Probably relieved they were stationed on the outside of the carved oak door, the two guards stared stoically ahead as the young duke of Gloucester waited for a pause in the shouting before knocking. Eventually, he was given permission to enter the chamber with an impatient, “Come!”

An overturned chair and the shards of a Venetian goblet littering the floor, its ruby contents already soaked up by the rushes, also gave Richard an inkling that this was not to be a cozy afternoon of pleasantries. The hawk-nose stood out between scarlet spots of anger on Richard Neville’s cheeks as he acknowledged the king’s brother’s deferent bow with a curt one of his own. Warwick’s steward cowered on the other side of the bright solar, out of reach of anything else the earl might feel the need to hurl, and he also reverenced Richard, relieved for the interruption.

Dispensing with the usual niceties, Warwick launched the question like a bolt from a crossbow: “Were you a party to this? Well, were you, cousin?”

Richard recoiled as though struck by the imaginary arrow, a worried frown creasing his forehead. “Party to what, my lord?” he replied, as calmly as he could. His first thought was of the hawking expedition that Rob and another of the knight apprentices had gone on the week before without proper escort. Sweet Jesu, someone must have seen me climb onto Rob’s shoulders and slip through the small opening at the back of the mews, he decided, and braced himself. But why had the rat waited a week…

“Your ungrateful brother has taken him a wife—in secret!” Warwick spat, stunning Richard into openmouthed astonishment. The man was beside himself with fury, and as his fist thumped the table the other goblets danced. “The king has wed a commoner—and without my permission.”

“W…wed? Ned wed?” was all Richard could manage.

Seeing the bemused look on the youth’s face, Warwick lowered his voice. “Your Ned has made a fool of me and a fool of England—nay, he has done worse than that: he has betrayed England and his crown. And all so he could poke his pestle in a paltry widow of no account.”

Richard found his tongue and launched a barrage of questions. “Who is she? When did this happen? What did my mother say? Was he not intended for a princess of France—a match you had arranged, my lord? Is it not she?”