The winter drew to a close, and at Easter the king asked that his family gather at Richmond again. They hardly saw him though, for the rumor had it that Henry Tudor’s heart was broken by his loss. His counselors advised him to remarry, and small overtures were made in that direction, but in the end it came to naught. The king had married Elizabeth of York to unite their houses, to end a long and bloody war, and because her claim to the throne was actually stronger than his. But he had loved her once he had come to know her, and he had been faithful to her in life. Now that she was gone it appeared his fidelity would not waver.
“He is like me,” the Venerable Margaret noted.
“But you have wed three times, grandmama,” Meg said.
“Listen to me, my child,” Margaret Beaufort said. “A woman may have wealth and dignity and prestige, but it matters not if she does not have a husband. That is the way of our world. We cannot escape it. However, your father’s father, my first husband, Jasper Tudor, was the love of my life, and I am not ashamed to admit it. For women of our class it is our first marriages that are arranged. Perhaps even a second. After that I believe a woman has a right to choose her own husband. Whether she will love all of them, or none of them, that is up to fate. But marry a woman must, and that is the end of it.”
“Will I love James Stuart, grandmama?” Meg wondered aloud.
“’Tis said he is a most loving man,” the countess noted dryly, “and of course he will want to please you because by making you happy he makes England happy. He is said to be handsome, child. Handsome and kind. Aye, I believe you will love him.”
“Will he love me?” the girl queried.
The Venerable Margaret laughed. “James Stuart will certainly love you, my child.” For there is scarcely a woman he cannot love, she thought to herself.
“You must find a husband for Rosamund now, grandmother,” Meg said mischievously. “I know she wants to return home to her beloved Friarsgate when I go north in late summer.”
“We will find your companion a mate in time,” the Countess of Richmond said. “There is time, and he must be chosen carefully.”
“You see,” Meg said later when they were abed. “You are a prize to be awarded even as I am. But, Rosamund, when the time comes, make them allow you the choice. Remember what my grandmother said. That after first marriages, and even second ones, a woman has the right to choose her next husband. Remind them of that when your time comes.”
They remained at Richmond for a month, but then the countess and her granddaughters decamped for Greenwich. It was the first time Rosamund had been to this palace. Like Richmond it was on the river Thames, but here she could spy the masts of the tall ships that sailed about the world as they moved downriver to the sea. Prince Henry joined them for a short while, for his grandmother had requested that he come. The king was keeping his surviving heir close. It was almost as if he believed by retaining personal custody of the boy he could protect him from anything. The prince even slept in a small chamber that could only be entered through his father’s bedchamber. His friends found young Henry’s predicament quite amusing, but the prince did not. Hence a respite with his formidable grandmother and his sisters was most welcome.
Princess Mary, brought from Eltham, admired her brother’s older companion, Charles Brandon. “I shall marry him one day,” the seven-year-old announced boldly. Her remark was met with much humor among her family.
“Princesses do not wed with plain gentlemen, Mary,” her grandmother said tartly. “They marry kings, or dukes, or other princes of the blood. Young Brandon has charm, I will give you that, but he is an adventurer. He has no lands of his own or real wealth. Why, I should not even give him to Rosamund for a husband. He is not worthy.”
“He will be someone one day, grandmama,” Mary replied pertly. “And I shall marry him!”
“Do you play tennis?” Prince Henry asked Rosamund as she sat one afternoon admiring the river.
Rosamund looked up. She was wearing a green bodice and skirt with her white sarcenet sleeves. The countess had declared their deep mourning over with and had gifted her two granddaughters and Rosamund with new gowns. “Nay, your highness, I do not play tennis.”
“Come then, and I shall teach you!” Henry said, reaching down to pull her up by the hand. “How can you just sit and stare at the water? I find it boring.”
“I find it peaceful, your highness,” Rosamund replied.
“You will enjoy tennis,” he insisted, pulling her along.
But she did not enjoy the rough game, and she tripped over her new skirt and twisted her ankle almost immediately while chasing after the ball he had lobbed at her. “Oh, if I have torn my skirt I shall not forgive you!” she cried. “Ouch!I cannot get up!” She winced with pain as she attempted to struggle to her feet.
At once the prince leapt over the net. Coming to her side, he bent down and picked her up. “I will carry you back to my grandmother’s apartments,” he said. “And your gown has not been torn, Rosamund. If it were I should buy you another,” he assured her gallantly.
“You have not the coin,” she answered him boldly.
“How do you know that?” he demanded. “Nay, ’tis my sister, Meg, who tittle-tattles.”
“My ankle hurts,” Rosamund complained.
“Put your head against my shoulder and close your eyes,” Prince Henry instructed her. “You have probably sprained it. Did you hear or feel a snap?”
“Nay,” Rosamund told him.
“Then nothing is broken,” he responded. Then he stopped. “You are as light as a feather, my lady of Friarsgate. I am enjoying the sensation of you in my arms.”
Rosamund’s amber eyes flew open. “You are much too bold, my lord prince,” she scolded. “Remember you are a boy, and I two years your senior. I have just had a birthday.”
“I have said it before, Rosamund of Friarsgate. I am young in years, but I have a man’s body. Of late I think I have a man’s needs. Now, you must kiss me or I shall not proceed another step.”
