What now? I was not satisfied, not content to leave matters as they were. Never had I felt this need to be close to a man of the Court. Yes—through necessity, through courting their regard, through a need to win their support in a bid to protect Edward. But this? Windsor’s friendship—his regard—would bring me no good. And yet still I wanted it.

I considered as the distant sound of his boot heels died away. I did trust him more than I trusted Gaunt. And then I pushed him aside, unable to make sense of my troubled thoughts. Time would tell. And I would be there when Edward dissected his morals and his character. And no, I would not condemn him until I had heard his excuses.

Windsor’s presence continued to nibble at my consciousness. Nibble? Snap, rather. Like a kitchen cat pouncing on a well-fed and unwary rat.

Edward ordered Windsor to present himself one hour before noon on the following day, with no prompting from me. The King was lucid, furious. It was, I thought, very much a repetition of his interview with Lionel, without the close redeeming relationship of father to son. In the end Edward had forgiven Lionel. Here there was no softness, accusation following on accusation. Edward was angry and seethingly forthright: There was no impediment to his memory or his powers of speech that day.

Windsor proved to be equally uninhibited beneath the gloss of respect.

As I had intended, I sat beside Edward, fascinated at the play of will between the two men, impressed by Edward’s grasp of events, anxious that Windsor would not overstep the mark. Why was I anxious? Why should I care? I did not know. But I did.

Edward’s litany of crimes against his governor of Ireland rolled on and on.

“Bloody mismanagement…inglorious culpability…disgraceful self-interest…appalling fiscal double-dealing.”

Windsor withstood it all with a dour expression, feet planted, arms at his sides. I did not think his features had relaxed for one minute since his arrival the previous day.

Was he guilty? Despite his callous acceptance of my initial accusation, I had no idea. He argued his case with superb ease, not once hesitating. Yes, he had taxed heavily. Yes, he had used the law to support English power. Yes, he had empowered the Anglo-Irish at the expense of the native Irish—to do otherwise would have been political suicide. Was not the revenue needed to finance English troops to force the Irish rebels to keep their heads down? If that amounted to extortion and discreditable taxation, then he would accept it. In Ireland it was called achieving peace. And he would defy anyone to instigate peace in that godforsaken tribal, war-torn province by any other means than threats and bribery.

Edward was not impressed. “And the royal grant made for such purposes?”

“A grant I thank you for, Sire.” At least Windsor tried to be conciliatory. “But that was spent long ago. I am now on my own and have to take what measures I can.”

“I don’t like your methods, and I don’t like the rumble of dissatisfaction I hear.”

“When is there not dissatisfaction, Sire?”

“You are very voluble in defense of your innocence.”

How would he answer that? I waited, my heart thudding against my ribs.

His eyes never flinched from Edward’s face. “I would never claim innocence, Sire. A good politician can’t afford to be naive. Pragmatism is a far more valuable commodity, as you yourself will be aware. And who knows what’s happening while my back is turned?”

“They don’t want you back,” Edward accused.

Windsor shook his head, in no manner discomfited. “Of course they don’t. They want someone without experience, to mold and turn to their own will. I am not popular, but I hold to English policy as best I can with the tools I have. A weaker man would have the Irish lords singing his praises and licking the toes of his boots, all while they are sliding Irish gold into their own pockets.”

“They want me to send the young Earl of March,” Edward announced. “At least I know he’s honest.”

“I rest my case, Sire. Doubtless an able youth, but with neither experience nor years to his advantage…” Windsor left the thought hanging, his opinion clear.

“He is husband to my granddaughter!”

Edward was tiring. He might wish to champion the cause of young Edmund Mortimer, Earl of March, wed to his granddaughter Philippa, but I could see the tension beginning to build in him, wave upon wave, as weakness crept over his mind and body. It was time to end this before his inevitable humiliation, I decided. Time to end it for Windsor too. I leaned across with a hand on Edward’s sleeve.

“How old is the young Earl, my lord?” I murmured.

“I think…” A frightening vagueness clouded his eyes.

“I doubt he has more than twenty-one years under his belt.” I knew he hadn’t.

“But he is my granddaughter’s husband.…” Edward clung to the single fact of which he was certain in the terrible mist that engulfed his mind, his voice growing harsh, querulous.

“And one day he will serve you well with utmost loyalty,” I agreed. “But it is an appallingly difficult province for so young a man.”

Edward looked at me. “Do you think?”

“There may be much in what Sir William says.…”

“No!” he huffed, but with agonizing uncertainty.

I had planted the seed. I looked at Windsor, willing him to a mood of diplomacy, and for the first time in the audience he returned my gaze. Then he bowed to Edward.

“Do I return to Ireland, Sire? To continue your work to hold the province? Until the Earl of March is fit to assume the role?”

It was impeccably done.

“I’ll consider your guilt first. Until then you’ll stay here under my eye.”

It was not an out-and-out refusal, but I doubted Windsor accepted it in that light. He bowed again and stalked out. I might as well not have been there.

“Come,” I said to Edward, helping him from his chair. “You will rest. Then we will talk of it—and you will come to a wise decision—as you always do.”

“Yes.” He leaned heavily on my arm, almost beyond speech. “We will talk of it.…”

So Windsor, against his wishes, was restored to the complex round of Court life, where all was seen and gossiped about, and it was increasingly difficult to keep Edward’s piteous decline from public gaze. For the first week I saw nothing of Windsor. Edward languished and Windsor kept his head down. No decision was made about the future of Ireland. How did Windsor spend his time? When last at Court he had sought me out. Now he did not. When Edward was strong enough to dine in public with a good semblance of normality, Windsor was not present. After some discreet questioning I discovered that he visited with the Prince at Kennington.

I wished him well of that visit. I thought there would be little satisfaction for him.

And then he was back, prowling the length and breadth of one of Edward’s antechambers, a black scowl on his face, a number of scrolls tucked under his arm. At least the scowl lifted when he saw me emerge from the private apartments. He loped across as I closed the door at my back. He even managed to smile, though there was no lightness in him. His mood gave me an urge to shock him out of his self-engrossment—except that I could think of no way of doing it. Nor did I have the energy. Edward had been morose and demanding. If there had been other courtiers waiting in the antechamber, I might even have avoided Windsor’s harsh, brooding figure. As it was…

“The King has not decided?” he demanded without greeting.

“No.”

“Will he never make a decision?”

I sighed, a weary hopelessness settling on me. “In his own good time. But you know that. You must be patient, Sir William. Are you waiting for me?”

“Certainly not.” He flashed a wolfish grin as he deliberately repeated my previous denial.

Tit for tat! I laughed softly, some of my weariness dispelled. “What are you doing to pass the time?” We were close enough that I tapped my fingers against the documents.

“Buying property.”

“In Ireland?” I was surprised.

“In England. In Essex, primarily.” I was even more surprised, since his family estates were far to the north.

“Why?”

“Against hard times. Like you. For when we can no longer depend on royal patronage.”

He looked at me, as if weighing up a thought that had entered his head. Or perhaps it had been there for some time.

“What is it?” I asked, suspicious.

“I have a proposition, Mistress Perrers.”

I felt a little tingle in my blood, a faint warmth that dispelled the smothering lethargy, the product of sleepless nights.

“A proposition?” I turned to go, feigning disinterest. “Now, what would that be? You’ve had little enough to say to me in the past sennight.”

“I’ve been busy.”

“And so? Now that you are no longer busy?”

Again, for a long moment he studied me, then gave a decisive nod. “Let us find a little corner where the hundreds of courtier ears in this place will not flap. It’s like a beehive, a constant buzz of rumor and scandal.”

He escorted me—not that I was unwilling, for had he not stirred my curiosity?—into a chamber used by the scribes and men of law, angling me between desks and stools into a corner where we could sit. There were no courtiers here. The young scribes continued to dip and scratch and scribble without interest in us. Idly I picked up a document from a box on the floor and pretended to be engrossed in it. A bill of sale of two dozen coneys. Presumably we’d eaten them in the last rabbit pottage.

Windsor came straight to the point. “I think we could make a killing.”

We? I said nothing, fanning myself with the coney document.

He grinned. “You give nothing away, do you? A killing of a financial nature.”

I tapped my foot against the base of the box.

“Would you care to throw in your lot with me on the purchase of some excellent little manors?”

A proposition indeed. My interest was snared like one of the unfortunate rabbits—that he would desire someone to join in partnership with him—and that he would look to me. Playing for time, I smoothed out the roll of parchment in my hands as if the coneys were of vast importance.

“And why would I do that?”

“Against the hard times,” he repeated. “They’ll be harder for you than for me.” And he began to juggle with two lumps of red sealing wax that he’d swept up from a nearby desk, adding a third and then a fourth with amazing dexterity.

“Perhaps.” My eye might be caught by the clever manipulation of the wax, but my mind was working furiously. Would they be harder for me? I expected he was right. It was always harder for a woman alone. I slid my eye from the wax to the sharp stare turned on me. “Why invite me to share in your project?”

“You have an interest in purchasing land.” The wax, unheeded, fell to the floor with a soft clatter. “You have contacts. I expect you have access to funds. You have an able agent.…Need I say more?”

It was an impressive tally, for which I was justifiably proud. “What do you have?” I demanded.

“Hardheaded business acumen.” He was not short of arrogance.

“Do I not have that also?”

“Amazingly, yes, but…”

“Don’t say it! Amazingly for a woman!”

“Then I won’t.” His mouth twitched. “What do you think?”

I waved the forgotten document to and fro, giving it some thought.

“Don’t you trust me?”

“No.”

He laughed. “So what’s your answer? Is that no, too?”

“My answer is…” And because I did not know my own mind: “Why do I need you? I have acquired land perfectly adequately without you.”

“Sometimes you need a man to push the negotiation forward.”

“I have any number of men who are ready to work with me, for our joint benefit.”

“Do you?” He looked surprised.

So I allowed myself to crow a little. “Did you not know? In the last handful of years I have purchased any number of manors through the offices of a little cabal of most trusted men. I use them as feoffees who—Master William Greseley in particular—undertake negotiations in my name. It is a perfect arrangement for a femme sole.”

“Where did you learn that?”

“A long time ago—a different life.” I remembered standing outside Janyn Perrers’s room, my bride gift clutched in my hand. I smiled a little. How far I had come. Then I dragged my mind back to the mercurial man who sat before me, leaning forward, the wax rescued from the floor and being tossed irritatingly from hand to hand. “If I do not help myself, who will?”

“Clever!” Windsor’s eyes narrowed as he considered what I had achieved. “I admit your success. Then tell me, a mere curious man, how many manors have you actually snatched up?” I shook my head. I would not say, which he acknowledged readily enough. “I’ll find out one day! I still say you need an astute man, who has a more personal view of your future.”