The Forgotten Princess (Forgotten Royals)

Chapter Nineteen

For a brief period, I allowed happiness to sweep me away and forgot about the other players of the game. Richard and I could not be parted, spending every possible moment together. When the candles extinguished and the castle slept for the night, it was like we were the only two people on earth.

But outside concerns shadowed our sunny paradise, including the wait for a dispensation for our marriage. It left me on edge, still expecting the worst to happen. If the Church ended our marriage, my reputation would be destroyed. If that wasn't worrying enough, I didn't think I could return to life without Richard.

I tried focusing on my new life. Fortunately, my brother-in-law Edward was busy with business for the King and was away most of the time. But my skill at the bow won his approval, and he stopped looking quite so ill-tempered when we crossed paths.

Our living situation was not the ideal one, but better than staying in the gatehouse, worrying that my stepfather would decide we were no longer welcome. It frustrated me a bit that I had no real responsibilities. My mother had commanded many castles and was trusted with the care of Isabella, the young French princess. Just as it ate at Richard that the Lancasters wouldn't call him for service, it burned me that I didn't even have a humble household of my own. But I did my best to be a gracious guest at Conisburgh Castle, and to Duchess Philippa's credit, she was kind to me and allowed me to assist with the enormous upkeep of a Duke's household. She insisted I was better with accounts than their steward, which was an unfortunate truth. If it were up to me, the steward would have lost his position, but I kept a sweet smile on my face while finding ways to bandage their bleeding coffers. In the past two years, I had learned how to make the most out of a coin.

Allowed to stay with us, Eleanor and I spent days exploring the spacious castle. Though grand and finely furnished, shadows spread across the castle. Without many windows, darkness enveloped halls and chambers. After more than two years of accommodations with varying degrees of comfort, I wasn't going to gripe about needing a candle in the early afternoon. But light gleamed in the main chamber, flooding in from a large grand window. Two seats were beside the window and when I had a few moments, I sat there and read in comfort as a pup dozed beneath my feet.

Even when a winter storm threatened to darken the day, the immense fireplace kept everything bright and warm. Not once had I imagined having such luxuries again, and I enjoyed every moment.

I almost cried when Duchess Philippa found a magistra for my little sister, someone finally to teach her. Unable to do much for my sister, I was grateful that she could now have a proper education. Eleanor wasn't as thrilled, having grown accustomed to doing almost anything she pleased. More than once, I had to venture through the dark halls, searching for my sister.

The best times were with Richard. Not too joyful to stay in one of his father's castles, I tried to distract him, as we had hunting trips and planned potential pilgrimages. I loved when he sat beside me near the window and we discussed our desires for the future. Richard wanted more than anything to make a name for himself. If a reasonable king sat on the throne, his skills would be used for warfare and he would likely have his own castle.

Of course, what I loved most of all was our time together in our bedchamber. Entangled with him, pressing my head against his chest and listening to the steady beating of his heart. Games were played with lives outside these walls, but at that moment, I didn't know why anyone would want more.

Except Richard did want more and deep down, so did I. When we left our bedchamber, I always noticed his slight flinch when we passed an emblem of his father's or worse, the crude portrait of the previous Duke of York.

His late Duke of York's presence haunted the castle and sometimes I wondered if he didn't actually haunt the chilly halls. Even if his phantom wasn't prowling around, servants spoke as if Edmund of Langley were still alive. More than once I would catch a discreet glance at Richard, as if the person was trying to see the resemblance to his father.

It was his mother's memory that seemed most absent from the castle. No one spoke of Duchess Isabella. It was as if the princess of Castille had never existed.

So it surprised me when Duchess Philippa stopped by my bedchamber with a small trunk of Richard's mother's belongings.

I fidgeted, well-aware we were heading into perilous territory. "My lord husband never told me that she had anything here."

"The York men have trouble speaking of sensitive subjects." The older women gave me a rueful smile. "These were the few things that she didn't dispose of in her will. Her husband didn't want them and neither did mine. I asked Richard once, and he mumbled something about not being worthy. There's really no reason to let them go to waste. There's at least one decent gown you can probably remake."

"Thank you," I said as her manservant put the trunk into the bedchamber.

I didn't open it until I could tell Richard. But when I found him in the stables, he nodded and showed little interest.

"Don't you want to see?" I asked.

He was leading out his chestnut horse for a ride and paused. "Not particularly. If it mattered so much to my mother, it would have been in the will."

"It's still something you have of her." I approached him and reached out a tentative hand. "I treasure the few things I have from my mother."

"It's likely lady belongings that a knight can't do much with anyway... unless I want my fellow knights to torment me." He gave me a teasing smile. "By all means, look at it and see if there is anything you want. Give the rest to charity or to your servants."

I wanted to argue, but brittle pain lurked beneath his bright tone. So I kissed him and watched him ride away before returning to my bedchamber. Then I knelt and opened the trunk.

There weren't many valuables in it. I found a gown that was horribly out of fashion, but with Catrin's help, I could fix. A few coins, worthless to a royal lady like Duchess Isabella, but would have meant the world to me when I had nothing. I put them aside for Catrin and continued looking. An old letter caught my eye. Curious if it revealed secrets to Richard's past, I was disappointed to discover that the Latin words were merely an imperious request to a steward. I doubted they were even written in Duchess Isabella's own hand.

My hand brushed against soft fabric, and I pulled a small blanket out. It was big enough for a baby and sure enough, Richard's initials were embroidered on the edge. I held it carefully and smiled that Duchess Isabella loved her baby enough to keep it. Not many important mothers cared that much.

After clearing out a few more worthless baubles, I pulled out a book from the bottom. It was a Book of Hours. I almost choked on the dust when I opened it. Musty religious books held little interest for me, but I always loved the beautiful pictures contained within. It looked a lot like my mother's and I flipped through the pages, delighting in the artwork. But this was different than similar devotional books I had seen. The language was unfamiliar, and it took me a moment to realize it was in Spanish.

Of all the things in there, the book and blanket seemed most priceless. They said more about Richard's mother than some old Latin letter. I placed them back in the trunk and closed it. If Richard wasn't ready to talk about the past, I wouldn't push him. But I would keep the items safe for him.

Sure enough, he didn't look at the trunk that night. He lifted me in his arms and we collapsed in bed together, embracing our future as he ignored his past. I hoped that if we ever had our own home, he would be ready. But even if that day never came, I would safeguard Duchess Isabella's belongings.

Since losing my own mother, I had come to understand how quickly the true person could be forgotten after death. Especially if they were a woman. No one remembered my mother's forceful personality, her impatience for any kind of delay. Time had swept away the fierce woman who feared no man and never forgot her dignity. Sometimes I thought I was the only one who remembered her brisk pace when she dictated a letter or her kind smile to servants in need. She was remembered by her marriages and unfortunate children. The real woman vanished a little more every year. It scared me to think that one day the world might forget her.

I had never known Duchess Isabella, but I would protect the pieces of her. They might seem little to some people, but I saw the value of them. The little tangible remains of her personality. The King of Castile's daughter. A mother who loved her son.

After all, no one should be forgotten.