Katherine by Anya Seton

of the young men were looking hard at Katherine and whispering. ;
    For one who stared with such intentness that he seemed to be scowling at her, she felt an immediate antipathy. He had an ugly florid face, square as a box, and kinky hair, short and dusty, buff in colour like sheep's wool. His beard was of the same stubborn texture, so that it did not part neatly in the middle like that of other men, but jutted in a fringe. A jagged purple scar puckered his right cheek and contributed to the repulsion Katherine felt. The small scowling eyes were staring across at her with frank purpose, a look that even Katherine recognised as desire.
    "Sir Hugh Swynford finds you appealing, it would seem," said Chaucer with grim amusement. "And so does the elegant young de Cheyne. Pica," he said on a lower note to his betrothed, "we shall have some ado to guard your little sister's maidenhead."
    Now Katherine recognised the young man who sat beside Sir Hugh, for he smiled at her and kissed his hand when he at length caught her eye.
    "Why, it's the squire who came last year with the message from you, Philippa," cried Katherine, delighted. She smiled and waved back. "He's changed a lot, his beard has grown."
    "Katherine!" cried Philippa sharply. "Behave yourself! De Cheyne's no squire now, he's been knighted - and knights are no concern of yours. You'll get into trouble, my girl, if you encourage any of the courtiers, especially of the Duke's retinue. They're only after one thing. You should know that much, even at convent." Philippa gave an exasperated sigh, foreseeing many complications from Katherine's arrival which had not previously occurred to her. She herself did not think the girl's looks particularly striking, indeed she had not yet substituted this new Katherine for her memories of the scrawny, sickly child she had last seen. But Alice Perrers' detestable cooing voice had given one warning and it seemed now that Katherine was attracting an undue amount of attention for a humble little convent girl in an ill-fitting dress. Even Geoffrey, her own betrothed, had spent the whole supper-time answering the girl's silly questions and displaying undue warmth.
    Philippa had no sentimental illusions about her betrothal, nor the temperament for sighings and moanings and courtly love games. Her marriage to Chaucer was eminently fitting. The Queen had suggested it, having in her maternal way considered various yeomen and squires in the royal entourage, picked out a handful of possibilities and given Philippa her choice of these and also the assurance of a dowry of ten marks yearly and continued patronage.
    Philippa had preferred Geoffrey Chaucer to the other possibilities, though he was but the son of a vintner. Still, he had been attached to the royal family since childhood and was much liked by them. He was also educated as well as monk or clerk, and a sensible, good-humoured man, quite ready to marry and found a family, being already twenty-six. The betrothal pledge had been exchanged on Shrove Tuesday under the Queen's benign eye and the marriage planned for Whitsuntide.
    It was all orderly and seemly as Philippa liked it, though during the last weeks of greater intimacy she had come to know some unexpected things about her betrothed. He spent a ridiculous amount of money on buying books and time on reading them and also on scribbling verses - these traits she intended to regulate after marriage. And she had discovered that he had a romantic attachment for the Duchess of Lancaster, which troubled Philippa not at all, though she thought it silly. Some great ladies might amuse themselves by dalliance with humble squires but not Lady Blanche, who had never spoken more than a dozen words to Geoffrey, for all that he had translated a devotional poem to the Holy Blessed Virgin and presented it to the Duchess. There was nothing disquieting in that to a sensible woman, which, thought Philippa, reverting to her worry, Katherine apparently was not. There