August 1471. London, England.
The world was still as the last note hung in the air, a smile slowly creeping upon Bess Plantagenet’s lips. Elizabeth waited until her daughter’s hands left the lute’s chords before she started clapping, the sole observer of the nightly performance.
“Wonderful!” she said, her cheeks aching from the straining smile. “Wonderful, my dear. Simply wonderful!” Bess flushed, smiling bashfully, and looked away. She set her lute aside and stood up, rubbing her palms against the skirt of her black dress.
Elizabeth barely had time to prepare before her daughter ran up to her, wrapping her skinny little arms around her neck. She oofed, posing a hand behind her to catch herself on the bed and another to protect the large swell of her belly, and laughed. Bess kissed her face, beaming. “Do you really mean it, mama?” she asked, voice eager. “Do you really think I was wonderful?”
“I don’t think, darling,” said Elizabeth. “I know it.” She stroked Bess’ cheek and smiled, observing her wide blue eyes and her full lips. Not even six years old and she was already so beautiful, more beautiful than the King’s legitimate daughters, she knew it so. There were many who admired Bess, who thought she was beautiful, lovely and intelligent.
Elizabeth was, despite everything, a pragmatical person. She knew that eventually, her daughter would need to be married, to have children and a family of her own, her personal joys. Her beauty would only help her, certainly, maybe even lessen the stain of her illegitimacy and there were many prospects in the world for the king’s daughter.
Edward arranged an Emperor for Madeleine’s girl and Elizabeth was his eldest daughter, the one he should love the most. She would have to ask him about possibilities and when she did, she would have to arrive with options already, to give him an image of what she wanted.
Both of the royal duchesses were pregnant, but even if both babes were boys, which Elizabeth sincerely doubted, they would be too young for her Bess. And they’d be first cousins as well, which would need a dispensation for the marriage to occur. Too complicated. The young Duke of Buckingham was betrothed to Lord Warwick’s niece, so even if the match fell through, she doubted he would be willing to attach himself to her. Norfolk was married and childless and the de la Poles were her daughter’s first cousin.
There was little Harri Tudor as well, heir to all of the Somerset lands. His mother was a favourite of Madeleine and everything Lady Margaret wanted, Madeleine would ask of her husband. Certainly, any day now, Harri would receive Richmond back and be restored to all of his riches. He was eight years older than Bess, but that wasn’t so bad. His own father was over a decade older than his mother and well, it didn’t matter when Bess’ happiness was on the line.
Annie Holland was a problem though. It was common knowledge now that the two were close friends, that there was a possibility of marriage between them in the future. Elizabeth wouldn’t let herself be cowed by two children though. If she offered Thomas for Annie, and really, Thomas was as good a match as any girl could hope for, and asked Harri for Bess, then Edward would have no choice but to accept.
She couldn’t ponder about it more, because a sudden and rapid knocking came onto the door. Bess jumped in her seat next to Elizabeth on the bed and the Countess stood up, smoothing down her skirts. “Don’t worry, love,” she said. “I’m sure it is just the Earl calling me to bed.” They were in their London residence, still in mourning for her dearly departed father and unable to travel long distances because of Elizabeth’s condition.
Elizabeth opened the door with a placid smile on her face, a thousand excuses already on the tip of her tongue. Her husband, the Earl, had a certain resentment towards her little girl, despite having allowed Elizabeth to keep Bess close (and really, how horrible. She is her mother. She doesn’t need anyone’s permission to have her daughter live with her.). He didn’t like when he spent more time with Bess than with their other children, even Thomas and Richard from her first marriage, who lived with them as well. It was ridiculous, frankly.
But it wasn’t John with his frowns and his dead eyes. It was her brother, Anthony. Tall and fair, Elizabeth had always favoured Anthony over her other siblings, even when Lewis was still alive. They just understood each other, completed each other. There was no one else she trusted more than her Anthony. Except maybe her mother, but that was different. Who could you trust if not your own mother?
“Anthony,” she said, smiling. “Please, come in.” She moved aside to let him pass. “Bess, my dear, say hello to your uncle Anthony.”
“Hello, Uncle Anthony,” said Bess, with a smile. “I have missed you.” The two embraced and Anthony kissed Bess’ face, pinching her little red cheek. She giggled and swatted his hand away. “Would you like to see me play the lute? My tutor says I am very talented!
“I’m sure you are, my dear, said Anthony, “But not right now. I must speak with your mother. Will you give us some privacy?”
“But…” Confusion was etched on Bess’ face. “This is my room.”
“I know, but you will be a good girl and lend it to me to talk to your mother, won’t you?” Anthony asked, arching an eyebrow. Bess hesitated, but with a look from Elizabeth, she left.
When she was gone, Elizabeth turned to her brother. She was confused. It was unlike him to do that, to come without announcing and so late, on top of everything. Anthony moved to the window and shut it close, drawing the curtains until the moonlight was driven away. She frowned and stepped closer to him, extending her arm to take his hand.
“What is wrong?” she asked him. Their father’s death had affected all of them, but Anthony especially. He was the last person to see the Earl alive. That would weigh down on anyone, which would explain why the King had removed him from the diplomatic mission to Denmark, sending Sir Henry in his place. The entire Woodville family needed time to grieve, to be together.
“I have made my mind up,” said Anthony, his back to her. His words carried something heavy in them, something dark and she intertwined their fingers. “Edward of York is not our king. He has never been. Father and I fought at Towton. We gave our blood and our honour to the Lancastrians, only to stab them in the back at the first sign of fortune.”
“Anthony…” Words failed her. “What are you saying?”
He turned to look at her, a serious expression on his face. “I intend on returning to the red rose and I want you to help me, Elizabeth.” She shook her head and stepped back, but Anthony grabbed her arms, stopping her from moving. “I know Edward still visits your bed, even when you are heavy with child. Only he and Lord Warwick know where King Henry is held and I want you to find it out for me. Queen Marguerite and the Prince of Wales will only take me back if I return His Grace to them.”
“No…” she said. “Anthony, no. I will not be your spy. And I will not help you! Edward is King. Mad Henry was a usurper and a tyrant.”
“He was the rightful king. We swore an oath to him,” he said. His eyes, wide and blue, observed her face, reading her expression as easily as he could read a book. “Stop fooling yourself, Elizabeth. Edward has made you his mistress, the mother of another one of his bastards, and not even a boy at that. When King Henry is restored, I shall beg for mercy for you. You are just a woman, weak and in love. He will understand.”
“No!” she repeated, stomping her feet. “Edward is the rightful king! He is the descendant of Philippa of Clarence, he holds the Mortimer claim.”
“Edward killed our father!” Anthony lashed out. “I know it so. The man who came after him wore the royal livery and said the King was calling him. Now our father is dead and it’s all because of Edward.”
“Stop saying that!” She wanted to clamp her hands over her ears, stop his words from coming out, but she couldn’t, and Anthony kept talking.
“Why are you still loyal to him? Do you think he will marry you?” he asked. “His wife has already given him two sons and a whole load of daughters. Do you really think he will set that aside for just a bastard girl?”
“Stop talking!”
“Lionel and Richard are with me. Little Edward too and John…” He shook his head. “John has always been too stubborn for his own good. Now.” He looked at her, “Will you help or not?”
“No.”
“Then you really are a whore,” Anthony said before turning around and leaving.