Richard traveled down to London with the earl and his family for Elizabeth’s coronation the following May. He was dismayed to see the poverty as they passed through the many villages and towns. Villagers stopped to stare sullenly at the richly adorned riders, while barefooted children hid behind their mothers’ filthy skirts. Despite the relative calm of the new regime and with the exiling of most of the prominent Lancastrians, including Queen Margaret and her son, England had been stripped bare by the continual warfare between the houses of York and Lancaster. Maimed and disinherited soldiers had returned to find their homes burned, crops withered, or their disabilities preventing them from doing a day’s work. Ragged bands of angry men skulked in the shadows of trees in the woods, ready to pounce on vulnerable travelers. Lords, however, still demanded taxes or forfeiture, and thus the forests had become home to these peasant outlaws.

Richard was glad of the relative security of the earl of Warwick’s armed guard, and the journey was uneventful. In fact, it gave him the chance to ride alongside Isabel from time to time—although petite Anne was ever present seated in front and protected by her sister’s arms. Richard was disconcerted by Anne’s light brown eyes, fixed on him as he tried to make conversation with the older Isabel.

“I wish you wouldn’t stare,” he finally blurted, but then he felt churlish as Anne’s eyes welled. The admonishment had the intended effect, and Anne hung her head, focusing instead on her hands gripping the wooden pommel.

“Do you hear from George,” Isabel was asking. “Does he write?”

Richard gave a scornful, “Hah! George put pen to paper? To me? Not a chance, I regret to say.” He did not add that he hadn’t written to George either. “But Meggie—my sister Margaret—writes. She tells me George is now considered fully a man with all the privileges of his own household. He will no doubt lord it over me when we get to Westminster.”

“You don’t like him very much, do you?” Isabel looked at him curiously. “I have met him on occasion and I find him perfectly amiable, and,” she simpered, “very handsome.”

A flicker of jealousy wrinkled Richard’s pleasant morning ride through the farmlands of Leicestershire and Northampton. Isabel hasn’t even really noticed me, he thought, his self doubt once again registering he could not match up to his more charismatic brothers. He gave Isabel a little bow and excused himself to ride on ahead.