave me a sideways glance. ‘Edmund is a charming companion – witty and amusing – but I know which brother I would prefer as a father to my children.’

Alarmed by this extraordinary remark, I swallowed hard, wondering if I had heard her right; then I managed to gather my faculties enough to smile and make my response. ‘You mean our brother the king obviously, your grace.’