Mistress to the Crown by Isolde Martyn Page A

Hastings seemed to be considering the revelation, I wondered if he had already known. ‘I see,’ he murmured with the cool worldliness that was still so alien to me, ‘and I daresay my “friend” usurped my favour with you.’
    Such a conclusion mightily annoyed me. The bed-swapping habits of the palace might be commonplace to him but they were unacceptable to me.
    ‘He did not usurp anything, my lord, save two little oatcakes. I declined his request.’
    Hastings’ beautiful eyes widened and emotion returned to his face, even if it was merely surprise. ‘Is my hearing amiss, Elizabeth? You said “no” to the King?’
    ‘Of course,’ I exclaimed passionately. ‘I do have some honour.’ Did he think of me only as fresh city meat? ‘I assure you I am no whore to be prancing in and out of gentlemen’s beds.’
    ‘Just so.’ His mouth was a grave slash now. Oh, such a diplomat,shifting position to accommodate my vehemence. A token flurry of jealousy would have been more acceptable. ‘Was that your only reason, Elizabeth?’
    ‘I felt some loyalty to you, my lord.’ Some – my fledgling attempt at Westminster nonchalance. ‘Please do not mistake me,’ I added swiftly to reassure him that I was not infatuated. ‘I certainly do not seek to put any obligation on you. We had an agreement – just you and I.’
    ‘Elizabeth, I hope you are not thinking that I put his grace up to this?’
    ‘No, of course not,’ I lied, resolving to sieve my feelings later. ‘He—’ I cleared my throat. ‘His highness explained you were at Ashleigh.’
    ‘Ashby,’ he corrected. ‘My castle at Ashby-de-la-Zouch.’ His hand rose in a flourish as to how I should find it. ‘West of Leicester.’
    ‘Oh, west,’ I echoed dryly.
    ‘We were celebrating my stepdaughter’s name day. I bought the jewelled girdle for her, remember?’
    ‘Yes.’ I was not a jealous person but I felt it now. Unreasonable of me. I desired his affection. But I had no right. I did not own him. What else had I expected?
    ‘Cecily was introduced to her future husband.’ With a scowl, he took a sweet wafer from the platter and carried his goblet to the window, where he stood, his back turned. With King Edward active on the board, perhaps, like me, he was uncertain of the next move in this game of seduction. If there was a next move? At the moment, trust lay between us like a bleeding corpse.
    His fidelity was a matter of geography. I must accept that. And did Lady Katherine up at Ashby accept that? By Heaven, if his marriage vows could be bent, what rules did he play by? His loyalty to his king? Was that the only standard in his world? If King Edward said, ‘Give me that bread you are eating, that ringfrom your finger, that woman you are escrewing!’ Did he ever refuse? If his royal master wanted to sample Lady Cecily, his stepdaughter, what then?
    ‘Was she pleased, my lord?’
    He turned. ‘Your pardon, she?’
    ‘Your stepdaughter. Was she pleased by her future husband?’
    A sneer spoilt his face. ‘Yes, for now. That’s one hedge that won’t need jumping. His horns and the forked tail will only come out after they’re married.’ He took an angry swig of wine.
    ‘Who is he ?’ I probed gently, seating myself on the footstool.
    ‘Queen’s eldest boy by her first marriage. Tom Grey, Marquis of Dorset. Cecily is a great heiress – vast estates in Devonshire. Fly in the web, poor child. If lightning strikes Tom Grey dead, there’s still his brother to snaffle her up.’
    ‘Can you not withhold your consent?’
    Hastings shook his head. ‘I might as well piss in the wind.’ He downed the wine and slammed the goblet on the small table. ‘And what is so ironic, sweetheart, is that before Ned married Elizabeth Grey – Baroness Ferrers of Groby, as she called herself – she and I had a neighbours’ agreement that if Kate and I had a daughter, Tom would marry her.’
    God’s mercy, before the poor mite was even born!
    I refilled