Free Daughter of York by Anne Easter Smith

thought he had never looked so handsome. He should always wear blue, she decided.
    “Ah, but Dickon is more humbled by his knightly honor. See, he stares straight ahead with his hands in prayer. He’s a solemn little boy, in truth,but I like him.” Elizabeth, duchess of Suffolk, looked fondly at her youngest sibling. “He does not demand attention as George does. And he is kind-hearted.”
    A fanfare of trumpets caused Edward’s horse to shy, but its master’s hands expertly calmed it. The whole household was lined up to greet Edward, and the great bells of the abbey pealed over the acres of palace buildings and grounds and over the river beyond the walls. The noise was deafening, and Margaret shivered with excitement. Edward rode up to the steps of the dais, dismounted and bowed low to his mother, sweeping off his purple velvet bonnet. Cecily inclined her head, descended the stairs and took his arm to be led into the great hall.
    The palace was abuzz with activity the morning of the coronation a day later, and those at Prime thanked God for another fair day. Margaret was given several responsibilities before she was finally able to dress for the ceremony. Edward had given her permission to come out of mourning for her father after six months, and she had chosen a shimmering blue cloth of silver for her gown, trimmed at hem and neckline with marten, the train of which trailed several feet behind her. Her butterfly hennin was sewn with pearls and draped with a silver veil. Edward had given each of his sisters a necklace for the occasion, and hers was graceful loops of sapphires and pearls that draped delicately at the nape of her neck. She decorated each finger with rings and stood back to study herself in the full-length polished copper mirror.
    “Today you will rival even the beautiful Elizabeth Lucy, my lady!” Ann gushed, citing an acknowledged beauty at court and one of Edward’s mistresses. Jane murmured agreement, but Margaret could see the girl was really admiring her own reflection over Margaret’s shoulder. Margaret sighed. These two were respectful but silly, and she knew they were there only because they were the daughters of loyal friends of her father’s, William Herbert and Robert Percy. I would so love to find a true friend to confide in, she thought yet again. Old Anne had been a gentle influence in her childhood, and she had had fun with George on many occasions, but in all the turmoil of her parents’ lives during the past five years, Margaret’s circle of friends had been limited to her mother’s ladies and these two simpering girls. Let us hope they find husbands soon, she mused, but she smiled her thanks at them for their compliments.
    Cecily bustled in, looking every inch a dowager queen in violet silk and ermine. She had refused to come out of mourning for her husband, but to humor Edward she had ordered a gown of violet, the other acceptable color for bereaved widows. Her wimple was crowned with a small diadem, and she looked so imposing that even Margaret sank into a deep reverence.
    “Get up, child, and let me look at you,” Cecily said impatiently. She walked slowly round her daughter, tweaking a sleeve, rearranging the long gossamer veil and removing one of the larger rings. “Too ostentatious, my dear. ’Tis quality, not quantity, that defines taste.”
    Margaret stoically subjected herself to the scrutiny of her imperious parent, which made her feel like a dowdy mouse. Finally Cecily was satisfied. “Very nice, my dear. You will do. Mayhap we can find a suitable bridegroom for you before long. You will be a credit to the York name, I have no doubt.”
    More talk of bridegrooms. Margaret inwardly groaned but smiled sweetly and said, “Aye, Mother. Thank you, Mother.”
    T HE CORONATION WAS long and, depending where one sat, thrilling or tedious. Edward was imperious in royal purple and godlike when he removed all but a loincloth for his anointing. His muscular arms, livid with