“I know. I am looking forward to meeting her, and speaking with de Russe.”
Henry motioned to a servant for more wine. “Tread lightly, Chris. Gaston is completely different on the subject of his lady. He is not the controlled man we have grown to know. Furthermore, I doubt he will be in a talkative mood with the lady’s impending departure tonight.”
Christopher nodded in regret. “I saw the papal guard downstairs. I take it she is leaving after supper, then?”
Henry was quiet as he drank his wine, pondering the design on his golden goblet. “I will try to make it as painless as possible for them both. Courtenay’s knights are waiting for my signal on this matter; I plan to send Gaston out of the room on some hasty errand and will have the lady escorted out while he is away. When he returns, I will inform him that the lady is en route to St. Catherine’s. De Vere will be here to support me, of course. If anyone can prevent de Russe from rushing after her, he can.”
“I suppose a quick extraction is as painless as any alternative,” Urswick agreed.
Henry’s brown eyes were intent on his dean. “I do not like doing this, Chris. With everything Gaston has done to advance my cause, I do not like deceiving him in this manner. I can only hope to make it up to him when I convince the apostolic delegate to grant an annulment with or without Stoneley’s consent.”
“Will you donate Warminster?” Urswick asked.
“Nay,” Henry said flatly. “Warminster is Gaston’s when and if he wants it. It goes to no one else.”
Behind them, the door to the dining hall opened, ushering forth a fair young woman in blue silk. Elizabeth, queen of England, entered the room and curtsied for her husband. He was pleased to see that she had left her ladies behind, as he requested. Lord only knew how Elizabeth liked to be surrounded by her women to remind her that she was the king’s wife.
“My lord,” she said.
Henry glanced at his wife. “Good eve, Elizabeth.”
Silently, she moved to her husband’s left hand and took a seat. Henry and Christopher continued to speak quietly all but ignoring young Elizabeth until another, older woman entered the hall.
Lady Margaret Beaufort eyed her son, furthermore gazing disdainfully at the dean. “Henry, are all of those guards downstairs for Lady Stoneley?”
“They are,” he replied.
Margaret snorted lady-like and took her seat on her son’s right hand, demanding wine in a crystal goblet. She refused to drink from a metal cup because she swore she could taste the element. “Ridiculous. An entire company of men for one small lady.”
Henry and Christopher passed glances; an entire company of men would be required should de Russe lose his control. “Do not worry overly, mother. The men are there purely to protect the lady, not to wrest her from these walls.”
“I understand she is lovely,” Elizabeth said, directing her statement at Lady Beaufort.
“We shall soon see,” Margaret replied, her manner as imperious as the rest of her. “I am curious to meet this woman who would capture the heart of the most powerful fighting man in England’s history.”
“You would compare de Russe to the likes of Lancelot, Galahad, St. George, or Christopher de Lohr, Richard’s champion on the crusades?” Henry raised an eyebrow. “Or William de Wolfe? Surely there was no greater warrior than de Wolfe. He controlled Scotland’s borders for many years for Henry III.”
Margaret shook her head; she was not about to engage in a fighting man’s conversation. “Aye, they had stout reputationsand lived long lives. But mark my words; Gaston de Russe is more powerful than even they.”
“He shall be flattered to hear you say that, Mother,” Henry smiled.
Margaret was not a woman to be toyed with. She gave her son an icy stare and looked away. “If you mention this conversation, I shall strip the hide from your back.”
There was a knock at the door and a steward opened it. Gaston and Remington entered the hall.
All eyes went to Remington, who felt the weight of the stares. She had been quite calm upon entering, but suddenly felt apprehensive, as if she would not meet with their approval somehow. As if they would think all of the fuss was ridiculous.
She looked ravishing in the yellow satin, the front of her hair pulled back and secured with a golden clasp. Gaston, holding her elbow tightly, was dressed in “common clothing”, as he had called it. The black breeches and fine leather boots belonged to him, but the black silk tunic with the gold embroider was Uncle Martin’s. Gaston hated to dress in fancy clothing and did not even own a fine tunic. Remington had felt as if she were arguing with her son as she tried to get Gaston to dress finely for dinner; he wanted to wear his armor.
Henry actually rose to his feet, followed by Urswick. “Introduce us, Gaston.”
Gaston smiled faintly and Remington dipped into a low curtsy. “My lord, this is Lady Remington Stoneley,” he said with a touch of pride.
Henry studied her openly. “Look at me.”
She did, meeting his eyes for a brief second before lowering her gaze. She was humbled and nervous to be in the presence of the king.
But Henry continued to observe her even as he regained his seat. Urswick seemed tongue-tied.
