The fact that he was merely a French nobleman did not deter her. She knew that he hesitated to suggest marriage because she was the daughter of the King of England but she quickly let him know that if she decided to marry the King would never let anything stand in the way of her happiness.
De Coucy was a little sceptical of this which only made Isabella all the more determined to marry him.
When she broached the subject with her father he was taken aback. ‘My dearest Isabella,’ he cried, ‘I thought you were reconciled to the single state.’
‘So was I, my lord. But now I have met Ingelram. Is he not the most handsome man you ever saw?’
‘I have seen others who appeal to me more.’
‘No one has the grace of Ingelram. In any case, I love him, Father, and I want to marry him. I know you want to see me happy and you will not prevent my being so.’ She slipped her arm through his. ‘I shall not be far away. I should see you often. Dearest Father, I cannot miss all that other women have. I want children. I want to marry now, before it is too late.’
As she had known Edward would not hold out against her for long. He did say: ‘I trust there will be no hasty cancellation of this if I allow you to go ahead.’
‘Nay, I swear it. I want to marry Ingelram. I long for the day.’
‘So be it,’ said the King.
So the marriage took place and the thirty-three year old bride really did seem in love with her twenty-seven year old bridegroom.
In due course the pair left for the Château de Coucy where Isabella lived in a state almost as royal as that which she had enjoyed in her father’s Court.
Isabella was more deeply in love with her young husband than ever and to their delight in less than a year after the marriage she gave birth to a daughter. She called her Mary after her dead sister and said they must take the child to England for the King would never rest until he had had a glimpse of his granddaughter.
When they arrived in England Edward was overjoyed and delighted that his beloved Isabella was happy in her marriage. He admitted that he was glad that she had a husband although it had taken her from him.
‘You will always be very dear to me, Father,’ she told him. ‘Nothing else I had could change that.’
Revelling in their company, arranging elaborate feasts and jousts for their entertainment, Edward was happy. She noticed that he was showing his age, though not as much as her mother was.
Poor Philippa scarcely left her chair now. It must be a great hardship for her not to be able to accompany the King on his journeys.
Edward said to his daughter one day : ‘I have a plan for keeping you here. I am going to make your husband an English peer.’
Isabella laughed aloud with triumph.
‘I see,’ she said. ‘You will give him estates and in honour bound he will have to stay in England to look after them.’
it would mean, admitted Edward, that he would have to spend a great deal of time in this country.
‘It seems an excellent plan,’ said Isabella demurely.
Thus the Lord de Coucy became the Earl of Bedford, and Edward bestowed on him the Order of the Garter.
They had an ample income and estates in England but on the King’s request they resided mainly at the Court.
‘This is a happy outcome,’ said Edward to Philippa. ‘Our daughter has acquired a husband but we have not lost our daughter.’
THE PASSING OF PHILIPPA
PHILIPPA was finding it increasingly difficult to hide her infirmities from those about her. She suffered from internal pains and was a victim of dropsy which made her limbs swell to such an extent that she found it very difficult to leave her chair. If she moved it was with the help of her women and this caused her great distress.
Edward was a year older than she was but he seemed much younger. He was active still and appeared to have lost very little of his early vigour.
Philippa knew that he had a great affection for her but the days of their youth when they had been enough for each other had passed.
There was a sly woman who had come to Court as one of her bedchamber women. Philippa feared this woman. She was sure there was evil in her.
Alice Perrers was not exactly handsome and studying her closely Philippa could not understand exactly why she should have aroused the King’s interest. Perhaps it was a latent sexuality in her which was not obvious but Philippa had begun to suspect. She had seen looks which passed between her attendants and she noticed that they were brusque with Alice who did not seem to mind in the least. There was a secret brooding air about her as though she were biding her time.
The truth was that the King had at last succumbed to temptation.
He had noticed Alice Perrers as soon as he saw her and she had clearly been aware of his interest.
Alice was not of noble birth. Edward was not sure how she had wormed her way into the royal household but he made no effort to find out. She was a woman to grant favour for favour so it may have been that she had acquired her position through some well placed person at Court. Edward decided not to go into that. Suffice it that Alice was there.
She had caught his eye on her and had smiled invitingly. Other women had before, of course, and he had never strayed from Philippa, but Philippa was now a sick woman. He was as fond of her as he ever was, but he was virile and a King and Philippa could no longer help him to turn from temptation.
For some time he wrestled with his conscience. After a life of fidelity to his marriage vows it was not easy to break faith. But Alice was different from the others. She was determined. One night she came and slipped into his bed and there was nothing he could do short of turning her out and that was the last thing he wished.
After that night Alice was his mistress and nothing would stop his keeping her so. It had been a wild experience, different from anything he had known before and it left him dazed, bewildered and—said some of his courtiers—bewitched.
However, it had happened at last. The King had a mistress. And a low-born one at that. ‘She will not last long,’ prophesied those about him. They did not know Alice.
Having set one foot on the road to debauchery Edward could not stop himself going further. It was as though he had to make up for the lost years. There were times when he was overcome by remorse but then Alice would appear and laugh at his conscience. He was the King, was he not; and should not kings do as they wished?
He tried to explain to her the deep affection that existed between himself and the Queen. Alice thought that was all very well and that the Queen would understand. After all she was too old and infirm to be a wife to him.
‘She is younger than I,’ Edward reminded her.
‘Ah, but you, my King, are immortal.’
Sometimes he tried to understand what this lure was. Alice was not as beautiful as the Countess of Salisbury had been; she was certainly not like Joan the Fair Maid of Kent. But there was something so irresistible about her, something so sensuous, so matching his own nature which he realized he had held in check all these years that he could not leave her.
His children were scattered about the country and some abroad. It was no longer as it had been when they had been young and in the nursery and a continual source of interest between himself and Philippa. Philippa sick and heavy with that disfiguring and painful dropsy no longer had anything to offer him. In fact he eluded her—chiefly because to be with her aroused his conscience to such an extent that he began to despise himself.
His only consolation was in Alice, and Alice had plenty of comfort to give him.
She did not make too great a display of his generosity towards her. She was secretly a little in awe of the Queen. There was a quiet power about Philippa and Alice knew it would be unwise to rouse that to action. The King had a great regard for his wife; Alice knew better than he did how often Philippa was there in their bedchamber—a shadowing restraint, a curber of joys. Oh yes, the spirit of Philippa would always be with him ... until she died.