The People's Queen Read Online Free PDF

freckles. But the face above them, still fine-boned and lean, is so handsome, so noble. He's still a god among men. Her King Arthur.
    She's aware of the quizzical look on Edward's face. She thinks: He knows what I'm going to say.
    He almost certainly does know what she's up to, and the favour she's going to ask. He's no fool, Edward. They play games about gifts: she begs, or he begs; she holds out, or he holds out. They both like bargaining. They're both fascinated by money. It's one of the things she likes about him.
    'Do I look enough the Queen of the Sun in this, do you think?' she asks, raising the hand to his shoulder and running it down his arm with the beginning of sensuality. Edward smiles and shivers pleasurably, like an old cat lying in the sun having its tummy tickled. He's always ready to take pleasure where he finds it. From the floor, she's aware of the Duke of Lancaster's eyes boring into her too. She ignores him. Let him wait his turn. She says, 'My lord...truthfully now?'
    Edward half smiles, with half-hooded eyes, and inclines his head forward. But he doesn't look at her hands, or her bare throat. 'You are a paragon of loveliness, mon amour ,' he says, but she's aware of the distance creeping into his playfulness. 'More every day. Today especially. You'll astonish the world.'
    'Even', she says delicately, 'without jewels?'
    Edward doesn't sigh, quite. But he doesn't meet her eye, either. Less gently, he says, 'Dear girl, you have jewels. Your own jewels. A great many of them too.'
    She says, 'But with this robe, Queen Philippa's rubies would be...'
    Smiling over her head, and bowing to her without hearing her out, Edward rises to his feet. The Duke of Lancaster is on the dais and approaching the table.
    'A fine performance, my boy,' Alice hears Edward boom at his son from over her head. He sounds relieved to have a way of ending this conversation with Alice. Yet the dead Queen's jewels aren't official royal gems, not part of the treasury, just Queen Philippa's private collection of trinkets. There's no real reason of state why Edward shouldn't let Alice, or any other commoner, mistress, favourite, or friend, use them. Alice used to have to clean them. It was part of her job as demoiselle, back in the day. She held them up to the light, dreaming. She tried them on. She knows them all. So she keeps nagging him about them, even on the days, like today, when it clearly irritates him. One day, she thinks, without particular rancour, he just might give in - because, after all, why shouldn't she wear them? She's doing the work of a queen, so why shouldn't she have the reward? What good are they doing anyone in their boxes?
    She knows, really, why he's reluctant. Edward wants to keep a part of himself, and his memories, separate from her; he wants a place he can remember the big silvery-blonde Queen he loved for so long. He doesn't want another woman wearing Philippa's trinkets. She respects that; she really does. But she can't help herself. It's not in her nature not to ask for more.
    '...the rubies would be so perfect...' Alice finishes, disconsolately. Her voice trails away. There's no point. Neither of the men is listening.
    'You're taking a chance, aren't you?' Duke John says with slightly rough familiarity, as they step close in the column of couples. Alice doesn't mind dancing, if it's the stately, dignified basse dance, and if it's with him. They've talked privately before; she's spent many a Christmas with Edward and his family. Her estate at Wendover, north of London, is close to part of the Duke's Lancastrian territory; so they're neighbours. But he's never made a public point like this of acknowledging her before. With him at her side, she doesn't even mind entering the crowd of courtiers who are just a little too impressed by their own noble lineage to enjoy meeting her eye, even though she can see the de Roet women in the line of dancers, and they're both still as terrifyingly lovely as ever. Ah, who