Free The Rose of York by Sandra Worth Page A

have need of strong and loyal men. It seems the little duke has a wisdom far beyond his years.”
    “Indeed,” replied Edward thoughtfully. “Indeed.”
    “Edward,” said Warwick, his proud head held high, “Dickon and Anne are fond of one another, as you know. They desire to be wed. A marriage would…”
    Edward’s roar of laughter interrupted him. “You’re the one who keeps reminding me that love has nothing to do with marriage—that it’s solely a commercial transaction, a means of acquiring wealth or extending power. How many times have you said that, cousin?”
    “But their union would benefit our two great families and show the realm we Yorkists stand firmly united,” Warwick countered, his face flushed. “Let us be joined. Delay gains us nothing. ’Tis a good time to announce the betrothal, cousin.” His eyes pierced the distance between them.
    “My Lord of Warwick,” Edward said coldly, using formal address to put distance between them, “marriage is a weighty matter. We shall consider it another time.”
    He turned away, irked by Warwick’s manner and his nasal voice, which underscored his insufferable arrogance. Even his motto was arrogant: Seulement un . The only one to what? To have made a king? The only one who was always right? Fit to govern? England had anointed him her hero and sung his praises so loudly that he thought himself a deity. Since his cousin had helped him gain his throne, Warwick thought he owned him. In the past year the Kingmaker had decided that the King should marry, and had bandied the King’s hand around Europe as if he were so much meat to be auctioned to the highest bidder. Your people fear that their sovereign lord has been long without a wife and not chaste in his living , he had scolded. They do not approve, Edward . The audacity! Louis of France had turned out to be the winner and Warwick fixed his mind on wedding him to Louis’s sister-in-law, Bona of Savoy. Persistent and tireless, he urged the marriage alliance at every turn.
    A pox on his marriages! Edward thought, throwing his knife across the table. Turning to his friends Hastings and Tiptoft, he engaged them in conversation.
    At the end of the table, Anne said to Richard, “I fear my father is displeased.”
    Richard’s eyes flew to the Kingmaker, who a moment before had been deep in conversation with the King. He now sat stiffly as his brother, Bishop Neville, talked with the Countess. Though Warwick pretended to be listening, his face was set in a hard line and his eyes smouldered. Richard’s stomach clenched tight. The King and the Kingmaker had glanced at them several times as they spoke, and Edward’s expression, normally so good-natured, had darkened. They were discussing us , Richard thought.
    “And it bodes us no good,” Anne said, finishing his thought, as she often did these days. Richard had no heart to reply. He pushed his plate away and looked up to find Edward beckoning.
    “I wish your company a while, Dickon,” Edward said, patting the chair a servant placed beside him. “The entertainment is about to begin.”
    Drums rolled and a dwarf led a huge brown bear into the hall. The minstrels struck up a Saracen melody. The dwarf pulled on the bear’s chain and the bear clapped her hands with a jangle of silver bracelets. He tugged again and she twirled and somersaulted around the floor, veils flying, coloured glass necklaces flashing. Edward threw his head back and roared with laughter. Richard loved the sound of Edward’s laugh, so joyous, so exuberant. That was part of his charm—the ability to enjoy life, to revel in the moment and never to worry about the past or the future. He wished he could laugh like that and always be so sure about everything, instead of being shot through with doubts. He had so many doubts—about his future, about whether he’d marry Anne, about whether he’d measure up. He even had doubts about his paternity.
    When he was small, he used to study his