Tyballis snuggled to his side and slipped her arm around his waist where his body was smooth and strong and flat. ‘It was always pride, wasn’t it, Felicia sticking up for Jon and pretending he was grand when we all knew he wasn’t. Back on the farm she’ll say Jon died a hero – helping you fight off the attack. She’ll tell her boys that when they grow up. Ellen may remember, but she probably doesn’t understand what really happened. They’ll all grow up admiring their father’s memory.’
‘Does lying ever prove sweeter than the truth?’ Andrew’s words were muffled against her breasts. ‘Perhaps it is, since truth is all such nonsense. My memories of my father – of both of those who claimed fatherhood over me – are not so sweet. But in the end the hero and the traitor are the same man. It depends who judges, and the side on which that judge sits.’
Chapter Seventy-Six
Across the thousand crowded roofs of London, the sunshine blazed. It sparkled on crooked chimney pots and glistened on the wet yellow slime of the cobbles below. The passing clouds reflected across a myriad of mullioned panes. The duke stood against the same clouds, and although he was not a tall man, he appeared as a giant, with his head in the sky. Though considerably taller, Andrew spoke to him as to that giant. They walked together along the battlements of Baynard’s Castle, the busy river way below and the city stretched out beyond.
‘I do not consider it a failure.’ The duke’s voice, blown by the wind, seemed unusually gentle.
‘Yet Geoffrey Marrott’s escape troubles me,’ replied his companion. ‘I cannot even know if his late highness died by Marrott’s hand – or not. The lack of proof, the unknown intentions – these must usually exonerate any suspect. But there is no doubt that Marrott pedalled poisons, wherever those poisons may have finished. Yet he has escaped to Brittany and will never be accused of his crimes.’
‘He will die when his time comes,’ nodded the duke, ‘as shall we all. In the meantime he has lost everything – power, riches, ambition, hope. And vengeance belongs to the Lord, and should not be our concern.’
‘Not vengeance, but justice, your grace. In that I accept failure.’
The duke continued. ‘He will be attainted and lose his title when parliament sits. Meanwhile Throckmorton has no heirs. Take his house if you want it.’
Andrew bowed slightly but shook his head, the feather in his cap flattened by the wind. ‘If it pleases you, your grace, I prefer not. It retains an atmosphere of petty wretchedness and memories of threat.’
‘Something in the Strand, then. Near enough to the city, yet just a stone’s throw from Westminster and the court, should I need you.’
‘Apologies, your grace.’ Andrew smiled. ‘But the palaces of The Strand slope down to the river. Sadly, my intended bride does not care for the Thames.’
The duke’s sables ruffled, but the sun was in his eyes, turning his sudden smile golden. ‘You are difficult to please, Mister Cobham. So, where shall I house you, then?’
‘Indeed, I have no idea, your grace.’
The duke laughed. ‘No doubt you will make up your mind at some time, and then I shall be happy to oblige you. In the meantime you will oblige me by choosing some property, not too modest if you please, and within my reach. I shall continue to need you, my friend. By tradition a crown increases one’s enemies, rather than diminishing them.’
‘You will be a great king, your grace. Of that I have no doubt.’
The duke frowned. ‘A strong leader, sir, that I can promise you.’ He glanced up as a flock of swallows twisted, looping against the bright sky, briefly darkening the sunshine. He appeared to be talking to the sun. ‘The council has now drawn up the official request for parliament to approve. I shall accept the crown in memory of my father,’ he said softly, ‘who would have made a greater king, had God permitted. And for the sake of my son and his sons, and for the absolute exclusion of all those who – perhaps – schemed to murder my brother.’ He turned back to Andrew, smiling suddenly. ‘And principally for the weal of the people, who need the security of the leadership I can bring. I am not loath, nor reluctant, now I have made my decision. All my life has passed in training, and now I see the reason. I enjoy leadership. My birthright. My pleasure.’
‘I believe England will share in that pleasure, your grace.’
‘And your pleasure, Andrew? What is that to be?’ The duke drew his great sable-lined coat around him as the wind sharpened. His black embroidered sleeves, fur-cuffed, trailed a little across the cold stone. ‘You speak of your intended bride. So, you turn respectable at last.’
Andrew Cobham wore his old grey velvets, seams gaping. He did not seem to notice. He said, ‘I will marry Tyballis Blessop, if she accepts me, your grace, once the final banns are called.’
‘No clandestine marriage then, my friend?’
‘A lesson learned from my betters,’ Andrew smiled. ‘I shall therefore stand at the church porch, and cheerfully take my oath before the priest.’
‘In which case most men procure a ring for the priest to bless. You have already obtained a ring for your bride?’ The duke began to walk from the battlements towards the open doorway leading to the winding stair and the chambers below. ‘Very well. I shall supply it. You must not expect to be an impoverished lord of my realm, my friend. Nor continue to dress in the clothes I doubt your steward would choose to wear, once you employ one.’
Andrew looked down at himself in some surprise, then strode into the sudden black of the stairwell behind the duke. The draught followed them as their footsteps echoed down the steps. ‘I have never been much interested in such matters, my lord, unless they serve my work.’
The duke’s amusement floated back, his voice hollow in the chill. ‘Then no doubt your wife will advise you, sir. A nobleman must remember his appearance as a statement of his wealth and position. And I intend arranging your business accordingly.’
It was late when Andrew returned to Cobham Hall, but he was elated rather than tired. He poured wine, and took his woman to bed. Tyballis kissed his ear. ‘So, after tomorrow when Felicia and the children leave, there’s just Ralph and Elizabeth and Casper living here with us. And Luke?’ she whispered. ‘Will he stay?’
‘No.’ Andrew’s voice was lazy as his hands wandered her body. ‘The attack on the house further weakened his wits. He can no longer cope alone. I shall find him a comfortable home with my mother. A larger cottage where they can play at independence, but within the Bedlam compound. And I shall leave this place in Ralph’s care. No doubt Nat will return at some time, and together they can run a boarding house on the premises. They’ll still be useful to me sometimes, in my work.’
‘Casper, and that little boy, too?’
‘I shall find places for them both in my own household.’
‘And me?’ She blinked up into his half-closed eyes.
‘I’m taking you away, beloved,’ he murmured. ‘If you’ll come.’
She was just a little disappointed. ‘Oh. Back to Crosby’s, then? My old house has never sold, you know, so we could go there if you like. It’s only small, and not terribly comfortable – well, not like here – but I can build big fires for you every day.’