‘I don’t know how high we will rise,’ I say stoutly. ‘And I have no fear of falling.’

He looks at me. ‘You are ambitious to rise?’

‘We are all on fortune’s wheel,’ I say. ‘Without a doubt we will rise. We may fall. But still I have no fear of it.’

WESTMINSTER PALACE, LONDON,

AUTUMN 1436

The baby is not yet showing through the graceful sweep of my gowns, though I know that she is growing. My breasts are bigger and tender to the touch, and more than anything else I have a sense of being in company, everywhere I go, even when I am asleep. I decide to take the news of the baby and the marriage to the king’s council before the anniversary of my husband’s death, before anyone proposes another marriage for me, and so forces me to defy them. I try to choose a good time, but the council is torn between Cardinal Beaufort and his ally the Earl of Suffolk William de la Pole, and their great rival Humphrey, Duke of Gloucester and his court. There is never a time when they are not fretting about safety in the country, and empty chests in the treasury. There is never a moment when they can agree what should be done. I wait for a week after our wedding and then I visit the great favourite William de la Pole in his rooms in Westminster Palace, in the quiet hour before dinner.

‘I am honoured,’ he says, putting a chair before his table for me. ‘And what can I do for you, Your Grace?’

‘I have to ask for your help in a matter of some delicacy,’ I say. This is not easy, but I press on. ‘A personal matter.’

‘A personal matter for a beautiful duchess?’ he says. ‘I take it this is a matter of the heart?’

He makes it sound like a girl’s folly. I retain my smile. ‘Indeed,’ I say. ‘To be blunt, sir, I have married without permission and I am hoping that you will take the news to the king, and speak for me.’

There is a painful silence. Then he says, ‘Married?’

‘Yes.’

His gaze is sharp. ‘And who have you married?’

‘A gentleman . . .’

‘Not a nobleman?’

‘No. A gentleman.’

‘And he is?’

‘Richard Woodville, of my household.’

His gleam of amusement is instantly hidden as he drops his eyes to the papers on the table before him. I know he will be thinking how he can take advantage of my folly. ‘And this is a love match, I take it?’

‘Yes.’

‘You were not prevailed upon nor forced? It was done legally with your consent? There are no grounds for an annulment or a denial? If he seduced you or even persuaded you, then he can be arrested and hanged.’

‘There are no grounds for denial, and I want no grounds. This is the husband of my choice, this is a marriage I desired.’

‘Desire?’ he asks coldly, as if he has never felt it.