“In truth, you above all men have deserved my gratitude,” Edward told Richard in a private meeting at Windsor early in the autumn. “Not satisfied with being constable and admiral of England, great chamberlain, chief steward of Wales and all the other honors I have bestowed on you to show it, you now want to wed Anne Neville.” He harrumphed. “George will not be agreeable.”

Richard gave a snort. “Annoying George is only part of my reason for wanting Anne’s hand.” He stuck out his chin, clueing Edward that Richard had made a decision. “I am determined to wed her, but I need your support, Ned. Besides, you owe it to me.” Richard would never let his brother forget that he had carried out the orders for Henry’s execution, although Edward was not privy to the how and who. The king was unaware of the dark shadow that had descended on Richard’s very soul from the moment he had ended Henry’s life.

“To soften George, I suppose?”

Richard nodded.

When Anne had been captured along with Margaret, she had been placed in her sister Isabel of Clarence’s household, which in essence meant George was now Anne’s guardian and entitled to revenues from her estates. He now controlled both sisters’ vast Warwick inheritance as well as their mother’s Beauchamp manors. It was George, not Edward, who had the right to give Anne in marriage.

“How does the lady feel about it? Is she not grieving for her husband? You will have to wait for the year of mourning, you know.”

“Of course. But she writes that she desires our marriage above all things.” Richard felt his cheeks flush. “She says she has loved me since she was a girl.”

“And you, Richard? Do you love her?” Edward laughed. “Cock’s bones, it doesn’t matter if you do or you don’t. Besides, I know you have given your heart elsewhere.”

Now Richard laughed, too, enjoying this rare intimate moment with his brother. “You know too much, Ned. Am I still transparent? Ah,” he said, seeing Edward nod, “then I will not lie. I shall always love Kate, but I also care for Anne—like a brother, ’tis true, but it will grow deeper with time, I have no doubt. I remember her as a sweet, kindly soul—although she can be…um, spirited.” He was recalling their last meeting when she was brought to Coventry after being captured. Far from falling into Richard’s arms, she was brave enough to publicly decry George’s vicious killing of Edouard when the battle was already won. Richard had been impressed, and doubly so when, in a less public moment, he had asked her, in the most tactful way he could for a man, whether she carried Edouard’s child. Anne had slapped his face. He grinned now. “Aye, she definitely has pluck.”