‘I trust you will look at me like that when I lead you out at our wedding next year, Edith.’ It was the voice of a young man, light and teasing in tone.

‘And I hope you will have transformed your appearance and perfected your dancing enough to induce me to do so, Geoffrey,’ came the reply, in a soft female voice.

Edmund swept his bride up into his arms and twirled her around and she laughed delightedly. I was glad to avert my gaze in order to identify the speakers, although I had already guessed that the girl was Margaret’s older half-sister, Edith St John and her companion was also known to me. Geoffrey Pole had been a squire in the king’s household at the same time as Edmund and me. He came from a well-to-do Anglo-Welsh family and I had encountered him once or twice while attending to business in West Wales, where he held minor royal offices in Haverford and Carmarthen, towns not far from Pembroke. Word at Westminster tipped him as an up and coming courtier and from their brief exchange I gathered that he was betrothed to Margaret’s sister.

When I turned, Edith had the grace to blush. ‘Oh I crave your pardon, my lord of Pembroke. I had not realized it was you, but I hope you know that I was not disparaging your brother of Richmond; rather comparing his magnificence to my betrothed’s lack of it.’

Geoffrey Pole, a tall man of perfectly acceptable but unremarkable appearance, did not seem at all offended by her veiled insult. ‘Pay no attention to Edith, my lord. Her sense of humour may be inclined to sarcasm but she is kinder than she sounds. It is terrible what jealousy can do to a maid.’

‘And what maid would not be jealous of a sister who has netted an earl when she herself can only aspire to a squire?’ I might have been embarrassed to witness this apparent slight if it had not been for the young lady’s playful sideways glance at her betrothed, which revealed more about her true feelings for him than her words.

I entered into the spirit of her mood. ‘It is not unheard of for a squire’s son to become an earl,’ I pointed out. ‘Like myself,’ I added with a bow, ‘and like my brother there on the floor, whom you call magnificent. Nor should we forget that your sister is the daughter of a duke and an heiress to boot; attributes liable to outshine the indisputable beauty of a mere knight’s daughter!’ This time my bow was aimed at Edith and with her slim full-breasted figure, high cheekbones and playful blue eyes my compliment was not misplaced.