‘Beloved,’ he says to me, breathless himself. ‘It has been forever. I was afraid you would forget all about me.’

‘I have missed you so,’ I whisper.

My tears are wet on my cheeks and he kisses them, murmuring, ‘I missed you too. Dear God, there were times when I thought I would never get home.’

‘And you are released? You don’t have to go back again?’

‘I am released. Warwick will put in his own men, I hope to God I never see the town again. It was a misery, Jacquetta. It was like being in a cage for all that long time. The countryside outside is unsafe, the Duke of Burgundy raids and the King of France threatens, we were constantly alert for an invasion from England and the York lords, and the town was on the brink of bankruptcy. The men were mutinous, and nobody could blame them, and worst of all I was never sure what I should do for the best. I could not tell what was happening in England. And then, I could get no news of you. I didn’t even know if you were safely up from childbirth . . .’

‘I kept writing,’ I say. ‘I kept writing but I guessed you didn’t get the letters. And sometimes I couldn’t find anyone to take a message. But I sent you fruits and a barrel of salted pork?’

He shakes his head. ‘I never got a thing. And I was desperate for a kind word from you. And you had to manage all alone – and with a new baby!’

‘This is Edward,’ I say proudly and beckon to the wet nurse to come up and hand our son to his father. Edward opens his dark blue eyes and regards his father gravely.

‘He is thriving?’

‘Oh yes, and all the others too.’

Richard looks around at his other children, tumbling out of the front door, the boys pulling off their caps, the girls running towards him, and he goes down on his knees to them, spreading his arms wide so they can all run at him and hug him. ‘Thank God I am home,’ he says with tears in his eyes. ‘Thank God for bringing me, safe, to this my home, and my wife and my children.’

* * *

That night in bed, I find I am shy, fearing that he will see a difference in me – another year gone by, and another birth to broaden my hips and thicken my waist – but he is gentle and tender with me, loving as if he was still my squire and I was the young duchess. ‘Like playing a lute,’ he says with a roll of laughter under the whisper. ‘You always remember the way, when it is in your hand again. The mind can play tricks; but the body remembers.’

‘And is there many a good tune played on an old fiddle?’ I demand with pretend offence.

‘If you find a perfect match then you keep it,’ he says gently. ‘And I knew when I first saw you that you were the woman I would want for all my life.’ Then he gathers me into his warm shoulder and falls asleep, holding me tightly.