her husband had once known, of the imminent harvests, and of how Mal could now recite her Pater Noster. A hurried postscript had been added at the bottom of the page:
I pray you will remember me to my father, when he is next at court.
Frances folded the letter and placed it carefully in the drawer of her husband’s writing desk. She had not seen Lord Rutland since his departure from court after the Christmas celebrations at Greenwich. It was a source of frustration that he had failed to take advantage of the King’s obvious favour towards him after the Spanish voyage. His desire to rid himself of Buckingham’s presence had proved stronger. She wondered if he would ever return.
‘Mother?’
George was looking at her expectantly.
‘Forgive me. I am ready now,’ she said brightly, taking her boots from him. ‘Where shall we ride? Hyde Park or Blackheath?’
The walls of the palace were bathed in a deep golden light when they returned several hours later. Frances had delighted to see her son’s face flushed with exhilaration as they had raced across the open fields that lay close to Greenwich Palace.
‘Will we have missed dinner?’ he called over his shoulder, as they passed under the archway into the stable-yard.
‘I will have Mrs Knyvett bring us something,’ Frances replied. It had been easy to persuade George to ride out further than they had planned. She could not hope to shield him from the court entirely, but she could at least reduce the chances of attracting unwanted attention.
‘Papa!’
Thomas was sitting on the mounting block, one of the King’s hounds at his feet. At the sound of their horses’ hoofs, the animal reared and its baying echoed around the deserted yard.
‘Peace, Ezekiel,’ Thomas soothed, patting the hound’s flank. He stood and helped Frances down from her horse, then kissed her.
‘I hope you have not tired your mother out, George,’ he called to the young man. ‘She does not ride as fast as in her youth.’
Frances gave her husband a playful kick.
‘It is I who is tired – hungry too,’ George replied, as he dismounted and walked over to embrace his papa.
Thomas led their horses into the stables, the hound trotting at his heels. Frances’s heart swelled at George’s expression as he watched his retreating form. He had always adored her husband, and would never have any reason to suspect that Thomas was not his real father. Of the many blessings her marriage had given her, this was the greatest.
‘Come, let us find something to satisfy that appetite of yours, George,’ Thomas said, as he returned. ‘It is well that you will soon be leaving for Cambridge, or there would be no meat left for the King’s table.’
Frances felt his fingers stiffen. She followed his gaze to a cluster of figures in the distance, close to the entrance to the King’s apartments. She froze as she recognised the duke’s tall frame. Next to him, the King was leaning heavily on his arm. The prince was supporting his father’s other side. Frances’s first thought was to lead her son quickly away, but it was too late. Buckingham was looking at them now. She saw him bend to say something in his royal master’s ear, then the party began walking slowly in their direction.
‘Is that . . .’ George’s eyes were wide.
‘Your Majesty,’ Thomas said, as the three men drew close.
Frances tugged her son’s arm, prompting him to make his obeisance as she and her husband were doing.
‘I hope you are well rested now? Our last hunt left me greatly fatigued too,’ Thomas said.
‘Aye, well enough,’ James replied, a little breathlessly. His gaze moved to George. ‘Who is this?’
‘Forgive me, Your Grace. This is my eldest son, George. He is here for a brief visit before beginning his studies at Cambridge.’
‘Indeed?’ James’s eyes were alight with an interest that Frances recognised all too well.
‘Your Majesty.’ George bowed low again.
‘Please, please . . .’ James gestured for him to stand. ‘Master Tyringham, eh? Ye’re a handsome young buck.’
‘And very unlike your father – in appearance at least,’ Buckingham put in smoothly. ‘I can see nothing of you in him, Tyringham.’
Frances’s fingers itched to slap his smiling face.
‘Then he is blessed indeed,’ Thomas replied, with an easy grin.
‘What will you study at Cambridge?’ the prince asked.
‘Law, Your Grace.’
‘Pah!’ the King exclaimed. ‘This place is swarming with lawyers already. We have little need of another.’
Frances saw her son smile uncertainly.
‘Let us hope you prove a diligent student,’ the duke observed, ‘so that you