Promo: Marguerite – Hell Hath No Fury! by Judith Arnopp
Hell Hath No Fury!
Marguerite is in exile and has reluctantly agreed to an alliance with her old enemy the Earl of Warwick against Edward of March, who is now wearing her husband’s stolen crown.
July 1470
I know what is required of me. I must welcome the Earl of Warwick and forgive the numerous injuries he has inflicted on me and mine. To gain my heart’s desires I must embrace him as a friend and ally. It sounds a simple cure. Just one small spoonful of vile medicine to relieve years of discomfort but, by God, the pain of the remedy almost supersedes any other I have felt. I am not sure I can swallow it.
I try to refuse, find another way, but all my advisers urge me to conceal my pride and look beyond this moment and concentrate on the image of my son, his handsome face topped with the crown of England.
My glory.
Reluctantly, I agree to try.
Jasper and Exeter wait with me for the earl to arrive. My stomach is full of snakes that writhe and burn. I want to run. I want to vomit up this idea of a union between my son and the earl’s daughter. Oh, how I wish we had impaled Warwick’s head alongside York’s on the Micklegate Bar when we had the chance.
We can only do what we can do.
The world outside the chamber stirs, I hear footsteps, confident and masculine – determined. My determination quails as the doors are thrown open and I hear the sound of heels on marble. I raise my head and open my eyes, steeled for the sight of Satan as he comes slithering into my presence.
And there he is.
He swirls his cloak behind him, his hand on his sword hilt as he makes an overly extravagant bow. Does he mock me? I do not move. I keep my eyes fixed on the far wall. Long moments pass before the arrogant swine realises he should be on his knees. As I hear him lower himself to the ground, I cannot resist looking as he bows his disgusting head in fealty to me. It is something I never thought to see.
“Your Grace. I am honoured and gratified that you agreed to discuss this matter.”
He is indeed a prince of falsehoods. For all my faults, I have never been less than honest. I would trust him more were he to admit his detestation for me. I can work to the same ends with a man who hates me. I see no need for lies.
Unable to bring my lips to form amiable words, I merely stare at the back of his lowered head.
If I had a sword, I would use it.
Edward stirs beside me, nudges me to respond, but it is as if I am trapped in this moment. I should speak, I should bid him rise, allow him to kiss my fingers, and let the negotiations begin, but I cannot.
The faces of all those I have lost, those Warwick killed, rise like smoke before my eyes. Somerset, and his son Harry, are at the head. This man before me has stolen not just my friends but my peace of mind too. Because of him, I will never now be the woman I could have been, should have been.
Jasper clears his throat. I glance up and discover Exeter is also urging me to speak. I turn back to the toad of Warwick and hope his knees are aching.
I wait. They wait, in awkward silence while the all-powerful scourge of England kneels in supplication to me, his queen. I want to kill him. I want to watch him suffer agonies, but I need him. I am in a cleft stick and since I cannot have his head, I will use him to my own ends.
This time, Warwick will be the puppet and I will work his strings.
Less than two weeks later, at the Chateau d’Amboise, my son pledges to marry Anne Neville, but the union is not to be sealed until Warwick has performed his part and restored my husband to the English throne.
~~~
Thank you so much for hosting me on the Coffee Pot Book Club Blog Tour x
ReplyDelete