He looked as if would like to shake me, only to be rejected.

‘No. I regret that you no longer see it as your concern.’ The fires of temper were banked, the chill of frost reappearing. ‘I have constructed a magnificent fortification between us, have I not?’

‘Yes. It is a formidable structure. You should be proud of it.’

‘It serves its purpose. It achieves what it was intended to achieve.’

I did not understand his meaning.

‘You are bruising my wrists, my lord.’

Immediately his hands fell away. ‘Forgive me. I have hurt you too much already.’ His expression was stony, his restraint palpable, and with the briefest of inclinations of his head, the Duke left me to stand alone, but not before I had glimpsed what could only be raw emotion in his eyes.

I watched him go, thoroughly unhappy, thoroughly unsettled, all my resolution to withstand the power of the man I had loved—still loved—undermined. If nothing else was clear to me, this one fact was. The Duke was as unhappy as I.

In pure reflex, to offer comfort, in spite of everything, I stretched out my hand to him, but his back was turned. He did not see me.

‘John!’

Nor did he hear me.

Thus ended our only conversation at Rochford Hall. Angry, accusatory, trenchant in its tone, before retreating into frigid withdrawal. Perhaps I deserved no better. Perhaps it was time I stepped back, away from him, allowing both of us to continue our lives in calmer waters.

Beyond weariness, I knelt to collect the pieces of the dish, which seemed a meaningless task when the floor was strewn with the dried herbs, so I simply sat back on my heels and surveyed the results of our discussion. Why had he been so very angry? He so rarely in my experience allowed emotion to rule to this degree, and yet his temper had bubbled like an untended cauldron, blistering me with its power. Grief at the child’s death? It would have touched him deeply, but not for him to blast me with such venom, and hold me as if he had no sense of the fragility of my flesh within his grip. The marks were faint, but I could see them. I could still feel his power as he had heaped his anger on my head.

How easy it was for him still to hurt me.

For a long time I simply sat, unmoving in that empty room, all our bitter words descending on me to swirl through my mind, to land finally on some that gave me pause.

Would you have me do nothing to protect you from those who attack me? Am I really so selfish as to place my own desires before your safety?

Had I been wrong? Had I misjudged him? Had he in truth been protecting me?

Suddenly my erstwhile certainties that the Duke had betrayed me were as scattered as the potpourri.

I left the pottery shards and the herbs where they were. The sleeves of my gown were long enough that there was no evidence on view to rouse comment.

The Duke left, taking Henry with him. Back to more exhibitions of jousting skills, I surmised in uncharitable spirit, for both of them. It took little to drag a man’s mind from grief. A thorough burst of male energy with sword or lance and all was put to rights, while Mary still wept for her loss, and I raged inwardly at my inability to overcome my grievances as I renewed the bowl of herbs that proved particularly ineffective in restoring either serenity or ease to anyone.

As they departed I stood in the Great Hall with the rest of the household to make our farewells. When the Duke spoke at length with Countess Joan, I turned to go, but at the end looked back over my shoulder. He was standing at the door, head turned. He might be engaged in pulling on his gloves, but he was watching me. Our eyes held, his arrested, but by an expression that I could not interpret. Unless it was a longing that could never be answered, by either of us. I was the first to turn away, thoroughly discomfited, thoroughly unsure.

‘Well, he has gone,’ Countess Joan observed as she caught up with me later in the morning. It was becoming time for me to leave also. ‘Was it very painful?’

‘No,’ I lied. I managed to smile. ‘Your chaperonage was wasted, I fear. Our desire to leap into each other’s arms is a thing of the past. There is no impropriety.’ I touched her hand in thanks. ‘The Duke’s infatuation is dead.’

She tilted her head.

‘Do you say? I saw a man on the edge of control. If you had stayed, you would have seen him spurring his horse away towards London as if the Devil was breathing fire on his heels. Did nothing pass between you?’

‘Nothing. What had I to say to him, or he to me?’ I forced my brows to rise in a magnificent imitation of disbelief at what she might imply. ‘I think the death of the child would light such a fire,’ I responded gravely. ‘He cares very much for Henry—and for Mary. I see no connection with me.’

Countess Joan eyed me for a long moment.

‘It’s not what I see—but perhaps you are right. Who’s to say? And what of your long infatuation, Kate? Is that too dead?’

But that was a question too far. I would not answer.

I could not.

I was no longer certain of anything.




Chapter Sixteen

‘Heard what?’

My servant barely had time to open the door of my rented property in answer to the thud of an urgent fist. The Dean of Lincoln Cathedral stood on my doorstep, black-clad like a bird of ill-omen, a look of horror dragging at his thin features.

‘Come in, sir.’ Such was the hammering that I was at my servant’s shoulder. ‘Are you ill?’

‘No, my lady. I mean, yes—I will come in.’ He stumbled on the paving. ‘It’s bad news.’

‘Then you must tell me.’ I took the Dean’s arm and led him through to the comfortable setting of one of the Chancery’s spacious parlours. ‘Sit there and tell me what troubles you.’

The Dean enjoyed being the purveyor of bad news, mostly no more than some wild behaviour in the town that had encroached on the Cathedral Close. Today I was aware of no such disturbance yet still was pleased to extend my hospitality.

Unable to settle at Kettlethorpe after my sojourn at Rochford Hall, I had taken Agnes and the children to Lincoln, renewing my renting of the Chancery from the Dean and Chapter of the Cathedral.

Lincoln. My life in the very centre of that busy town over the years was as much of a pleasure as I could hope for.

The Chancery offered me a comfortable property well suited to my standing, providing me with a great chamber, perfect for entertaining visitors, my own private chapel and a solar on the first floor, a well-proportioned room where I slept and lived out my private life. With its carved doorways, immaculate stabling, courtyard and gardens full of fruit trees, its sophistication suited my state of mind. I had made a new life for myself in Lincoln. I was not without resources.

Three years had passed since the Duke’s blistering temper at Rochford Hall and my stiff-necked intransigence. Three years in which I was free to reconsider the Duke’s motives. If he had wished, by the quitclaim, to deflect Walsingham and his ilk, he had succeeded, for I was left alone, but of course, I would never know. There was no longer communication between us.