“How do I look at you?”

“As though you love me.”

“Which is no more than the truth.”

Lovers’ talk. Lovers’ ways. I could not help it. Life was wonderful suddenly.

I was losing my baby, but I had my love to comfort me. Owen was making life wondrously happy for me.

I will not lose all, I reasoned with myself.

Guillemote was strangely silent. She seemed a little aloof. I had betrayed too much and she was wondering what would come out of this. She would guess the truth, I knew. I had been so desolate at losing my child; and she would know that I must have something in my life to help me replace that loss.

She said nothing, though I knew the time must come when she would.

The household had been taken over now. Dame Alice Butler and Mrs. Astley were in charge of it. There was no place for me. Henry’s Court moved to Windsor, and I stayed on in Hertford.

It was easier here for Owen and me to meet, for the King must necessarily be under constant scrutiny; and it would be more so now that he had his own household. Thus I could live more or less privately, for a time at least. I should be grateful for that.

I became more and more aware of that anxiety in the looks which my dear ladies cast in my direction, and they appeared to be a little embarrassed when Owen’s name was mentioned.

Guillemote could contain herself no longer.

She came to me one day and I guessed what was on her mind, because for the first moments she was silent and she looked at me in a puzzled sort of way.

“My lady,” she said solemnly at length, “are you aware that you have changed and that it is…noticeable?”

“Changed? In what way, Guillemote?”

“Something has happened. I knew it…and what matters is that others know it.”

“We all know that the King has his own establishment now. That is certain to make change.”

“After all your sorrow, you seem to have accepted that separation. Is that because …?”

“Because, Guillemote?”

“Because you have found consolation?”

“Consolation,” I mused. “Oh, Guillemote, it is more than that.”

“It is Owen Tudor, is it not?”

I nodded. It was no use pretending with Guillemote. She was too good a friend and she knew me too well.

She said: “This is…reckless.”

“I know.”

“Have you thought what it might lead to?”

“Listen, Guillemote…I married once to please them. This time I suit myself.”

“But it is not a question of marriage. A queen cannot mate with a …”

“A brave soldier,” I cried. “My husband thought Owen was one of the finest men in his army.”

“But you cannot …”

“I cannot help it, Guillemote.”

“Well, it was understandable. You were overwrought. You saw Jane with the King of Scotland. Your baby has been handed over to his nurse. I knew it. It happened. But now there must be no more.”

I felt suddenly confident to manage my own life. I laughed at her. I said: “Guillemote, it is for me to decide what there shall be…for Owen and me.”

“He is the Clerk of the Wardrobe.”

“He was the companion of my late husband.”

“He is a penniless Welsh squire.”

“And I am the Queen who loves him.”

“Holy Mother of God, has it gone as far as that?”

“It has, Guillemote.”

“They will discover.”

“They?”

“The Duke of Bedford, the Bishop of Winchester…the Duke of Gloucester. Gloucester…now he is a mischievous one. I would not want him to know. You are placing yourself in danger, my lady.”

“I care nothing for danger.”

Her next words frightened me. “And there is one whom you might place in even greater danger.”

“What do you mean?”

“Owen Tudor, of course.”

I was terrified, for she was right.

“Yes,” she went on. “He is the one they would blame. You…well, you might be shut away in a convent…away from the world. But wardrobe clerks who aspire to queens…well, I would not want to dwell on what might happen to him. Mon Dieu!They could call it treason.”

That sobered me.

And Guillemote was satisfied. She had made me pause to think.

· · ·

For a few days I would not see him. Then, when I came upon him, he looked so doleful that I asked myself why I was listening to Guillemote’s dismal prophecies.

Owen said: “It is days since I have seen you.”

“I have been afraid,” I told him. “Guillemote knows.”

“Does she? She would keep our secret.”

“She is completely loyal…but she talked to me.”

“You are on such familiar terms that I am not surprised.”

“She is worried about what will happen if we are discovered.”

“She has a point there,” he agreed.

“They would separate us…and Owen…what charge would they bring against you?”

“Whatever it was, I should count everything worthwhile.”

“It must never be,” I said quickly.

“We must be doubly careful and make sure that we are not discovered.”

“Everything she says is because of her care for me, I know.”

“Perhaps I should go away.”

“You could not. I should forbid it.”

“How did Guillemote discover?”

“She said it was the way I looked.”

“You are beautiful…always.”

“People in love betray themselves sometimes, Owen. I listened to her. She made me fear for you.”

He was silent.

“I could not bear it if anything should happen to you, Owen.”

“I will take the utmost care to preserve myself for you.”

I knew it was useless. We could not stay away from each other. It had begun and it must go on.

So through all the days my thoughts were of Owen; and all through the nights we were together.

We lived in a state of bliss. This was the most wonderful experience which had ever befallen me. I had not known there could be anything like it, and I marveled to contemplate that, if Owen had never come my way, I should have lived my life without it. I had thought I loved Henry, but now I realized that that had been a pale shadow of this exciting relationship.

Henry’s kingship, his need to conquer, had been the driving force of his life. To him love was a light adventure, pleasurable and rewarding in a way but something apart from the main purpose of life. Whereas I was everything to Owen and he to me. Not only was there this all-absorbing, awe-inspiring passion but there was the need for secrecy which gave an added excitement.

There were times, of course, when I wished that we could live in peaceful harmony, openly and unafraid, but the fact that we were living dangerously, in those early days, did add a thrill of which we could not be unaware.

I was not cut off from my son. I was allowed to visit him. It was not like living under the same roof, but at least I could assure myself that he was not unhappy. Dame Alice was a good, serious-minded woman, determined to do her duty; and Henry appeared to accept her.

It was clear to me that Joan Astley was ready to devote that loving care to her charge which the best nurses give unstintingly, and I could see that he was safe in her hands. She would protect him and if—which I fervently hoped would not be the case—Dame Alice felt at times that she wished to avail herself of the permission to chastise him, Joan Astley would be there to comfort him.

Henry showed his pleasure in seeing me and was not overdistressed when I left—a fact which both saddened me and made me rejoice.

Guillemote, who had accompanied me on the visit, said: “It is not as bad as we feared. He will be happy enough and he will not forget us.”

“A child should be with his mother,” I insisted.

“There would be many people around to watch us…if he were with you,” she reminded me.

She was right, of course. She was worried about me—which I realized she had good reason to be.

Owen was still a soldier at heart; his life had been governed by the war in France and he was very interested in how it was progressing. He listened avidly to the news of what was happening across the seas as well as in England.

Neither of us wanted to look too far ahead. Each of us knew that if our relationship was discovered we should be in trouble…deep trouble. Marriage would be out of the question, I was sure.

I should be disgraced and Owen would be accused of treason. That worried me a great deal; but in the first flush of our passion I could think of little else but the joys of the moment.

There were times when we lay in bed when Owen would whisper to me of what was going on in France.

“It is always dangerous,” he said, “when a country extends its dominions. Communications have to be kept up. Armies have to be sent to guard the outposts. It is never easy. If the King had lived …”

“If the King had lived,” I retorted, “we should not be here now…like this.”

He was silent. He had a great reverence for Henry. I think he was deeply concerned that he had become Henry’s widow’s lover.

“The Duke of Bedford is very good, they say,” I said.

“There was only one King Henry V, and he was the greatest soldier the world has ever known.”

“What do you think will happen now, Owen?”

“I think the Duke of Gloucester will make a great deal of trouble.”

I shivered. “I am afraid of Gloucester.”

“He is a man to be watched. But now he is going to Hainault with a company of men to fight for his wife’s rights…so he will be out of our way.”

“I hope he will stay there. Do you think he will regain Hainault? It was what he married for. Poor Jacqueline. I wonder if she knows?”