Immortal Champion Read Online Free PDF Page B

good match. You should be grateful.”
    “But Richard is my cousin. The Church forbids—”
    “He is only your second cousin,” interrupted the duchess, coming around to stand behind Eleanor, who suddenly felt the precariousness of her position. “The Church has already given dispensation for the match. You should be pleased. You will be Lady Burghersh and eventually, Countess of Gloucester.”
    Eleanor glanced over her shoulder to the duchess, confused. “But his father was attainted, and the title deprived.”
    “The father is not the son, and Henry already realizes it,” said His Grace firmly. “Richard is a good lad. He will be created earl once more.”
    “Earl or no, I do not like him, Your Grace. And he—”
    “It is not about what you like,” snapped the duke. “It is about what is good for Westmorland and York and the Crown.”
    “But Richard likes me no more than I like him,” argued Eleanor. Her Grace laid a hand on her shoulder in warning, but Eleanor plowed on in her certitude. “He will not want to marry me.”
    The duke flicked a finger at her notion. “But he does want you, God help him, for he is clever enough to realize that you, my lady, are what will bring the earldom back to him.”
    “I? How?” And then, the truth hit her. “Oh. Because the king will not likely let me remain so low, despite my Beaufort uncles’ sins. Is there to be no love in it at all, then?”
    “Love? What does love have to do with marriage and matters of state?”
    Eleanor lifted her chin and met the duke’s gaze with defiance. “My lord grandfather married for love.”
    “Aye, eventually, but only after he’d done his duty to England. And still, see where his love got all of you.” York flipped the parchment closed and shoved it back up his sleeve. “Enough. You will say your betrothal vows before we leave for Wales. Richard will serve his time as squire and earn his spurs and Henry’s trust, and when you are both of an age, you will be married. And with luck and God’s blessing, you will take after your lady mother and breed like a sow.”
    Eleanor felt the duchess tense at her husband’s words. Her Grace had a son from an earlier marriage, but had produced no children, male or female, since wedding York. Her inability to bear her husband an heir ate at her, and his words no doubt stung.
    But the duke, in his anger, was either careless or blind to her distress. He glowered at Eleanor. “It is done, girl. Resign yourself and make ready.”
    He waited expectantly, his frown growing darker as Eleanor stood there, mouth agape. Finally, Her Grace squeezed her shoulder. “She understands her duty, husband. Do you not, Eleanor?”
    Another squeeze, sharper, jerked Eleanor to attention. She closed her mouth and swallowed hard. “Yes, Your Grace.” She dropped an obedient courtesy to the duke. “As you—and my lord father—command. I will make ready.”
    The duke stalked out and turned toward the hall. The duchess released her grip on Eleanor’s shoulder and walked out without a word, turning the opposite way, toward her bedchamber.
    Eleanor sagged back onto her stool and sat there, hands shaking as she considered her fate. Richard.
    Richard!
    She tried to wrap her mind around the notion of being married to Richard le Despenser. Scrawny, sickly, unpleasant Richard, who put toads in her sewing basket and picked his nose and started fights he couldn’t even finish, much less win. And he fiddled all the time, his fingers constantly picking and twisting at things, never still. She despised him.
    Perhaps if she thought of him as Earl of Gloucester . . .
    But no. She could not see that Richard would ever bear the title. His father’s murder of Thomas of Woodstock and role in the subsequent uprising had surely been too great a treason for Henry to forgive. Besides, Richard didn’t even look like an earl. An earl, like a duke, should have a certain bearing. A certain dignity.
    His Grace had it. Her father