Margaret says nothing, but leans back in the chair as if she is exhausted.

‘Can there?’ the duchess asks again.

‘And you will make sure that my husband is invited to attend,’ Cecily insists. ‘As is his right.’

‘I will take the queen’s note to the duke myself,’ I assure her.

‘And of course we will all be so happy to attend the baptism,’ she adds.

‘Of course.’ I wait to see if she has the gall to ask if she can be godmother but she contents herself with curtseying to the queen and stepping backwards for a few paces before letting me escort her to the door. We go out together. Outside in the presence chamber is the handsome boy that I noticed earlier, who jumps to his feet. It is her oldest boy, Edward, and as he sees me he makes a bow. He is the most bonny child, golden-brown hair, dark grey eyes, a merry smile, and tall, perhaps up to my shoulder, though he is only eleven.

‘Ah, you have your boy with you,’ I exclaim. ‘I saw him as I came in but I did not recognise him.’

‘This is my Edward,’ she says, her voice warm with pride. ‘Edward, you know Lady Rivers, the Dowager Duchess of Bedford.’

I extend my hand and he bows and kisses it.

‘What a heartbreaker,’ I say to her with a smile. ‘He is just the same age as my boy Anthony, isn’t he?’

‘Only months apart,’ she says. ‘Is Anthony at Grafton?’

‘Staying with his sister at Groby,’ I say. ‘Learning his manners. I think your boy is taller than mine.’

‘They shoot up like weeds,’ she says, disguising her pride. ‘And the shoes they get through! And the boots! Of course I have two other boys and Richard in the cradle.’

‘I have four boys now,’ I reply. ‘I lost my first, Lewis.’

At once she crosses herself. ‘God keep them safe,’ she says. ‘And Our Lady comfort you.’

This talk of children has united us. She steps closer to me and nods towards the queen’s chamber. ‘Did it go well? Is she well?’

‘Very well,’ I say. ‘It took all night and she was brave and the baby came out quite perfect.’

‘Healthy and strong?’

‘Giving suck, giving tongue,’ I tell her in the old country saying. ‘A bonny boy.’

‘And the king? Is he well? Why is he not here? I would have thought he would have come to see his son?’

My smile is guileless. ‘He is serving God and his people in the best way that he can,’ I say. ‘On his knees for the safe delivery of his son and the security of an heir for England.’

‘Oh yes,’ she says. ‘But I had heard he was taken ill at Clarendon Palace, and came home in a litter?’

‘He was tired,’ I say. ‘He had spent most of the summer pursuing and sentencing rebels. Both this year and last he spent all days of summer making sure that justice runs through the lands. Sometimes your lands, as it happens.’