The Traitor's Son by Johnson Wendy

Author:Johnson, Wendy
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: MadeGlobal Publishing
Published: 2024-04-14T00:00:00+00:00

Supper à la Warwick—and, unlike Edward’s populous affair, the earl offers a private meal in the company of his wife and daughters. All are merry tonight, even Anne. Smiling, she offers Richard a peach from the dish at her elbow.

‘Our orchards have been bountiful this summer, Cousin.’

She is trying hard to please. Taking one, Richard thanks her and runs his palms over its curving flesh. His mother still holds with the dangers of eating raw fruit, but the countess believes there are benefits to be had. And she may may well be right. For him, the peach induces thoughts of Alice’s soft skin: daring thoughts that both please and shame him. Sensing Anne’s scrutiny, he looks up to find her staring boldly. Girls are supposed to keep their eyes lowered in mixed company. Has her mother never told her that?

The sisters exchange glances. Richard knows them well enough now to guess that if they have the slightest knowledge of his feelings for Alice, their teasing will be unbearable. That is to say, Isabel will tease. Anne will simply sit back and enjoy the show.

When supper concludes, the women retire. Kisses are proffered, bows performed, and when the servers have cleared away, a jug of wine and bowls of dragées are fetched for their enjoyment. Richard pops one into his mouth: the sweet taste of violets and the spicy smack of cinnamon and ginger. While Warwick reclines, patting his belly in a show of contentment, George snatches the jug, eager to serve the earl with his own hand. In his haste, he misjudges, Gascon slopping and seeping into the tablecloth.

‘Damnation!’

Fighting the urge to laugh, Richard grabs his napkin and holds it to his mouth. What an exquisite image to present to Simon as he readies him for bed tonight.

Satisfied with his efforts to clean up the mess, George is keen to distract. ‘A pleasant evening. A truly intimate supper, unlike that occasion with Edward. You must remember, Dickon.’

Refusing to be enticed, Richard lowers his eyes. A pleasant evening should remain pleasant, in his view.

Unwilling to be ignored, George turns to the earl. ‘Dickon and I were invited to Westminster for supper. One like this, or so we supposed. But it turned out otherwise, didn’t it, Brother?’

Warwick’s eyes swivel in Richard’s direction. Richard is reminded of Isabel’s merlin: observing all, missing nothing.

‘As it transpired, we were not the only guests,’ he says. ‘But intimacy is rare for a king.’

His brother barks with laughter. ‘Well, it certainly is now. Edward probably has a Wydeville wiping his arse every time he uses the stool. Oh, stop looking so offended, Richard.’

Richard? His given name for once? His brother could at least have chosen a better context wherein to use it.

Warwick lays a bejewelled paw on George’s silk brocade.

‘Forgive me,’ George says. ‘I thought Dickon might find the remark amusing.’

So, I’m Dickon again, Richard thinks. Make up your mind, Brother.

The earl recharges their cups then settles back, livery collar glistening; pendant bear, muzzled and jewelled, winking its garnet eye.

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