By now Richard’s eyes registered his horror. Had he heard wrong? The earl’s words were tantamount to treason. Was he expecting Richard to agree with him? Was the earl lying about George’s support? Surely his brother would not turn on Edward; he might be vain, self-absorbed, and disaffected, but George was family. Richard’s mind thrummed with questions, but his tongue suddenly did not seem to work although his mouth tried to move. Unfortunately, his silence led Warwick to believe Richard was in accord and emboldened the earl. “I want you to think on all of this, and tell me true: Might England be better off without Edward as her king? After all, there are two more-deserving York brothers to take his place—with my help.”

Now Richard’s knees went weak, and he sank down onto the vacated chair. “Wh…what are y…you su…suggesting?” Dear God, was that feeble squeak mine?

Warwick decided he had planted the seed deeply enough for one day; he would wait until Richard saw the sense in his argument. He took Richard by the shoulders and said kindly. “’Tis a lot to digest, I know, Richard.” He raised the youth up and said, almost as to a child. “Why don’t you go and find young Francis Lovell and make him welcome in the henchman dormitory. He could not do better than have you as a mentor; you have all the makings of a great leader.”

Richard was dumbfounded. In a shake of a lamb’s tail, the earl had dared to speak treason and then, as though he had just remarked upon the weather, he had flattered his young charge so deftly as to make Richard disbelieve what he had just heard.

Richard pulled slowly away from the earl’s grasp, executed a bow and removed himself from Warwick’s presence without a word, revealing none of his feelings, now truly in turmoil. But the jut of the York chin and icy stare as Richard left the room registered the intensity of the young duke’s fury. Treason would not win Richard to Warwick’s side.

His head spinning, Richard descended the spiral staircase to find Francis Lovell. He almost knocked Anne over in his hurry, who was mounting the stairs to deliver a message from the countess to her father.

“Why so pale, Richard? Have you seen a ghost?” Anne enquired, smiling. “There is one in this castle, you know.”

Richard was in no mood to play big brother to Anne Neville and tried to get by with a weary, “Not now, Anne,” but Anne stayed him with her hand.

“So Father told you, didn’t he?” she whispered, looking for anyone coming up behind her. “He told you, didn’t he, that he and George have appealed to the Pope to help George marry Isabel?”

Richard froze. “What?”