It was an astute plea as Margaret was leaving an England in turmoil and thus the crown in danger. Indeed, on several occasions during the week-long bridal journey, Edward had received alarming information of incidents that were rumored to include Lancastrians, Margaret of Anjou and, most lamentable for the Yorkists, my lord, the earl of Warwick.

Edward took the arm of each brother, turned them around and marched them back inside the archbishop’s palace, where they proceeded to drink heartily of the strong apple cider for which Kent was famous.

“I think we gave our sister a royal send-off, do you not agree?” Ned asked after the second pouring. “Let us hope Charles recognizes how fortunate he is and treats Meg with the respect she deserves.” He chuckled. “He will regret it if he does not.”

His brothers laughed in agreement and raised their cups. “To Meg!” George cried, and all three downed their cider.

Edward beckoned to his brothers to lean in over the table. “Did you notice who I sent with her as her champion and my representative? Our sister is enamored of Anthony Woodville, and I have a suspicion the feeling is mutual. What irony that her lover should give her away to her husband, don’t you think?”

Richard did not think it was irony; he thought it was cruel, but he said nothing and tried to join in the laughter. Also, he was not as familiar with the apple liquor they were downing with alacrity as he was with ale or wine. Hiccuping loudly after his third helping, he banged his cup down and watched Ned go in and out of focus at an alarming rate. “What’sh in this?” he slurred. “I shwear I haven’t had mush.”

Ned grinned and winked at George, who was also doing his best to stop his own body from reeling. “Poor little Dickon,” the oldest York teased. “He’s been too long in the north where the strongest liquid they have to offer is ewe’s milk. ’Tis time you learned to drink seriously, my lad. Especially if you are to be with me more often.” He reached for more cider and began to pour. “Will and I are wont to frequent the city taverns when we can; the wine and women are more plentiful and accommodating than at Westminster.”