Read Online Virgin Widow by Anne O'Brien - Free Book Online

Countess, chivvying the steward, waged war against an infestation of lice and ticks with the warmer weather. Nothing would satisfy her until the whole place and the people in it reeked of the pungent summer savory that grew in abundance in the herb garden and we itched less. Then, when I had all but abandoned my quest, the Earl summoned Richard to his private room where he invariably conducted business. It was sufficiently unusual for me to take note. It proved to be a long and private conversation, and I knew it because I waited in the passage outside to grab him as soon as he emerged.
    ‘What’s it about?’ I asked Francis Lovell, who passed from kitchen to stables, a flat bread and a slab of cheese in his hand.
    ‘I don’t know.’ He shrugged carelessly. ‘He’ll tell us soon enough.’
    The door opened and Richard stepped out into the corridor. ‘Are you in the Earl’s bad books?’ I demanded before he could draw breath.
    ‘No.’ Faintly bemused, he looked as if he had difficulty in collecting his thoughts, much as he had the day he had sat by me after the blow to his head. For a moment he stood immobile, hands fisted on hips, studying the ground at his feet. Then, aware of his audience of two, me demanding, Francis frankly curious, ‘It’s nothing of importance.’ But we would not be brushed off.
    ‘Is the Earl at odds again with the King? Is that it?’ Francis enquired.
    ‘When is he not these days? But the Earl is not at odds with me.’
    ‘Tell us!’ I demanded.
    ‘No. I am sworn to secrecy and you cannot keep secrets.’ He looked at me with all seriousness and I did not care for the sharp appraisal in his stare. ‘You are not old enough to keep some secrets.’ And moving off with Francis, taking a bite of the flat bread, he refused to say more.
    To my disgust he remained as tight as a clam.
    But that night as Bessie combed and braided my hair the thought came to me, the faintest glimmer thatgrew until it was burned as bright as a warning beacon. Isabel’s mysterious bridegroom, of course—was he to be Richard Plantagenet? It took my breath away. I gasped, making my nurse chide me for not sitting still, thinking that it was her own doing. I shook my head. Would it not be the perfect solution? A marriage made in heaven, as my mother had said. They were of an age, related by blood. He was the King’s brother, important enough to be sought as a groom for a Neville bride. Isabel and Richard. Why not?
    A dark and unpleasant emotion filled all the corners in my heart with a pain that was all but physical. I knew jealousy when I saw it, but I had never felt anything like this. Isabel was sitting back against the pillows of our bed, braiding her own curling fall of hair. I scowled in her direction. Did she know? She had said nothing. I couldn’t imagine her remaining silent on such an issue. She must have felt the force of my hostility because she looked up and returned my frown.
    ‘And what’s wrong with you, little sister?’
    ‘Nothing!’ I hunched a shoulder. ‘Isabel…would you wish to marry Richard?’
    ‘Richard? Don’t be ridiculous. Of course not. He’s not at all suitable.’
    I was not convinced. Richard as Isabel’s husband seemed eminently suitable. I would never accept it. I did not know why, but I detested the thought. When I clutched my belly and groaned in a fit of childishdrama, Bessie accused me of over-eating the cherry tarts and dosed me on a bitter infusion of angelica. I did not tell her the truth. How could I when I could not yet interpret the pain that stabbed at me when I envisioned Isabel standing with her hands clasped warmly within Richard’s?
    ‘Nor would Richard want you!’ It was the only response I could come up with. And I prayed that it was so.
    I did not have to stoke my resentment and bad temper for longer than a day. There arrived at Middleham an imposing guest. All banners and gleaming horseflesh, more ostentatiously splendid than even the Earl