“A groat for your thoughts, Richard,” Anne Beauchamp’s warm voice interrupted his musings, and he turned to his mother-in-law with a smile. She had aged greatly. Life had not dealt kindly with her since her husband’s treachery, and her time in sanctuary had caused her to become a shadow of herself. The Yorkshire air had restored some of her health, and, remembering her many kindnesses to him, Richard had always treated Warwick’s wife with love and respect. He knew the rumors had made him seem a grasping son-in-law, and indeed he had benefited greatly from her fortune, but he hoped that he had given her a warm welcome in his—and her erstwhile—home.

“I was thinking how fortunate I am with my family, ’twas all,” Richard told her. “Your grandson shows good progress at the quintain, my lady.”

Spotting his grandmother on the platform, Ned waved enthusiastically and the countess waved back. “I do not doubt it, my dear Richard, but I have come to speak to you of my other grandchildren.” Countess Anne had chosen her moment carefully, not knowing if Richard harbored any ill-will to George’s orphaned children. “Would you consider allowing little Margaret and her brother to come north to join your household? I do not think his grace, the king, is unkind to them, but I am sure they are easily forgotten among the Grey Mare’s brood.”

Richard chuckled. “How Elizabeth would hate to hear herself called a brood mare. In truth, I do not think the orphans are ill-treated—my nieces Bess and Cecily are delightful girls—but let me consider your request, Mother. ’Twould do Ned good to have cousins his age about him, in truth, but I must consult…”

He broke off as a shout floated from the ramparts, “Riders approaching—fast.” Bowing to the countess, he hurried down the steps to the yard and disappeared into the inner courtyard. His mother-in-law stared after him; it was when he was in a rush and unheeding of his posture that his crooked back became more evident. When she had first mentioned it to Anne, her daughter had admonished her: “Never mention it to him, Mother. He only trusts a very few of us with the truth. It is a burden he bears with great humility and anxiety. Whenever Richard is angry—I mean really angry—I know it is because his back is troubling him.” She had then whispered, “He fears he has displeased God. I think it is why he sometimes seems obsessed with morals and piety. He also believes God’s displeasure has prevented our having more children.”