Jeanette made herself focus. Edward was her friend and she didn’t want to let him down. ‘What a beauty!’ Courage couldn’t compare to the magnificence of Thomas’s Noir, but she appreciated his quality.
‘My father gave him to me for my year day. I’m going to train for the tourney with him.’
She made suitably impressed noises, and patted the horse’s warm grey neck.
Edward took her hand again. ‘I have something else to show you too.’ He led her to the harness room, and showed her a long beam along which was spread a swathe of horse barding embroidered with the royal arms of England in crusted gold. Jeanette’s jaw dropped. Edward watched her with his hands on his hips and an ear-to-ear smile on his face. ‘My father gave me this on my year day too. It’s for parades and special occasions, of course.’ He sounded a little put out about that, as if he would like to ride in it every day.
Jeanette tentatively stroked the rich cloth. ‘I can just imagine.’
‘Do you want to sit on it?’
Jeanette saw the devilry sparking in his eyes, and felt an answering frisson of her own. ‘Why not?’
Edward climbed up on to the bar and sat across the barding. He put his hand down to her and pulled her up behind him, but astride, not side-seat. She tucked in her skirts and he began to make the back-and-forth motion of riding, and she moved with him, putting her arms around his waist and leaning her cheek in to his ribcage.
‘Does your horse not go any faster than this?’ she asked with mock disdain.
‘Oh yes, faster than the wind! As fast as you want to go, but you must hold on tightly!’
His words reminded her of Thomas’s with such a sharp jolt that she stopped smiling. She loved Edward dearly, but he was just one of her brother’s friends, and a boy. They shared a sense of humour and adventure and she hoped they always would, but he was the heir to the throne – a future king. Their bond was as strong as rawhide and as fragile as glass. She held on tightly, feeling the discomfort of the wooden bar under her legs, feeling Edward’s lean young body under her hands and the swift movement of his ribcage. So very tightly indeed.
‘Do you remember when your mother told you off for riding your hobby horse astride?’ Edward asked, laughter in his voice. ‘And you shouted for all to hear that it was a stupid rule and it wasn’t fair?’
‘Yes, and I was taken away and beaten for it, and all the boys just carried on playing,’ she said indignantly. ‘I still say it’s a stupid rule and not fair.’
‘Do you then wish you’d been born a boy?’
‘Frequently,’ she replied, and he looked round at her, almost taken aback.
Voices intruded on the moment, and they heard a groom saying to someone that he had seen neither the lord Edward nor the lady Jeanette.
Edward stopped, and Jeanette loosened her arms from around his waist. He jumped off the bar and lifted her down, and she hastily straightened her gown, her heart thumping. Going to the door, Edward opened it on the senior groom and one of the chamber stewards.
‘Were you seeking us?’ he enquired. ‘I was showing my cousin the new barding for my horse.’ His manner had changed from that of smiling youth to imperious prince, but Jeanette squirmed, for by explaining himself he had made the moment seem suspect. She would receive the blame yet again for being unseemly. Things were still unfair.
The steward dropped his gaze and said neutrally, ‘Sire, you are both sought. The Dowager Countess of Kent is here.’
Jeanette’s stomach knotted at the news of her mother’s arrival. Edward shot her a sidelong glance. ‘Then we shall come.’ He held out his arm to her. ‘Cousin,’ he said, ‘we should not keep your lady mother waiting.’
Jeanette laid her hand along his sleeve. ‘Indeed not,’ she replied, thinking the opposite, thinking that her mother could wait for ever.
On her return to the great chamber on Edward’s arm, she saw her mother sitting in a window seat, waiting, hands folded tightly in her lap, watching everyone who entered the hall. On seeing Jeanette, Margaret rose to her feet.
Edward walked over to her and bowed deeply, and Margaret curtseyed.
‘My lady mother,’ Jeanette said formally, and curtseyed too.
‘I beg your indulgence, madam,’ Edward said, ‘it is my fault Jeanette was not here to greet you. I pray you will forgive me.’
‘Of course, sire,’ Margaret replied, her own smile strained.
Edward excused himself, abandoning Jeanette to her fate, giving her arm a surreptitious squeeze as he departed.
Jeanette discovered that she was looking down at her mother instead of being eye to eye as before and was now a full head taller. Two years had wrought so many changes, her height the least of them.
Margaret stood on tip-toe to kiss her daughter on either cheek with her customary cool peck. Then she stepped back, her gaze wandering to the stalks of straw clinging to the hem of Jeanette’s gown.
‘The lord Edward invited me to see his new horse and the barding for it,’ Jeanette said, heat sweeping into her cheeks. ‘It would have been unseemly to refuse.’
