The Other Elizabeth

Chapter XXVI: Winter 1459-Winter 1460

My Mother rolls her eyes slightly. "Elizabeth, you ever were one to jump to conclusions. I merely meant what man have you given yourself to in marriage." Oh. I relax my shoulders a little, sucking my lips.

"Who is this said nobleman, then, unless you merely jest, for how have you come to be betrothed, and without my or your Father's approval? Sweet Mary, you have married yourself to another Yorkist, and this is why you have kept this from us? For how long has this been a secret, Elizabeth? Or is he no nobleman at all... no, that cannot be. Elizabeth, you cannot go about making your own marriages! If your Father and I do not approve, we will have to get you out of the betrothal at once." Instead of snapping at her for her chiding, I cock my head in sympathy for her. Here she is, an old lady, twisting her hands and trembling. Mayhap she only wants what is best for me? I wish not to incur her displeasure.

I walk forward and place my hand on her arm. "Now who is jumping into conclusions?" I smile wryly at her, "Do not fear, Lady Mother, I am not secretly wed nor betrothed, indeed just promised, for I have an understanding betwixt an honourable Lancastrian and myself."

She peers at me uncertainly. "Pray, please divest the name of this said nobleman. How and when can this have occurred? Why did you not tell me?" She looks a trifle hurt.

I blush a little, looking at my slippers and scuffing them in the rushes. She smiles deviously. "Who is this man who has wooed my daughter?"

"'Tis Anthony Wydeville."

My mother blinks, raising her eyebrows in a look of surprise. "This occurred when he brought you home?" Indeed, after that perilous day at Ludlow, in which I feared so much for my life, Anthony had conveyed both Bessie and I safely home here to Middleton. I am indebted to him forever, for what would have become of me, had he not by chance turned his head and recognized my emblem as that of his mother and father's good friends? Indeed, it does not bare to consider. I remember with embarrassment and mirth at my name-calling and my fighting against Anthony, when he was there to rescue me, such as a knight from the tales of Camelot when he lifted me up onto his horse, so honourably... I was rather coy – and of course, still shocked due to the pillage about me- for he was just a dashing young gallant, and I, compared to him, an older widowed woman, in stained garments, my hair all askew, my face ashen and tear-streaked. I certainly did not convey the appearance of a Baron's daughter. He must have been rather amused, and I soon told him the tale of how I came to be amongst the destruction, for he was most amiable.

"Yes, as he made leave from here, he told me I would make him a very nice lady wife," I say defensively.

A look of concern passes across her face. "Elizabeth, he was most likely jesting. What can he have thought of you, a daughter of de Scales, without even a headdress to cover her head? Why, he has probably told every person in his home county and ruined your good name." I swallow. I have already been lectured by her on how foolish I was – and how I could have disgraced our family name if word of mouth got about that I was there, unaccompanied, in the ruckus at Ludlow, had anyone seen me. I purse my lips, stride over to my bed, and reach for the bundle of letters under my pillow.

"Anthony would do no such thing. Look, we have written to one another. He wishes to see me again and says I am very becoming. His father, the Baron Rivers, and Bessie were present during the course of the journey homeward and shall tell you that nothing dishonourable occurred." I hope she does not read the letters themselves in which he says I am so becoming he wishes to disrobe me, nor ever find out that when his father and Bessie were riding in front of us, Anthony had pecked me on the cheek, leaving me very dizzy. He is very daring, and I frown a little upon forwardness, but my Mother shall not stop me. This may be a folly to Anthony, but to me it is new and exciting to be courted in such a way, which makes me realise how little Henry and I did truly love each other. I admit I am quite besotted by Anthony, and 'tis very easy to forget his Lancastrian tendencies, for I can conceal my own views, or eventually sway his.