When she went down to the hall for supper, she learned the reason.
“I spent the afternoon with my new clerk of the wardrobe,” Queen Katherine whispered to her before they took their seats at the table. “There is so much to be done! I should have had someone in the position long ago.”
“The entire afternoon?” Linnet said, hoping she had misheard.
“ ’Tis a relief to have Owen’s assistance,” the queen said, smiling as she gazed off into the distance.
“Owen?Should you not address him as Master Tudor?”
The queen gave a light laugh. “When did you care about such things? So far as I can tell, you do precisely as you please most of the time.”
“But I am not the queen of England,” Linnet whispered. “Nor am I sister to the pretender to the French crown!”
Her friend gave her that benign princess smile she used when she waved to the peasants from her carriage. Then someone caught her eye, and she raised her hand.
“Master Tudor,” the queen said as Owen joined them. “I was hoping we could continue our discussion over supper.”
The queen took Owen’s arm. As he led her away, she winked at Linnet over her shoulder.
Supper was more of the same, with Owen spreading charm like a farmer spreads manure—and Queen Katherine wallowing in it like a happy hog.
Late that night, Linnet visited the queen in the royal apartments. The queen, who kept late hours, was still dressed.
“What are you doing walking about the palace in your night-robe?” the queen asked, her delicate brows arched halfway up her forehead.
“My bedchamber is but a few doors away,” Linnet said. “I could not sleep and hoped we might talk.”
“Of course.”
One look from Linnet, and the French ladies-in-waiting remained behind as she followed Queen Katherine into her private parlor.
Gowns and lengths of colorful fabrics hung over every bench and chair. The queen and her new clerk of the wardrobe had been busy. Linnet was trying to think of how best to bring Owen up, when the queen did it for her.
“What do you know of Owen Tudor?” the queen asked as she fingered a length of silk the color of ripe strawberries.
“I understand he is from an old Welsh noble family,” Linnet said. “His father was a Welsh rebel who was in hiding for many years.”
“Then he is no one of importance,” the queen said, her expression thoughtful.
Linnet wondered what the queen meant by that. A moment later, the answer came to her like a thunderbolt.
“Your Grace, may I speak plainly?” she asked. “I feel I must, out of concern for your safety.”
The queen sighed and nodded.
“While Owen Tudor does not present the same danger Edmund Beaufort did, that does not mean he is safe for you.”
“What harm can you find in Owen?” the queen asked. “He is no one.”
“I must warn you, Owen’s lack of powerful connections will not prevent him from having powerful enemies should you become… involved… with him.”
“I only met the man today.” Queen Katherine gave her an indulgent smile. “He is my clerk of the wardrobe, that is all. You worry yourself too much.”
Linnet felt a trifle better, until her friend added, “I am certain both Gloucester and the bishop would consider whom I choose to befriend to be beneath their concern.”
“Pray, do not provoke them, Your Grace,” Linnet said. “Those two have much at stake. Who knows what they might do?”
“But they can have nothing to object to,” the queen persisted.
