Free Georgette Heyer by My Lord John

ended.
    They had dreaded a return to Leicester, but they found when they saw the castle again that they scarcely remembered it. Bitter memory held no place beside present happiness: the lordings were together once more, often fliting, but held by such strong ties of affection that it was many hours after their reunion before they troubled themselves even to discover what other guests were staying at Leicester.
    It was a disappointment to find that Bel sire was absent. He had set sail for Aquitaine some months earlier, and had not yet returned. It was his first visit to the Duchy since it had been bestowed on him, and he could think himself fortunate if it proved a peaceable one. His new subjects were showing every sign of recalcitrance: they said that they did not choose to be sequestered from the Crown. It had to be remembered, of course, that they had a particular kindness for King Richard, who had been born at Bordeaux; but those who knew Guyenne best said that the people were curst, liking no foreigner above the average, but preferring the English to the French, whom they detested.
    Bel sire had taken Sir Harry Percy with him as his Lieutenant, and Sir Harry, sent home on a mission, was at Leicester, and could often be seen strolling about the courts, with his hand tucked in Father’s arm. He and Father were old friends. They had received knighthood together; Sir Harry had gone to St Ingelvert in Father’s train, and shared the honours of the lists there with him; and although their ways had fallen lately apart they were glad to meet again, and seemed to find plenty to talk about. The lordings were a little disappointed in Sir Harry. Every English child knew the history of his battle against the Scots at Otterburn; no English child could be brought to believe that a man whom his enemies had nicknamed Hotspur was not worthy of worship; but the Lancaster boys were taken aback to discover that the hero of a score of Border fights was a man older than their own father; rather rough-mannered; not, judged by their standards, quick-witted; and speaking with a northern burr.
    This accent sounded on all sides at Leicester, spoken by the tongue of a Percy, a Neville, a Beaumont, a Scrope, or a Greystoke; for a number of persons, bound to the house of Lancaster by blood or by allegiance, had come to attend the memorial service. Prominent amongst them was the Lord Neville of Raby, a tall man who was hip-halt, and spent most of his time staring at Aunt Joan Beaufort. Like Father, he was lately a widower. He had a numerous progeny, and was said to show considerable talent in the making of advantageous matches for his sons and daughters.
    All the Beauforts were at Leicester: Sir John; Henry, with his swift mind, and his keen eyes lively under their tilted lids; Thomas, the least well-visaged of the family; Joan, as intelligent as Henry, whom she much resembled.
    Both the great-uncles, Gloucester and York, were at Leicester, too; and my lord of Gloucester had brought his lady with him, and his son Humfrey. Humfrey of Gloucester was older than his cousins, but they held him in poor esteem. He was a nervous boy, quite unlike his overbearing father. But my lord of Gloucester was in his sunniest humour. He had spent a year trying to regain his influence with the King, and he seemed to have succeeded. Wagging tongues said that my lady of Derby’s death had raised his spirits wonderfully, for her sister, his own lady, was now sole heiress of Hereford. If he could do it he would outscheme his nephew in the attempt to succeed to all the Bohun dignities; meanwhile he demeaned himself right lovingly towards my lord of Derby.
    Great-uncle York came alone to Leicester. He had lately fallen into unwit, and at the age of fifty-four had taken his second wife out of leading-strings. The Lady Joan Holland, offspring of Thomas, Earl of Kent, was his choice; and whether he was snared by her dowry or her roving eye none could tell. My lord of Derby said