The Duke of York had written less pompously urging the match which Hugh Johnes so desired and hinting more tactfully than Warwick had done that he would be pleased by the match.
She supposed that Hugh believed she would find requests from such men irresistible. He did not know Elizabeth.
When she had told Jacquetta about the offer Jacquetta had laughed. ‘I like a man to do his own wooing,’ was her comment.
And so do I, thought Elizabeth.
Margaret was pleased when she refused the match.
‘Warwick’s protégé!’ she had cried. ‘And the Duke of York’s! How I hate those two. They are responsible for all our troubles ... for the King’s illness ... everything ... They try to snatch our crown from us. They shall never do that. So you are refusing this man they want to force on you, eh. Good. That is very good. My beautiful Elizabeth, I will find a better match for you.’
And then there had been that staunch Lancastrian.
‘John Grey is a good man,’ said the Queen. ‘He has served us well. The King is fond of him. I have always liked him myself, and he is the heir of Ferrers of Groby. Do you know, my dear, he has a fine place at Bradgate and he is descended from the Norman nobility.’
‘I am in no hurry to marry, my lady,’ said Elizabeth.
‘Of course you are not, but you are wise enough to see a good chance when it comes before you, eh? I believe that in life it is unwise to miss good opportunities hoping for better that may never come.’
So the Queen was in favour of the match, and she was apt to grow impatient with those who did not fall in with her wishes.
Elizabeth had thought about a match with John Grey and Jacquetta had agreed with the Queen that it would be a good one. John Grey was young, good-looking and very much in love with the beautiful Elizabeth.
So they were married and she spent several years at Bradgate. She grew to love the place which was about two miles from Groby castle and only four from Leicester. There her two boys were born and, as she had taken quite a liking to the quiet life, the marriage turned out to be quite a happy one. She would ride in the beautiful grounds enjoying the pleasaunces and the fish ponds and the well-kept gardens. It was thrilling to ride over the bridge across the moat and look up at the two towers and the battlements with their quoins and corbels; and to say to herself: This beautiful place belongs to us ... It will be my son’s in time and Groby castle as well.
She had thought at that time that she had done well on her marriage.
All went smoothly until the fighting started. More battles were fought again. Northampton and then Wakefield where the Duke of York had met his death after which his head, adorned by a paper crown, had been stuck up on the walls of the city of York. How Margaret had rejoiced then. Poor Margaret, she should have learned that she was one of those women whom Fate loved to mock. Her triumphs were short-lived and her defeats were very often of her own making.
The brilliant tactics of the Earl of Warwick turned the tables after the Yorkist defeat at St Albans, which was a fateful battle for her for in it her husband had perished and everything had changed. The wife with two boys whose future had seemed secure – or as secure as anything could be in this changing world – had become the widow.
Even then she would have been rich and able to care for her boys. How foolish Margaret could be! The Lancastrians had won the battle of St Albans for her and it was that sly strategist Warwick who had turned it into victory for York by simply taking London and setting up Edward of York as king. The Londoners had always been Yorkists. They were only interested in trading, and the good stable government offered by Edward of York – with the Kingmaker behind him – was what they wanted. They had done with mad Henry; they hated Margaret who was tactless and foreign and had never made any attempt to understand them.
And so Margaret and Henry had become fugitives and Edward of York was King; and because John Grey had fought for the Lancastrians his possessions were confiscated and his widow was forced to fall back on her parents with her two fatherless boys.
And so the months passed and there was no sign of the people’s wavering from their adherence to the new King. They liked Edward. He had a charm which Henry had lacked; he was taller than everyone around him which a king should be; he was more handsome than any of his courtiers; wherever he went the women smiled on him. He had a host of mistresses and, although several marriages had been arranged for him, so far he had remained a bachelor. There were some in the country who feared his way of living was not chaste but the majority of the people laughed at his amorous adventurings and it was said that a smile from him could win even the flintiest heart.
He made his progresses through the country and wherever he went he was welcome. The country was prospering from a peaceful period. Henry was somewhere in the north – in exile or in hiding and Margaret, it was said, had gone to France to seek help.
Let her stay there, said the people. Let Edward continue to reign over them.
It so happened that at this time the King came to Northamptonshire. He very much enjoyed the chase and it seemed certain, said Jacquetta, that he would be hunting in Whittlebury Forest.
‘That,’ commented Elizabeth, ‘is very near us. We can be sure, however, that he will not be calling at Grafton. We are in disgrace.’
‘Ours will not be one of the houses honoured by the King, I grant you. But ...’
Elizabeth looked sharply at her mother. She could see an idea forming in her mind. She was touching the serpent on her brooch as she often did when she was brooding thus.
‘Well?’ asked Elizabeth gently.
‘I think, my dear, that you should try to see the King.’
‘He would never see me. The widow of a Lancastrian and one who served the red rose as John did. Think how many white roses he must have plucked before their time.’
‘I know, I know ... but feuds don’t go on for ever and they say that the King has a forgiving nature, particularly where a beautiful woman is concerned.’
‘Are you proposing that I give favour for favour ...’
‘I suggest no such thing! But something tells me that you should attempt to see Edward of York.’
‘How? Do you think I would be allowed to get through to him if I presented myself?’
‘Assuredly you would not. Therefore I think you should meet him by accident.’ Jacquetta was laughing. ‘A well-planned accident,’ she went on.
‘My dear Mother, what do you plan?’
‘We may need several plans. We could try the forest first. You might meet him there ... by accident of course. Then you could plead for your inheritance ... for your children.’
Elizabeth studied her mother. She was beginning to feel a growing excitement.
At the head of the cavalcade rode the King and beside him his greatest friend William, Lord Hastings. Hastings was some twelve years older than Edward but there was a strong bond between them. In fact, Edward often thought that he was closer to Hastings than to any other man. He had admired Warwick from his childhood. In fact he had regarded him as a sort of god, greater than any man, even Edward’s own father; it was Warwick who had taught him almost everything he knew and but for Warwick’s clever tactics Edward would not be King today. He would never forget that. But Warwick, although only two years or so older than Hastings, seemed of another generation to Edward.
William’s interests were similar to his, and Edward’s chief inclination at this time was involved with women. Hastings shared his exploits. They would go out together disguised as merchants and look for adventures in the streets of London. It was not easy for Edward to disguise himself, for towering above most people, outstandingly handsome, he was often recognised. Many women’s eyes were brightened at the sight of him and even the most virtuous merchant’s wife would find her heart beating a little faster. Edward had a quality beyond charm and beauty, for since he had become King an aura of royalty had grown up about him but, because he was none the less familiar with his subjects because of it, it added vastly to his attractions. He could mingle with the humblest and make them feel significant. Hastings often said that was the true secret of his charm, even more so than that bounding vitality and that promise of hitherto undreamed of delights amorous adventuring with him could bring.