the barons to do with it?” I plant my hands on my hips and stare a challenge at my husband. “Are you not
king
?” I can never understand all the conciliation that Henry offers his vassals. My father would never have managed things thus, consulting with those who hold their land only by his gift or by the gift of his ancestors.
Henry looks sullen. I am making no progress in this manner, so I must try another. Henry may love me well, but, like most men, he does not like to be pushed. I must be consciously andpurposefully the sweet and obliging Marguerite rather than bold Eleanor. I have been mimicking my sister on occasion as of late, and to great effect. I see now how she managed my parents with such ease.
Dropping my hands to my sides, I approach my husband and silently take a seat on the ground at his knee. I rest my cheek against Henry’s leg, giving him the chance to calm himself. If I inadvertently trigger a fit of pique, all is lost. Henry can be as obstinate and stupid as a child when he is taken by such a mood.
When I feel Henry’s hand on my hair, I at last glance upward to his face. “I am sorry, my love,” I say softly. “I will never understand your English government. But I do understand a woman’s heart. Your sister loves Simon.”
“She does?”
“Yes.”
“Loves him?”
“As I love you. And should not such love be honored?” I take Henry’s hand in mine, offering him a soft look and a softer smile. “Besides, granting Simon this marriage will secure his loyalty in a way that aught else can.”
“What does your uncle say?” Henry knows he is not the only one to consult with Guillaume on important matters.
“He wishes there were such an easy manner of taming your brother Richard.” I can see that Henry’s mind is turning to match mine. But he is not quite ready to concede.
“It will cost me money.”
“Promise it now; pay it later.”
“She made a vow of chastity, witnessed by Edmund Rich himself.”
“She was led astray by Cecilia de Sanford. A girl’s instructress always holds sway over her mind, particularly when, as with yoursister, her mother is far away. Mistress Sanford ought to have stopped your sister from removing herself from the marriage market at sixteen, rather than urging it! The lady did you harm, depriving you of a valuable gift that might be used as a diplomatic tool. You ought to have been consulted.”
“No one ever consults me.” My husband’s voice takes on a slightly whining tone.
“Eleanor does,” I reply quickly, before Henry is carried away into a listing of his grievances. “She seeks your permission, your aid, your blessing. She has no mind to act without your approbation. Can you say as much of your barons?”
Henry is silent for a few minutes, unconsciously fingering my hair and staring into the fire. I neither move nor speak, marveling at how
I
have learned to patiently hold my tongue, a characteristic Marguerite urged upon me for so many years with no success. I must remember to tell her in my next letter, though I doubt she will believe me.
Finally Henry looks directly at me and smiles. Taking my hand, he pulls me up onto his lap. “Let my sister and Simon de Montfort come to see me,” he says.
“Oh Henry! You will permit the marriage?” I throw my arms around his neck and give him a kiss on the cheek.
“How can I do otherwise,” he asks, “when the happiness of my two favorite ladies appears to hinge upon it?”
“SHHH!” I TRY TO SOUND stern but cannot help giggling. It is the sixth of January, the Feast of the Epiphany, and Eleanor Marshal and I are making our way to the king’s private chapel in the Palace of Westminster. We do so supposedly for no reason in particular beyond satisfying her urge to see her brother and mine to see mylord. But in truth, Simon de Montfort is waiting with Henry, and he and Eleanor are going to be married. This fact has been kept a secret even from my ladies. Well, not from Willelma,
king
?” I can never understand all the conciliation that Henry offers his vassals. My father would never have managed things thus, consulting with those who hold their land only by his gift or by the gift of his ancestors.
Henry looks sullen. I am making no progress in this manner, so I must try another. Henry may love me well, but, like most men, he does not like to be pushed. I must be consciously andpurposefully the sweet and obliging Marguerite rather than bold Eleanor. I have been mimicking my sister on occasion as of late, and to great effect. I see now how she managed my parents with such ease.
Dropping my hands to my sides, I approach my husband and silently take a seat on the ground at his knee. I rest my cheek against Henry’s leg, giving him the chance to calm himself. If I inadvertently trigger a fit of pique, all is lost. Henry can be as obstinate and stupid as a child when he is taken by such a mood.
When I feel Henry’s hand on my hair, I at last glance upward to his face. “I am sorry, my love,” I say softly. “I will never understand your English government. But I do understand a woman’s heart. Your sister loves Simon.”
“She does?”
“Yes.”
“Loves him?”
“As I love you. And should not such love be honored?” I take Henry’s hand in mine, offering him a soft look and a softer smile. “Besides, granting Simon this marriage will secure his loyalty in a way that aught else can.”
“What does your uncle say?” Henry knows he is not the only one to consult with Guillaume on important matters.
“He wishes there were such an easy manner of taming your brother Richard.” I can see that Henry’s mind is turning to match mine. But he is not quite ready to concede.
“It will cost me money.”
“Promise it now; pay it later.”
“She made a vow of chastity, witnessed by Edmund Rich himself.”
“She was led astray by Cecilia de Sanford. A girl’s instructress always holds sway over her mind, particularly when, as with yoursister, her mother is far away. Mistress Sanford ought to have stopped your sister from removing herself from the marriage market at sixteen, rather than urging it! The lady did you harm, depriving you of a valuable gift that might be used as a diplomatic tool. You ought to have been consulted.”
“No one ever consults me.” My husband’s voice takes on a slightly whining tone.
“Eleanor does,” I reply quickly, before Henry is carried away into a listing of his grievances. “She seeks your permission, your aid, your blessing. She has no mind to act without your approbation. Can you say as much of your barons?”
Henry is silent for a few minutes, unconsciously fingering my hair and staring into the fire. I neither move nor speak, marveling at how
I
have learned to patiently hold my tongue, a characteristic Marguerite urged upon me for so many years with no success. I must remember to tell her in my next letter, though I doubt she will believe me.
Finally Henry looks directly at me and smiles. Taking my hand, he pulls me up onto his lap. “Let my sister and Simon de Montfort come to see me,” he says.
“Oh Henry! You will permit the marriage?” I throw my arms around his neck and give him a kiss on the cheek.
“How can I do otherwise,” he asks, “when the happiness of my two favorite ladies appears to hinge upon it?”
“SHHH!” I TRY TO SOUND stern but cannot help giggling. It is the sixth of January, the Feast of the Epiphany, and Eleanor Marshal and I are making our way to the king’s private chapel in the Palace of Westminster. We do so supposedly for no reason in particular beyond satisfying her urge to see her brother and mine to see mylord. But in truth, Simon de Montfort is waiting with Henry, and he and Eleanor are going to be married. This fact has been kept a secret even from my ladies. Well, not from Willelma,
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