A Dangerous Inheritance by Alison Weir Page A

for her baby? Did she wonder what Kate was doing, and if she thought about the woman who had brought her into the world?
    “What did she look like, my mother?” Kate asked, thinking this a safe question.
    “She was brown-haired like you,” her father said, “with blue eyes and a pretty mouth. She dressed well, as I remember. But in truth, Kate, I knew her for such a short time that my memory of her has faded. Suffice it to say she was a charming lady with a ready laugh and high spirits. And she was quick-witted, I remember. In fact, she was much like you.”
    Kate could not help herself. “Will I ever meet her?” she implored. “I would love to know her, even just a little.”
    The duke shifted in his chair and frowned. “No, Kate. I fear it is out of the question. I gave my word that I would never try to see her again. I did it for the sake of her marriage and her future happiness. I cannot go back on it. I am sorry.”
    “No matter,” she mumbled. And in a way, when she thought about it in bed that night, it didn’t matter, not too much. She was loved. She had a father, and to all good purposes a mother, and two brothers. Her real mother was a stranger. With sudden grown-up insight, she realized that Mistress Haute might not wish to be confronted with the living evidence of her sin, and that it might have disastrous consequences for her, given that her husband sounded a stern, vengeful man. And Kate was bound to honor her father’s promise, as he did. So she tried very much to lay her inner yearnings aside and forget about her mother. But that did not stop her from wondering about her, and spinning fantasies about meeting her unexpectedly, or Katherine sending for her, or even secretly contriving to see her.
    Being bastards both, John and Kate shared a common bond. When she judged him old enough, they would whisper together about their mothers, and speculate about them. John was an easygoing, unimaginativeboy, though, and did not display the same lively curiosity as Kate did—and maybe it was just as well. For John was the fruit of adultery: he had been born not two years after their father’s marriage. No one had ever spoken openly of this, and Kate sensed that it would not be wise to inquire about his mother. She thought it showed exceptional kindness on the part of the duchess to have taken him in and cared for him as tenderly as she did, for the news of his birth must have caused her great pain, and he was a constant living reminder of her lord’s infidelity.
    And yet, Anne loved the duke. That was as plain as day to anyone. They seemed as happy as any noble couple should be, with their shared interests and their great wealth, much of which had come to the duke by their marriage. He showed his wife every respect and courtesy; he deferred to her wishes; he looked to her comfort. In fact, he did all the things you might expect a good husband to do. But did he love Anne? As Kate grew older, she began to wonder.
    She had overheard the damsels whispering one night in the maidens’ dorter, which she shared with them after she became too old to sleep in the same chamber as the boys. They must have thought she had fallen into slumber, and in truth she nearly had, but what she heard made her prick up her ears.
    “My aunt at court says it is no true marriage.” That was Joan Tankerville, recently returned from visiting her kinsfolk near London.
    “Really?” Thomasine Vaux sounded shocked.
    “It’s no secret, apparently. The duke did not seek a dispensation. They are close cousins, you know, and they should have had one before they wed.”
    The duke? Kate was bewildered. Were they talking about the duke her father?
    “But why did he not get one?”
    “Aunt Lucy said it was in case she bore him no heir, then he could get an annulment and marry someone else.”
    “But she brought him great lands, which he would stand to lose if he divorced her.”
    “Great lords like Gloucester don’t easily let go of what