Jean Plaidy by To Hold the Crown: The Story of King Henry VII, Elizabeth of York

every time the King’s conduct is questioned. Since her marriage Elizabeth has become a shadow of the King and his mother. I should never allow that to happen to me.
    No indeed she would not. She was thinking of John Wells. She knew that he was a good deal older than she was, but she did not care. In his company she felt elated yet at peace; she felt contented and had a great desire to be with him. Was that love? She believed it was. She had explained her feelings to him and he had confirmed this. Moreover he felt the same contentment with her.
    She knew that he was the husband she wanted. Her mother had often said that the King would soon be marrying her off and she would not be surprised if Cecilia was soon making some alliance which the King thought would be good for him. I won’t be, thought Cecilia. Elizabeth married him. That is enough. Elizabeth doesn’t mind being married to him. She is ready to agree that everything he does is right. That is good enough; she has done the family duty toward him. I will marry where I will.
    She shuddered to think that she might now be miles away from John Wells. She might be in Scotland for they had once wanted to marry her to little Prince James of Scotland. And now there was rumor that her mother was being offered to that little Prince’s father. We are bandied about like a parcel of goods with no thought for our feelings, she thought. We are unimportant… . Well, some of us are. They will find the Princess Cecilia different.
    They were to stay first of all at the Hospital of St. Mary in Bishopsgate from where, the Queen told them, they would watch the King’s entry into the capital.
    “It will be a triumphant march,” said Anne, “because the King has defeated the scullion boy. Shall we ever see him, do you think, Elizabeth? I should very much like to see him.”
    “It seems hardly likely that you will,” replied the Queen. “And if you did you would find he looked exactly like every other little scullion.”
    “I think he would look a little different,” said Cecilia. “After all he must have had something about him for them to decide to use him in the first place.”
    “Let us not discuss the silly boy,” said the Queen. “I find it all most distasteful. The King has shown his contempt for him and was it not benevolent of him to let him go free?”
    Cecilia was silent. She was thinking: I shall marry John. What will the King say then? Whatever it is, Elizabeth will tell me it is right. I shall not care if we are banished. I am sure John will not either.
    “After the coronation,” said Elizabeth, “I shall be more often in the company of the King.”
    “Rendered worthy by the act of crowning,” added Cecilia. “Yet you are the daughter of a King whereas he …”
    “He is descended from the great kings Arthur and Cadwallader. Do not forget that.”
    Dear Elizabeth, thought Cecilia. She is bemused. Not by love of the King I’d swear. By a love of peace. A desire that everything shall go smoothly around her. That is good enough when one has everything one wants. Perhaps I shall be like that when I am married to John.
    “I have heard it whispered,” Anne was saying, “that the House of York is not treated with the same respect as that of Lancaster.”
    “You should not listen to whispers,” the Queen told her.
    The people of London were growing vociferous in their welcome of Elizabeth. She made a charming picture riding with her two sisters who were as good-looking as she was herself, and the cheers were prolonged. The Queen bore a striking resemblance to her dead father. Her long golden hair hung loose about her shoulders in the style which showed it to its best advantage; her oval face was a little on the plump side, which with her pink and white complexion gave her a look of glowing health; her forehead was high like her father’s; if she was not quite as beautiful as her mother had been she lacked Elizabeth Woodville’s arrogance and that gentle