Lady of the Roses Read Online Free PDF Page B

de Pisan, Euripides, Socrates, Homer, and Plato…and—”
    “Whoa!” he laughed. “That is a mouthful, but no less than I would expect from the niece of such a man. I’m afraid I have not had the pleasure of reading at any great length, unless you count De Rei Militari. ”
    His reference to the great manual of military strategy saddened me, for it revealed something I would not have guessed from his demeanor. The troubles of the present weighed heavily on this knight despite his light banter, and I sensed that his carefree exterior masked the deep and thoughtful nature of a man given to reflection. My heart took a perilous leap toward him.
    “Did you know we are related, Lady Isobel? Your uncle, the Earl of Worcester, was once wed to my sister Cecily—God rest her soul.”
    I looked at him with disbelief. I had no knowledge of this.
    “Indeed, it was many years ago, when he was Lord Tiptoft and not yet Earl of Worcester. My sister was his first wife. They were married but a few months before she died.”
    I mumbled my regrets, still startled by the revelation. “No one ever told me,” I explained. “I only remember my aunt Elizabeth. She died when I was young.”
    He gave me a small smile. “Elizabeth Greyndour was his second wife. You were but a babe when he was wed to my sister, and I daresay that being related to a Yorkist is not something to boast about these days.”
    I did not reply, as that could not be denied, and in any case I still struggled with this bond of marriage between our families—and the hope it had sparked in my breast.
    “Your uncle is deputy in Ireland now, so I understand. How is he doing, have you heard?” he asked.
    “Aye, well,” I said, more brightly than I had expected. My heart had assimilated the knowledge he’d given me, and joy was coursing through me now. “He has written that he plans to make a pilgrimage to Jerusalem when he gets back from Ireland, and perhaps spend time in Padua, studying Scripture, Latin, and Greek.”
    “Indeed, he expressed that to me before he left last year…. I believe he has an interest in translating Ovid from the Latin.” Abruptly, he demanded, “How old are you?”
    When I hesitated, he grinned. “If you’re concerned about Rufus here, I can assure you he won’t tell anyone.”
    I couldn’t help myself; my spirits were so light that I pealed with laughter. “Fifteen,” I said finally.
    “Is it true you’re a ward of Marguerite d’Anjou?”
    I could not have foreseen the effect this question would have on me. In one swift blow it reminded me that Nevilles were not welcome at court and ripped from me the cocoon of fantasy I had woven around myself. I came to my senses suddenly and violently. Maybe the fresh air had cleared my head; maybe it was the shock of my feelings, which had been as wanton as any tavern girl’s; maybe just the rest of my father’s words coming back to me again: Aim not too high; ask not too much. The greatest griefs are those we cause ourselves…. But all at once I recognized how rash and foolish I had been. The marriage that once bound our families had passed into history and was a thread long since severed. Times had changed, and hatred had solidified. The marriage meant nothing, changed nothing. The divide between us remained as wide as a stormy sea. This knight belonged to one of the most powerful families in Christendom and was a foe to the queen who owned me. How could I be sure that he didn’t toy with me for his own amusement, thinking in some way to humiliate the queen he loathed? Even if that were not so, why should his attributes matter when he remained as unattainable to me as the stars above my head? I had forgotten my place, and reached too high, and asked for the impossible, and the gods had answered by sending me fire. I had to get out while there was still hope of recovery. My nurse was right. I was reckless, foolish, and wild. When would I ever learn?
    “My lord, ’tis true that I am a