Chapter 5
King Edward III studied his eldest son and namesake with shrewd eyes. ‘How is the Countess of Kent?’
Edward reached for his wine and stretched his long legs towards the hearth. ‘Jeanette is grieving, as you would expect,’ he replied, ‘but being courageous and trying to pick up the threads. Her eldest son will be joining my household squires – perhaps at midsummer.’
‘Yes, of course, it will do the boy good to begin full training.’
‘The younger lad I will either take on later or ask my brother to train him. He will receive excellent tuition in John’s household.’
‘There is the matter of Jeanette herself.’ His father stroked his greying beard, which reached nearly to his gold belt buckle.
‘In what way?’ Edward’s voice was nonchalant, but his heart kicked.
‘Given that Jeanette is one of the wealthiest women in the kingdom, and the oldest boy will not come into his inheritance for another ten years, there will be many suitors eager to claim her in marriage. She is still of childbearing age.’
‘But not yet, surely,’ Edward objected, alert and on edge. His father’s remark was a thought that had been burning in his own mind since his discussion with Chandos at Donington. ‘Her husband’s body has not yet even been returned for burial.’
‘Even so, we must decide what to do sooner rather than later. I have already received enquiries from interested suitors and have said I shall think on the matter. Despite her reputation, she is still a golden apple on the tree.’
Edward bristled. ‘What do you mean “despite her reputation”?’
‘You know her history as well as I do,’ his father said impatiently.
‘First there was that “secret” marriage to Holland in Flanders when she was barely a woman, but still wilful and hot-blooded enough to run off from her chaperones and cause mayhem – and then she bigamously married William Montagu while Holland was absent.’
‘She was forced into that shame of a match with Montagu by her mother and Lady Salisbury,’ Edward retorted. ‘It was none of her doing. You cannot blame her for that. Montagu himself was only thirteen and coerced too – he will tell you so.’
His father waved his hand in irritation.
‘Perhaps not the second match, but that disgraceful escapade with Thomas Holland was certainly of her own capricious will, and to lose her virginity so young . . . What I am saying is that she has a reputation. She is already being called the “Fair Maid” of Kent by some in reference to her morals.’
‘Then those who do such calling should be punished,’ Edward snapped, thoroughly annoyed now. ‘Many others have acted far more reprehensibly and are not slandered thus. Jeanette and Thomas Holland, from all I know and have seen with my own eyes, had a true and loyal bond from the start.’
‘Whatever the rights and wrongs, it is still being said and is part of what her new husband will face. We will know more of the full assets of the Kent estates once an accounting has been made, but we must consider carefully how to bestow those estates in our own interests.’
Edward pushed down his anger. His father spoke the truth, even if he disliked hearing it.
Jeanette, as a young, fertile widow, was bound to be talked about, especially given her beauty, which was both voluptuous and delicate.
She only had to enter a room and men stared hungrily.
She was vulnerable, and he had sworn to protect her and the children.
‘I agree we should consider carefully and make no rash moves,’ he replied.
‘I never make rash moves,’ his father said, smiling with a closed mouth. ‘Unlike the Countess herself.’
A month later at Donington, Jeanette sat before the fire and gazed at her hands.
Over and over, she smoothed her wedding ring with her thumb.
It was done. Thomas had been brought home and laid to rest in the church of the Greyfriars in Stamford, his body transported from Rouen across the Narrow Sea and northward through England to Lincolnshire, to the Franciscan house that Jeanette and her ancestors had supported for many years.
In his will, Thomas had requested to be buried here, and she had fulfilled his wish, and would lie at his side when her time came.
Around her the world was blooming into a spring that Thomas would never see.
But she could see it for him and hold him inside her, dear and close.
Edward had escorted the funeral cortege part of the way and had stayed for the burial and the funeral feast before departing to attend a second interment.
Henry of Grosmont, Duke of Lancaster, had died at Leicester Castle and had been buried at the collegiate church in the city.
Many of the mourners who had gathered for Thomas’s funeral had taken that same road with the Prince.
Edward had returned to Donington this morning with his entourage to further consider the affairs of the Kent estates, and he stood by the window now, having paused from his endeavours to drink a cup of wine and eat some bread.
Documents, tallies and scrolls mounded the table where he had been working, seals dangling.
Jeanette glanced at him from her seat by the hearth where she had been weaving braid while he toiled.
He had been silent for a while, a frown set between his brows, but now he set his cup down and quietly dismissed the two clerks who had been industriously taking notes in wax-lined tablet books.
A log slipped in the fire as its foundation crumbled to embers. Leaving the window, he joined her at the hearth and spoke her name.
She set the loom aside and folded her hands in her lap, and tension coiled in her belly.
‘Thomas has gone to be with God and I know it is hard for you, but you still have all the friends that cared for both of you.’
‘I shall mourn Thomas for the rest of my days,’ she answered. ‘It is part of the baggage of my life and for now the wounds are raw, but I am managing.’
‘I know you are but allow me to be concerned.’ He cleared his throat. ‘I need to speak with you – privately, on a delicate matter.’ He glanced at her ladies, the children and the nurses, all about their business in her chamber.
Surprised, and a little perturbed, Jeanette nevertheless dismissed her attendants, telling Hannekyn to take the dogs and the children for a walk.
‘You have found a discrepancy in the accounting?’ she guessed.
‘No, not that. Your stewards are meticulous.’
‘Then what?
He shook his head and grimaced. ‘Ah, I do not know how to broach this to you, but I must because it cannot be delayed.’
‘Broach what?’ Her anxiety increased.
‘That you are a young and wealthy widow, and your estates must be taken in hand.’
‘I know what I am.’ She was fully alert now, and tense.
‘My own mother was in precisely the same situation when my father was executed. She had three young children and had to do everything by herself – or only with assistance on the periphery. I am . . . I was a soldier’s wife and I know very well how to manage my affairs. ’
‘But those estates have grown, and circumstances have changed,’ he pointed out.
‘My father will settle a guardian on the children, and it will be someone of his choosing – who might not necessarily be of yours. You will be pressured to marry again, and that man will have the right to beget his own heirs in your womb and govern as he sees fit.’
‘I will never remarry,’ she said vehemently and had to swallow bile. Her heart had started to pound. ‘Do not press me on this.’
‘Jeanette, you have no choice. Already my father and I are being courted by men hungry for your hand, either for themselves or their sons – and some are puissant knights worthy of your standing and consideration.’
‘No man will ever be as good as Thomas,’ she said flatly. ‘I refuse to consider anyone at the moment.’
‘Yet you must. You have to do what is best for the estate and for the children.’
‘What is best for the men who would take it from me,’ she retorted.
‘Who do you recommend I marry out of these supposed paragons?’ She curled her lip.
‘Who would you choose if you were sitting on this bench in my shoes having this unpalatable thing explained to you? I have no wish to be in anyone’s power but my own, and I do not know any man well enough to give myself and my children into his keeping, no matter how much you or the King approve of him.
I have long experience of standing in defiance as well you know.
’ Long experience too of the wants of men.
‘You do know one well enough,’ he said quietly.
She stared at him, shock jolting through her. The late afternoon sun slanted across his face and raised coppery glints in his beard.
‘You could marry me,’ he said. ‘It would be my joy to care for you and your children for the rest of my life. I may not be Thomas, I could never take his place, but we have been close friends all our lives.’
She pressed her palms against her mouth, robbed of thought and agency.
‘I know I have sprung it upon you, but I have considered this matter for many weeks and from whatever angle I study it, it seems to me the best solution for all. You know I will never harm you or the children. You would bring wealth and estate to the match. You understand the workings of the court and have many acquaintances there. You will be an asset to my household – a queen in waiting. My father is sending me to govern Aquitaine in the future, and with you beside me, we could rule in splendour. We would have our own court, and you would be its lady.’