“What is it this time, my dear?” Anne asked wearily one evening. She wanted to support her husband, but her own need for strength always threatened to overwhelm her frail spirit. Anne’s apathy in the world around her had forced Richard to keep politics from her door. Should he bother her with the latest from Brittany? At first it had been good news; Richard’s action along the coast had resulted in a diplomatic victory as Duke Francis, fearing for his duchy’s security, agreed to hand over Henry Tudor and his fellow Lancastrian exiles. But then…

“I have received bad news, I am afraid, but you do not need to concern yourself, sweetheart.”

She smiled then, warming to the endearment. “I do need to hear. I pray you, tell me.”

He poured himself another goblet of wine, causing her to frown, but she had lost her energy to chastise him. “Very well. We had almost bagged Henry, but Duke Francis’s bootless minions were too slow to catch him before he crossed the border into France.” He crashed down his fist on the table, making Anne jump. “We have lost him, God damn their eyes and lazy arses! A few minutes would have changed everything.”

Richard could have uttered no truer words, for the capture of the Lancastrian claimant to the throne would have changed the course of English history.

“Do not fret so, Richard. We don’t have Louis to deal with anymore, and perhaps the new French king will be more reasonable. Offer to treat with him.” After a pause, she suddenly asked, “How did Richmond know Duke Francis was coming for him?”

Richard stared at her, impressed by her insight. Anne was right, someone must have leaked their plan. Someone must have betrayed him—again. He frowned as he pondered the probable culprit. “Stanley,” he said under his breath. “Stanley knew. He was at the council meeting. He must have told his scraggy wife, the Beaufort woman…” He paused, drumming his fingers on the chair arm, his expression darkening as he worked out the chain of events, “…and she told that traitor Morton in Flanders. He must have sent the message to her son.” He began twisting his ring. “Edward told me once that Thomas Stanley was a survivor in the game of polity. I see that now. If I did not need him on the council for his power in the northwest, I would confront him.” He put his head in his hands. “I’ll have to keep an eye on Stanley. I wonder who else is with him? Christ’s nails, can’t I trust anyone anymore?”

Anne went and knelt beside him. “Certainly you can. There’s Francis Lovell, Rob, Richard Ratcliffe, your lawyer friend Catesby, and what about dear Jack Howard and his son?” She pulled his hands away from his face and stroked his stubbly cheeks. “And for what ’tis worth, you have me. You will always have me.”