“He is bound to learn of it eventually. We must simply be extremely diplomatic about the entire thing. I’ll give it careful thought and hope he doesn’t approach us tomorrow.”
“Aye. I shall sleep on the matter. I’ve noticed before that weddings are contagious. A royal marriage seems to overcome men’s natural aversion to shackling themselves with a wife.”
Joanna Plantagenet’s wedding day dawned without a cloud in the sky. Though it had taken an inordinate amount of time to adorn the royal princess in the finery designed especially for her nuptials, she stubbornly refused to be hurried.
“I’m sure it will be taken for granted that I shall be late. How the devil would it look if I arrived before the bridegroom? All would assume that I am overeager to be wed. Being late will put that rumor to rest before it starts.”
Joanna’s black hair fell in shining waves to her waist, and Jory covered it with the gold tissue veil and then fitted on the princess’s new diamond and sapphire coronet to hold it in place. When I wed Guy, I shan’t care if the entire world knows I am eager to become his wife!
Blanche Bedford returned from the window, breathless with excitement. “There is a huge crowd gathered outside waiting for a glimpse of the bride.”
There had been much discussion about how Joanna would get from her royal apartment in Windsor’s Upper Ward to the stone chapel in the Lower Ward. Should she be conveyed in a carriage or ride her white horse? Finally, King Edward had declared that his daughter would walk with her attendants so that all who served at Windsor Castle could glimpse the beautiful bride.
Maud Clifford and Eleanor de Leyburn brought Joanna’s ermine cloak and held it while the princess slipped her arms through the openings, which were surrounded by black-tipped ermine tails. All four of Joanna’s ladies wore identical gowns that were a paler shade of Plantagenet blue than the bridal gown. Jory knew the delicate hue suited her coloring, but did not realize that the wreath of white rosebuds upon her gilt tresses made her look exquisitely innocent and virginal.
Suddenly the queen appeared at the door, pale and breathless. “What on earth is keeping you, Joanna? Your father is pacing about the chapel, working himself into a fine rage. Do you not realize you are showing disrespect to the king and to Gloucester?”
“This is the last day you will have to bear my disrespect, Mother. Tomorrow I shall rule my own household at Clerkenwell. It is the only advantage I perceive in marrying Gilbert de Clare.”
Jory blushed for her royal friend’s ungracious words.
“Lady Marjory, I leave the matter in your capable hands. Get Joanna to the chapel without further delay,” the queen ordered.
When Her Majesty departed, Jory resorted to blatant manipulation. “I believe it is clouding up outside. Perhaps it won’t dare rain on such a lovely bride, but the sunshine will make your diamonds and sapphires glitter so brilliantly, you’ll dazzle the eyes of those hoping for a glimpse of their royal princess.”
“Hurry up, Maud, Blanche…I don’t want to get wet. All four of you must carefully carry my train so that it doesn’t drag on the ground. Where is that damn page boy with my kneeling cushion?”
A great cheer arose from the crowd as Princess Joanna emerged, and in spite of her studied arrogance, it brought a smile to her lips. Jory, too, beamed with delight when applause broke out as the procession of beautiful noble ladies walked with slow measured steps toward the Horseshoe Cloister that led into the Lower Ward.
There was not room enough for all the invited guests in Windsor’s Royal Chapel and a crowd of nobles stood beneath the stone arcading outside the entrance to the chapel. Six little girls of noble birth awaited the bride’s arrival in the vestry, and they walked down the aisle before Joanna, strewing rose petals, myrtle, and mint, an ancient custom that verily bestowed love, happiness, and fertility upon the couple.
Focusing her attention on holding up Joanna’s train, Jory did not see Warwick, who was standing at the back of the chapel in the last pew. Guy de Beauchamp, however, saw Marjory de Warenne in all her youthful innocence.
When the bride and her attendants reached the front of the chapel, Jory and the other three came to a halt at the altar steps and watched Joanna ascend to stand beside Gilbert de Clare, who was attended by King Edward and Archbishop Winchelsey. Jory bent to whisper instructions to the page boy, who then quickly set the velvet kneeling cushion before the bride. When the Earl of Gloucester went down upon his knees, the regal princess slowly followed suit, and the archbishop made the sign of the cross and began the Solemnization of Matrimony.
Jory did not understand the words of the Latin prayer, and her mind began to wander. Her eyes focused on the candle flames of the tall tapers that adorned the altar and in her imagination Jory replaced Joanna as the bride. As she knelt beside Guy de Beauchamp, he took her small hand in his and squeezed it. Her heart overflowed with joy and happiness.
When King Edward Plantagenet stepped forward to give his daughter in marriage to Gilbert de Clare, Jory’s attention came back to the royal ceremony. She smelled the incense and heard the muffled noises of the nobles who packed the pews behind her.
Though she felt a great compulsion to turn around and seek out Warwick, she resisted the temptation and smiled as she imagined she could feel his dark, possessive eyes riveted upon her.
Though not often given to introspection, the sight of Jory gave Warwick pause. Her extreme youth and angelic innocence had a profound impact on the earl that was almost akin to a blow in the solar plexus. What the hellfire am I doing contemplating marriage with a girl of eighteen? Such an act could be deemed the height of arrogance and self-indulgence and rightly so!
As the ceremony advanced and the couple exchanged their vows, Warwick’s mind flew back to the vows he had pledged on two separate occasions. His inner voice spoke again, this time more insistently. Neither marriage was successful. Are you sure you are ready to risk committing a third disastrous mistake? The answer came back a resounding yes. He was perfectly willing to take the chance for himself, but he was completely unsure about condemning the exquisitely lovely Lady Marjory to a life of unhappiness. As the beautiful voices of the young choirboys filled the air, Warwick slipped unnoticed from Windsor’s chapel.
Guy saddled Caesar, and with Brutus loping before him, he galloped north until he came to the edge of the Chiltern Hills, then turned east, riding through verdant Hertfordshire in deep contemplation. When he became aware of his surroundings, he realized that he was more than halfway to his castle of Flamstead. Warwick suspected that the sanctuary had unwittingly drawn him so that he could make his decision in the peaceful solitude of the lush meadows he used to crossbreed his distinctive and much sought after horses, renowned for their speed and strength.
Guy decided to spend the night at Flamstead, make a firm decision about his future, and return to Windsor on the morrow. He knew what was in his heart, but he needed to come to terms with the cautionary thoughts that filled his head.
Chapter 6
The new Countess of Gloucester had not been nimble enough for a quick escape when she emerged from the chapel on Gilbert’s arm. Noble females of every age to whom weddings held a special fascination quickly surrounded her.
Sylvia de Warenne joined the ladies showering the bride with rice, and their feminine shrieks of laughter filled the Lower Ward.
John de Warenne joined his nephew. “I expected that Warwick would approach me. Has he spoken to you yet?”
“No, I haven’t seen him. My wife insisted we go to the chapel early so we would get a seat close to the front. I warrant that weddings don’t hold the same fascination for Warwick as they do for most noble ladies,” Lynx said dryly.
The two men walked apart from the revelers, where their conversation would not be overheard. “I’ve been toying with the idea of deliberately mistaking Warwick’s offer to be on his son’s behalf when he approaches me. That way I could inform him that we consider Rickard far too young for Jory.”
The earl was not amused. “As a man of mature years, I can assure you that nothing would offend him quite as much as being considered too old for Lady Marjory, or any other lady.”
“You are right, of course. Warwick is in his prime. His pride would be insulted by such an insinuation.”
“I believe the best approach is to tell him we have had other offers and since any issue of a union between him and Marjory could never become his heir, she has chosen to wed Humphrey de Bohun, the Constable of England’s son and heir.”
“You know how willful she is. What if Jory chooses Guy de Beauchamp over Humphrey de Bohun?”
“She mustn’t be allowed to choose. We will inform her only of de Bohun’s offer of marriage.”
Lynx was taken aback. “I cannot lie to my sister, John.”
“We won’t be lying. We simply won’t tell her that Warwick has offered for her. If any lies are necessary, as her legal guardian, I’ll be the one to tell them. A small sin, surely, to keep our beloved Jory from ruining her life?”
Lynx thought it over and conceded. “Her happiness and well-being must take precedence over my conscience.”
The timing of the wedding banquet, which would not begin until late afternoon, helped Jory accomplish many of the last-minute tasks that must be completed before the Earl and Countess of Gloucester could depart for their country mansion at Clerkenwell the next morning. She supervised the servants as they crated up all the wedding presents that Joanna and Gilbert had received. Among the gifts were forty golden cups, forty silver forks, and twenty zones of vibrantly colored silk, many of which were shot through with real silver threads. There were so many hampers, coffers, baskets, and bags, it was difficult to keep track of them all, and Jory made a list, tallying each item as it was carried off to be packed in carts that would be pulled by sumpter horses.
For three days Joanna’s attendants had been packing her wardrobe and her vast collection of jewelry, but these were not the only possessions that were to accompany the Plantagenet princess. Her chapel apparatus, her chamber furnishings, pantry stores, table linen, and candles, as well as her kitchen furniture, were all being transferred to Clerkenwell.
Jory, feeling as if she needed to be in three different places at once, somehow managed to pack her own personal belongings and her considerable wardrobe in between her other tasks. Inside, she was bubbling with happiness, knowing that sometime soon, she too would be a bride. In the past week her life had suddenly taken an exciting turn when she had fallen in love with Guy de Beauchamp.
At the evening wedding banquet, Jory kept watch for Warwick. The hall was crowded with celebrants as they dined on course after course, beginning with marinated eel, pickled herring, fresh oysters, and shelled prawns. Next came chestnut-stuffed game birds and lemon venison with fennel. Toasted garlic and thyme custards, huge platters of scallion bread, and roasted potatoes vied with dishes of leeks, marrows, and pure white clusters of cauliflower.
The sweet course was amazing for its diversity as well as its decorative effects. Plates of cream-filled éclairs competed with ginger-walnut tortes. Gooseberry, quince, and blackberry tarts tempted the guests, along with fig and cherry gâteaux with lemon curd. The huge wedding cake was a marvel of decoration, packed with dried fruit and lucky silver bridal charms and covered with a thick slab of almond paste. Royal lions and tiny gilded Gloucester pigs, molded from sugar, sat atop the gigantic confection and elicited smiles from all the noble ladies.
Liveried servants moved about filling goblets with wine imported from Gascony, or cider from Devon. The men who preferred home-brewed ale found their tankards filled again and again. All the while minstrels and musicians strolled among the guests, singing and playing everything from love ballads to rousing epics of valor.
Jory’s glance roamed about the crowded hall, hoping for a glimpse of Guy. Surely she could not miss such a striking male if he were present at the banquet tonight. By the time the tables were cleared and pushed back to make room for dancing, she was convinced Warwick was not there. Dancing was included strictly for the ladies. Noblemen from the king on down through the ranks much preferred drinking and gambling to prancing about. King Edward danced with the bride, as did the Earl of Gloucester, but the moment each had performed his obligatory measure, they left the dancing to the younger men.
Both Henry and Humphrey de Bohun partnered Joanna; then Humphrey led Jory into the dance, while her brother and her uncle watched with approval. Jory was totally distracted, watching and waiting for Guy de Beauchamp. She feared he had taken ill, and the moment she felt that she could slip away unnoticed, she left and made her way to the chamber he had been assigned at Windsor. When she found it locked and in darkness, she hurried to the stables, where she saw that Caesar’s stall was empty. She was relieved to know he was able to ride, which eliminated his being sick.
Jory laughed at her own vanity. He was an earl with much responsibility who had far more to occupy him than dancing attendance upon her day and night. “He must have been called away unexpectedly…perhaps regarding his son at King’s Langley.” Since it was a distance of less than a dozen miles, Jory told herself he would soon return. “I wonder if he spoke to Lynx before he left?” Jory hurried back to the hall and sought out her brother.
She joined the de Warenne men, who were watching Sylvia dance a lively measure with the elegant Thomas of Lancaster, nephew of King Edward and hereditary high steward of England.
Lynx smiled at his sister. “If you stand beside me, Minx, Lancaster will most likely partner you when he returns my wife.”
“I hope not…I have no desire to dance with him.”
Her uncle John chided her. “Lancaster holds five earldoms and also is heir to his wife’s father, de Lacy’s earldom of Lincoln. It would not be politic to offend Thomas Plantagenet.”
Jory smiled. “I am not in the habit of offending royal gentlemen. Certes I will dance with him if he wishes it.” She turned to Lynx and murmured, “Did the earl offer for me yet?”
“Jory, we have received an offer for you, but—”
John cut in before Lynx could tell her who had made the offer. “We are still negotiating and cannot speak of it yet.”
“But, Uncle, I leave for Clerkenwell early tomorrow.”
“Have no fear. The king has called Parliament, so we shall all be journeying from Windsor to Westminster shortly. We will summon you to Westminster Palace when our negotiations near completion.”
Jory smiled radiantly and accepted another offer to dance from Humphrey de Bohun. When the dance ended, she saw that Joanna was preparing to retire. She told him, “I must attend the bride. She is bound to be apprehensive on her wedding night.”
“The princess should not be overly nervous. I warrant she is no untried maiden.”
Jory’s lashes flew up. Does the entire Court know that Joanna is no longer a virgin?
The newly wed bride had chosen a night rail of pale blue silk and a velvet bed gown of deep Plantagenet blue with a band of golden lions embroidered around its wide sleeves. Jory hung up Joanna’s bridal gown, then glanced about her chamber to make sure all was in order and the bridal bed turned down. She jumped as a low knock came upon the door. “He’s here,” she whispered breathlessly. “Remember, there isn’t a man breathing cannot be manipulated.”
Joanna faced the door and lifted her chin, refusing to admit even to her friend that she was nervous. “Let him in.”
Gilbert’s eyes smiled into Jory’s and he held the door for her until she departed. Without haste he advanced into the chamber. “It has been an exhausting day for you, Joanna. Are you tired?”
“Nay, my lord, though I am glad ’tis over and done!”
Her honesty brought a smile to his lips. “I am glad we can converse plainly, my dear. Flowery phrases do not come easily to me, though a bride as lovely as you surely warrants them.”
Joanna poured herself a goblet of wine. “Would you like some?”
“Nay, I’ve imbib
ed enough toasts to make even a bishop stagger. Poor lady, do you need to fortify yourself with strong drink to endure an aging husband?”
She gave him a quizzical glance over the rim of her goblet.
He sat down on a love seat before the fire and patted the cushion. “Come, let us talk, Joanna. You can be at ease with me; I have no delusions about marriage.”
“You’ve been wed before,” she said bluntly. “I have not.”
Gilbert threw back his head and laughed. “Such irony! Just as you are a wife for the first time, so I am a husband.”
“Such a statement intrigues me.” She sat down beside him. “Explain yourself.”
“Your grandfather, King Henry III, overeager to honor and impress his Continental half brother, proposed a marriage between de Lusignan’s sixteen-year-old daughter Alice and myself, because I was the heir to England’s wealthiest earldom of Gloucester. I was ten years old. Alice was a fecund bitch in heat who had no intention of waiting years until I was old enough to bed her. Her lover was Prince Edward’s best friend and steward, Rodger de Leyburn, or so I thought for a long time. In reality it was the heir to the throne with whom she committed adultery for years.”
“My father?” Joanna asked in disbelief.
“I lay no blame at his door. He was a virile, unwed prince of the realm, who took what was blatantly offered. The whore easily seduced him as well as others over the years. I held her in utter contempt. Such seeds of hatred had been planted between us that I never consummated the marriage even when I was old enough.”
“You divorced her and sent her back to the Continent.”
“Yes, after your father became king.”
“Your armies won back the realm from Simon de Montfort, the great baronial warlord, and as a result my father now wears the crown. He owes you a great deal.”
“I threw in my lot with Edward Plantagenet, not just because he was the rightful king, but because he was a great warrior who was strong enough to rule justly.”