Virgin Widow

‘You’ll be my wife, Anne Neville, because it is Edward’s wish,’ Richard breathed in my ear. ‘But will you be my love, because I would have it so.’

‘I might.’ I hid my face against his shoulder, holding fast to my delight. ‘But only if you would be mine.’

‘A bargain, is it? Yet how can I love someone who plots and torments?’

I did not listen to his words, only felt the strength of his arms, the warmth of his breath against my cheek. My heart, already shivering on the edge, fell at his feet.

‘You can love me because it was always intended to be so,’ I offered, speaking the truth as I saw it. ‘Because you have known me for ever, good and bad. Because you own my heart.’

‘Then I must take a care of it, mustn’t I.’

‘Will you?

‘Always.’

‘In spite of everything? The treachery and secrecy? I am still Warwick’s daughter.’

‘In spite of everything, daughter of Warwick, I love you. I think I always have. Ever since you informed me how relieved you were I hadn’t died at birth.’

My laughter echoed his softly in the draughty corridor. Typical of Richard to say so little and mean so much, leaving me truly ensnared. I allowed him to kiss me again. There again, perhaps I didn’t allow it, but he kissed me anyway. My lips smiled beneath the pressure as desire skipped shiveringly over my skin. All my secret plotting had been hopelessly futile and unnecessary. Richard had wanted me, I had possession of his heart all the time.

It was a magical time, when I was scarce able to catch my breath from one day’s end to the next, my blood running hot with excitement, a naïve passion that robbed me of sleep and appetite. I could scarce wait to rise from my bed at the beginning of each day to meet with him again. What did it matter that Margery shadowed me? The stolen kisses were sweeter for their snatched infrequency. If those around me smiled with condescension on my blissful state, I was unaware. Richard filled my heart, all my vision.

It had to end, with responsibilities on all sides to direct us into our disparate lives. From my earliest years I had learned that a man of authority had demands on his time so that I could not expect to remain close at Richard’s side for ever. So I returned to Warwick with my mother and Isabel. The Earl remained at Court with Edward. Clarence journeyed between London and Richmond in the north whilst Isabel grew big and indolent. Richard was in Wales to oversee the rebel castles he had occupied, to take soundings of any further rebellion.

‘I don’t want this,’ I had declared as we parted in London, clutching at the breast of his velvet tunic with both hands regardless of the crushed fabric. ‘How shall I live for a whole day without you, much less weeks—even months?’ I widened my eyes in parody of distress, luring him to say what I wanted to hear. ‘How do I know you’ll regret my absence? I swear you’ll enjoy the campaign and have no thought for me.’ I was learning the trick of pushing my sometimes-taciturn lover into statements of a non-political nature, although not always with much finesse.

The corners of Richard’s mouth twitched as if he read my intent. ‘I will think of you at least once a day.’

‘Is that all?’

‘Is that not enough?’ He gave in. ‘You have all my devotion. Feel my heart beat for you.’ And he flattened my palms beneath his, against his chest, so that I could feel the steady throb. ‘When I return we will marry.’

In a final gesture Richard stroked his knuckles down over my cheek. ‘Gentle Anne! Still I love you!’ His soft mockery touched my heart. I caught his wrist, turning my face to press my lips there. When I smiled into his eyes, all I could see was his love for me imprinted there.

‘And you have all my love. God keep you safe.’

I was content. It was as if the last year with its upheavals and deceits had never happened. We basked in the full light of royal forgiveness and generosity.

Richard was mine.

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