'How can you know that?'
'He has told me.'
'So ... you have talked with him.'
'Only because I was so eager. I felt if I could get his consent that would be all we needed.'
'And ... he has given it.'
'He loves you. He says you have been his ward and now you will be his daughter.'
'Is this truly so?'
'It is indeed. He has been delighted by the way in which we have grown to love each other. He says he sees no reason why we should not marry ... soon.'
'Henry I am not yet eleven years old.'
'That is a very pleasant age. I am fourteen. You see there is not much difference between us.'
'They would never let us marry yet. We should have to wait.'
'There could be a ceremony ... so that none could keep us apart. What say you, Mary?'
She clasped her hands together and was silent. It was too much to take in. It was not so long ago that she had sat here, lost in the forest, uncertain of the way she must go back to the castle, uncertain of her way in life too.
Henry had taken her hand and kissed it. 'You want to marry me, Mary. You know you do. Think how you have enjoyed these last days. It would be like that for the rest of our lives.'
She contemplated it and it seemed to her too wonderful to be true. Not to have to live at Pleshy; to give up her studies at the convent. How could she ever have thought she wanted to become a nun?
*Yes, Henry,' she cried. 'I do want it. I want to marry you. I want to have many children. I want to be a wife and a mother and live like this for ever.'
Henry was laughing. He embraced her fervently. He told her that he had never been so happy in his life.
'Let us go back to the castle and tell them.'
She did not want to go yet. She wanted to linger in the forest. For all he said, she feared their disapproval. Although they had seemed content to see her and Henry together and had not stopped their being alone, which in itself was strange, she still felt that her extreme youth would be stressed and while they would be kind, might let them become betrothed, that would be as far as this matter would go for the time. They might be married in say three years' time ...
But she was wrong.
When they returned to the castle Henry took her immediately to his father.
*My lord,' he cried, 'Mary has promised to marry me.'
Mary was astonished by the expression on the Duke's handsome face. His eyes looked more fiercely blue than ever and a smile of delight spread across his face.
'But, my dear children ... this news moves me and delights me. Nothing could please me more.'
He took Mary into his arms and held her tightly so that she felt she would suffocate against the lilies and the leopards. Then he released her and embraced Henry.
'It is what I hoped for,' he said. 'It has delighted me to see you two grow to love each other. Love is the best foundation for marriage.' He was too emotional to speak for a moment.
He meant what he said. His ambitious marriage with Cons-tanza of Castile had been undertaken for love of a crown which was love of another sort and often he had wondered whether he should not have been recklessly romantic and married Catherine S\v)'nford, the woman he loved. Marriage for love. What a blessing. But when there was great wealth as well as love, then there could be no doubt that the marriage was an ideal one.
He smiled benignly on Mary. *So, my child, you have decided the convent life is not for you, eh. You have chosen wisely, and most happily for this son of mine. You shall be betrothed.'
*We are anxious, my lord, that we should be married,' said Henry. *We do not wish for a long delay.'
Tou see what an impatient man you are to marry, Mary,' retorted the Duke. 'Well, it is a measure of his love for you. I tell you sincerely, nothing shall stand in the way of your wishes.' Mary could not believe she heard aright. The great man seemed as happy about the union as she and Henry were.
THE CHILD WIFE
Lancaster could not await to acquaint the Earl and Countess with the good news.
It has worked perfectly/ cried Lancaster. 'Henry has played his part to perfection. He knew what I wanted and it seems that when he saw the pretty child he wanted the same thing himself.'
*It is a pleasure to have such a dutiful son/ replied Arundel.
'They make a charming pair/ said the Countess. *I think Henry is a very lucky boy and I am so glad our little Mary has escaped from that sister of hers. I wonder what Thomas is going to say when he hears the news. I should love to be present when it first comes to his ears.'
*He will rant and rave/ said the Earl. 'And try to prevent it.'
'That is what we must beware of/ added Lancaster. *I do not think it wise for Mary to return to Pleshy.'
'No indeed/ agreed the Earl. 'Eleanor would be capable of anything. She might lock the child up until she promises to go into a convent. She'll be furious—particularly as this has happened while Thomas is away.'
'He could not have refused to let Mary come to Arundel/ pointed out Lancaster.
'He would have tried to if he had known you and Henry were coming here/ said the Earl.
'He would not have thought of this ... in view of Mary's youth.'
'Mary's youth!' mused the Countess. 'She is young for marriage.'
*Oh let them live together,' said Lancaster. 'They will act according to nature and that is the best way. I want to see them married and I intend that the ceremony shall take place with all speed.'
'And you want her to remain here right up to the time when it shall take place?'
*I think it best. And we should keep quiet about the proposed marriage. Then it shall take place at the Savoy. I doubt my brother—if he has returned which I hope he will not—or his wife will be among the wedding guests.'
Eleanor had begun to realize how long her sister had been away, but she was not unduly disturbed. The weather was bad and it was not easy to travel in the winter. Her aunt had given the impression that she believed a convent life would be good for Mary and if the girl came back convinced of her vocation Eleanor would be delighted.
Pregnancy was irksome to one of her vitality. It was a necessity of course if she was to breed; and she must produce sons. She hoped she would have one to show Thomas when he returned from France. Even so they would have to busy themselves in getting another.
She sat disconsolately among her women who talked continually of the baby and sometimes they would mention the Lady Mary and wonder if she missed the convent.
*Of course she does,' retorted Eleanor firmly. 'Her life is with the nuns. Dear child, she has a saintly nature. It is clear where her destiny lies.'
The ladies murmured agreement. It was always wise to agree with Eleanor and it was impossible to be in this household and not know the urgent wish of its master and mistress.
On a snowy afternoon her pains started. Everything was in readiness and within a day the child had made its appearance.
It was a great disappointment to the countess that it should be another girl.
She lay disconsolately in her bed and listened to the wind buffeting the walls of Pleshy. How frustrated Thomas would
be. But the child was healthy enough and she decided to call her Joan. Before long she would be once more pregnant she supposed and would have to go through the wearisome months of waiting and then produce ... not another girl. No, that would be too unfortunate. But it had happened to others. Lancaster had got girls and a stillborn son before young Henry had been born at Bolingbroke.
While she was brooding a messenger arrived. It was strange that he should have come from Lancaster when the Duke had just been in her thoughts.