I am a woman of earth now; not a girl of water. I am not a maid, I am a lover. I am not interested in foreseeing; I will make my own future, not predict it. I don’t need a charm to tell me what I hope will happen. I throw the gold charm, which is like a wedding ring, up in the air and I catch it before it falls. This is my choice. I don’t need magic to reveal my desire. The enchantment is already done, I am in love, I am sworn to a man of earth, I am not going to give this man up. All I have to do is consider how we can stay together.

I put the bracelet aside and draw a piece of paper to me and start to write to the King of England.

From the Dowager Duchess of Bedford to His Grace the King of England and France:

Your Grace and dear nephew, I greet you well. As you know, my late lord has left me dower lands and funds in England and with your permission I will come home and set my affairs in order. My lord’s master of horse, Sir Richard Woodville, will accompany me and my household. I await your royal permission.

I put the charm bracelet awy in the purse and return it to my jewel case. I don’t need a spell to foresee the future; I am going to make it happen.

ENGLAND,

SUMMER 1436

The English court is at its summer pursuit of hunting, travelling and flirtation. The young King of England starts and ends his day in prayer but rides out like a carefree boy for the rest of his day. Richard and I attend the young king as companions and friends, we hunt, dance, play at the summer sports, and join with the court. Nobody knows that every night Richard comes secretly to my room and the best part of the day, the only part of the day when we are alone together, begins.

My dower lands are transferred into my name, the bulk of my lord’s great fortune has been paid to his nephew the king. Our house in Paris is gone, lost to the Armagnac king whose star has risen since the death of my lord. My lord’s beloved house of Penshurst has gone to his brother Humphrey, Duke of Gloucester; and Eleanor Cobham, the lady in waiting who betrayed the trust of her mistress, now walks down the beautiful allées and admires the roses in the garden as if she were worthy. She will cut the herbs that I planted, she will hang them to dry in my still room, she will take my place in the hall. I resent the loss of nothing from my married life but this.

The two of them, the handsome duke and his beautiful wife, are burning up with pride, and this is their summer of glory. Now that my husband is dead the two of them are next in line to the throne, and every time the young king coughs at dinner, or mounts a horse that looks too strong for him, I see the duchess’s head come up, like a hound hearing the horn. Their desire for the throne locks them in conflict with their uncle, Cardinal Beaufort, and the whole court mourns the loss of my husband who was the only man who could hold these rivals together. The young king is advised by the duke in the morning and by the cardinal in the afternoon, and by evening has no idea what he thinks about anything.