“We did not contact your family sooner, out of respect for Richard’s wishes,” she said. “It would have… upset him.”
Jamie cleared his throat. She smiled so sweetly at him that he felt like an oaf pressing her. “I am very glad to meet you, but why did you wish me to come here? I am a stranger to you.”
“Because you are the only child of our dear Richard, of course,” she said, as if that should be answer enough for anyone. “And you are my husband’s closest kin, as well.”
“Closest kin?”
“What she is saying is that you are my heir,” Wheaton said. “Or you would be, if the truth were known about who your father was.”
Jamie felt like the ground was shifting under him.
“I don’t know if it makes me a bastard to be fathered by one man while my mother was married to another, but I am certain I have no legal claim to your lands. Nor would I attempt to press such a claim.”
“But we have no one else,” Lady Anne said in a small voice. “I have told Charles he must take a younger wife after I’m gone, in hope of getting an heir, but he refuses to consider it.”
“Annie, don’t,” Wheaton said, squeezing her hand.
She began to cough again. It made Jamie’s chest hurt to hear it. This time, Wheaton lifted her up in his arms and carried her off.
A short time later, he came down looking drawn. He took his chair and drained his cup of ale.
“I won’t wed again,” he said in a heavy voice. “There could be no other woman for me after Annie. But I could not sire an heir, in any case. I had something of a wild youth before I married. So far as I ever heard, none of the women ever conceived.”
After a long silence, Jamie said, “Your lack of an heir, sir, does not mean I have any claim to your estates.”
“Better that I decide who shall have my lands, than that they go to the Crown for Bishop Beaufort to choose,” Wheaton said. “I’ve hired a lawyer to find out how it can be done.”
Jamie did not know what to say. To have his own lands was something he had dreamed of for years.
Finally, he said, “You are a fit man. You’ve a long while yet to make a decision.”
“When I lose Annie, I will take my brother’s place at the abbey.” Wheaton poured himself another cup of ale. “I’ll grant you the lands then.”
Jamie knew Wheaton would not appreciate false comfort, so he gave none. “I am truly sorry your wife is unwell. Has it been a long illness?”
“Her health was fragile from the day we wed,” he said. “I count myself blessed for every day I’ve had with her. I’ve had a good life. The best life. No regrets for me.”
No regrets. The man had no children, and he had been watching his beloved wife die from the beginning of their marriage. And yet, Jamie believed Charles Wheaton would not have exchanged his life for another.
“ ’Tis a fine estate,” Jamie said finally. “I would do my best to keep it as well as you have.”
“I could tell that from the way you looked at it,” Wheaton said. “ ’Tis a comfort to me.”
The three of them talked for a while of crops and cattle, but it was growing dark and time for Jamie and Geoffrey to go.
Wheaton walked them out to the gate.
“We will welcome you to our brotherhood when the time comes,” Geoffrey said to Wheaton.
“I hope I may visit you and your wife again. And… thank you,” Jamie said, unable to find an adequate way to express his gratitude.
“Make the most of what life gives you,” Wheaton said, clasping Jamie’s shoulder. “Don’t live a life of regret like my brother did.”
Chapter Thirty-five
Linnet entered Westminster Hall through the grand ceremonial north entrance, with its vaulted porch portal and flanking towers. After passing through the twenty-foot-high wooden doors, she paused beneath the great arched window.
As always, her gaze was drawn upward to the hammer beams and braced arches of the massive timber roof. It had been commissioned by Richard II and was said to weigh more than 650 tons. Richard had never been one to economize. Still, Linnet judged the new roof worth the expense—as had his cousin and usurper, Henry IV, who completed it.
