“Margaret, as dowager duchess, needs to find a strong husband for Mary,” Edward was saying. “As you realize, it is not wise, in view of Louis of France’s ambitions to break up Burgundy, to allow a woman to rule, let alone one as young as Mary.” He looked over at George. “How old is she? Twenty?” George was slumped in his chair, already the worse for drink. He nodded. “Tell Richard Meg’s idea, George,” Edward went on. His silky, easy-going tone did not fool Richard. Something was afoot.

“She wanted me to marry Mary and frighten Louis. But my dear brother has refused,” George responded, wine-fueled anger in his tone. “He doesn’t want me to be happy.”

Richard smirked. The last time Mary had been offered to George, he was insulted.

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.”