Free A Rose for the Crown by Anne Easter Smith Page A

seats, Martin satisfied Kate with a few facts. “My eldest, Martin, is sixteen and stays in Calais to learn the wool trade. He will inherit my father-in-law’s business in Lavenham one day and my manor in Chelsworth. George, my second, lives in Suffolk with my wife and our younger children. Now he is thirteen, he has joined the household of the duke of Norfolk, thanks to our patron, Sir John Howard. I hope he will soon be squire to Sir John and one day perhaps a knight. Does that suffice, young lady?”
Richard frowned. “Your son is with Tom Mowbray? King Henry’s man, I believe. Do you not fear a divided loyalty for your son?”
Martin shrugged. “’Tis a high honor for one of my house to be taken into Norfolk’s household, king’s man or no. George learns the skills there to be his own man one day.”
Elinor made a note to enquire further of the young Hautes in the not-too-distant future. Perhaps young Martin, with an inheritance in the offing, would make a match for Anne. But then, George had the Norfolk connection. . . . Plenty to think upon. She motioned to a server to bring in the next course and listened politely as the men talked politics and interjected an “Oh” or a “Is that so?” in relevant places. She found the discussions about rivalry between York and the king tedious, though she noted that Richard showed no fear in divulging his Yorkist allegiance to Martin. The two Haute kinsmen had met for the first time at Baynard’s Castle, York’s London residence, and had struck up an easy friendship while waiting for an audience with the duke. And if Martin was garrisoned in Calais, Richard must be certain he was Warwick’s man and so a Yorkist. Elinor understood policy enough to know the earl of Warwickhad the honor to be Captain of Calais and, together with his powerful Neville family, was a staunch supporter of the York cause.
“Do you believe the witch of Anjou will take the Act of Accord lying down?” Richard now asked Martin in a low voice.
Martin chuckled. “I fear she will not lie down for anyone now my lord of Somerset is dead.” Indeed there was talk that her son, Edward of Lancaster, was actually Somerset’s conceived in desperation by Margaret to give England an heir. “In truth, cousin, I do not trust her and fear more bloodshed at her hand. Will you join with the duke, if it comes to a fight?”
“Aye,” replied Richard grimly, tearing into a thighbone of chicken. “I cannot offer much in the way of fighting men. My manor is small. But what I have I will gladly pledge. Pray God, it comes not to civil war.”
“You have no son to inherit?” Martin asked, changing the subject.
At this implication, Elinor’s attention returned to the conversation. She bristled like a hedgehog preparing its defence. Richard recognized the signs and steeled himself for her rejoinder, wiping his mouth with the linen napkin and dipping his fingers into the bowl of water offered him by the ewerer.
“I fear the good Lord has not blessed us with a son, sir,” Elinor snapped. “I have prayed with Brother Francis to St. Antony of Padua, but he hears us not. Anne is our only child, and we are of a mind to wait for a grandson.”
Richard patted her arm kindly. “’Tis a sore subject with Elinor, Martin. Forgive her prickles.” He spoke over her head to his cousin and winked. “’Tis not for the lack of trying.”
Elinor clicked her tongue and pursed her lips with distaste, glancing at the chaplain, who sat impassively at the opposite end of the table.
As the evening wore on, the two men began to feel the effects of their fatigue and the heady wine Elinor had ordered from the cellar in honor of their guest. Kate and Anne were bored by conversation about the merits of one kind of armor over another, about fighting for a cause they did not understand and about the price of good cloth in London. Kate muttered something to Anne, who slipped quietly from her seat and tiptoed round to her father’s chair