His chin is rough with stubble, his breath tainted; it is like being licked by a hound. His face seems very big as it comes down towards me, and very big as he moves away. He does not pause to look at me, or to smile, just that one aggressive kiss, then he turns to my uncle and says, ‘Do you have no wine?’ and they laugh for it is a private joke, based on their years of friendship, and my uncle leads the way inside and my mother and father follow them, and I am left for a moment, looking after the older people, with the squire at my side.

‘My lady,’ he says. He has passed the duke’s armour to another, and now he bows to me and doffs his hat. His dark hair is cut straight in a fringe above his brows, his eyes are grey as slate, perhaps blue. He has a funny twist in his smile as if something is amusing him. He is stunningly handsome, I can hear the ladies in waiting behind me give a little murmur. He makes a bow and offers me his arm to take me inside. I put my hand on his and feel the warmth of his hand through the soft leather of his glove. At once, he pulls off the glove so his fingers are holding mine. I feel as if I would like him to take my hand in his, to put his warm palm against mine. I feel I would like him to take hold of my shoulders, to grip me at the waist.

I shake my head to clear my mind of such ridiculous thoughts and I say, abruptly, like an awkward girl: ‘I’ll go in alone, thank you,’ and I drop his hand, and follow them inside.

* * *

The three men are seated, wineglasses in their hands, my mother is in a window embrasure, watching the servants bring little cakes and top up their glasses. I go to her side with her ladies in waiting, and my two little sisters who are dressed in their best and trusted to stand with the adults on this most important day. I wish that I was eight years old like Isabelle, and could look at John, Duke of Bedford, and marvel at his greatness and know that he would say nothing to me, that he would not even see me. But I am not a little girl any more, and as I look across at him, he does see me, he looks at me with a sort of avid curiosity, and this time there is nowhere for me to hide.

* * *

My mother comes to my room the night before my wedding. She brings the gown for the next day and lays it carefully in the chest at the foot of my bed. The tall headdress and veil are mounted on a stand, safely out of the way of candles or dust.