Elizabeth had been quietly watching the trio from her seat in the shadows, but now she raised her voice and spoke her mind. “Pah! Your happiness be damned. You are not to be trusted, and Edward is too kind to tell you so.”

George feigned ignorance. “What do you mean, I am not to be trusted? I have proved my loyalty over and over,” he expostulated, his hand shaking enough to spill wine.

“Ha!” Elizabeth snorted.

“Enough, Bess,” Edward growled, “and I am not too kind—I have already told George my reasons, and that is why he is sulking.”

George downed his wine, and rose unsteadily to his feet. “Have a care, Elizabeth,” he warned, leaning on the table and glaring at her. “You think you rule the roost here, but I have heard a certain Mistress Shore now holds more sway in my brother’s bed. And she is a lot younger and prettier than you.”

Despite her swollen belly, Elizabeth rose quickly from her seat and flung her cup at the retreating George. “Get out!” she screamed. “Out!”

Will jumped to her defense, surprising Richard for he thought Hastings detested Elizabeth. “The queen is right. You are insolent as well as treacherous, George. I would leave if I were you.”

Elizabeth pushed past him and commanded, “Edward, tell him to get out. Now!”

Edward sighed, dreading having to placate his irritable wife. “I think ’tis best you both leave us,” he said to his brothers, too sluggish to raise his voice. “George, I expect you to apologize to Elizabeth on the morrow, do you understand? You are beginning to irk me. Richard, take your brother to his room. God give you a good night.”

George effected a semblance of a bow and allowed Richard to lead him from the room. “Didn’t I tell you to beware of Elizabeth, Brother? Your turn will come, mark my words.”

Anne had another miscarriage in June, and Richard was plunged into a dark mood that caused servers to tiptoe around the great hall at Middleham during the midday meal and Richard’s retainers to grumble at his testy commands. Only Rufus dared be with him and licked his hand as if to say, I am here, you can count on me.

“It is nothing new. These moods began only after he knew his spine was crooked,” Rob Percy reassured John Kendall a week later, once Richard’s talented secretary had been ushered from the duke’s presence with an ink pot thrown at his head. “He believes his ailment is a sign that God is displeased with him. When something else is visited upon him—like Anne’s several miscarriages—he is certain God has abandoned him, and he goes into a solitary, black place in his mind. The man has such faith in the Almighty—indeed, enough faith for the three of us combined—and I cannot convince him that perhaps it is not he that God is punishing but Anne being punished for the sins of her father. He will not hear of it. As far as he is concerned, Anne is a saint.”