is not decent. My husband is dead not two months."
Lord Stanley clenched and unclenched his free hand. "I am sorry. I knew yon would be offended, but I dared not wait. There are hungry mouths gaping for you, Margaret, and some of them have teeth that would grind your frail bones." He felt her stiffen and continued quickly, "I am not threatening you, my dear. I am only trying to explain why I have acted seemingly without consideration for your grief."
Margaret shook her head. "Since you say you love me, Thomas, I cannot lie to you. I do not grieve for Henry Stafford in spite of the more than ten years we were man and wife. He was kind and I was fond of him, but I never loved him. I have loved only once in my life—as a woman loves a man—and that man I still love."
"I will win you," Thomas Stanley exclaimed enthusiastically. He thought she meant her first husband, twenty-five years in his grave, and he did not care about that shadowy devotion to a dead man.
"I can give you no assurance of your success," Margaret said gently, "but I can promise that I will not try to resist you, Thomas. If I become your wife, I will try to love you."
"You will accept me, then?"
Margaret smiled. "I never meant to refuse—only to gain a little time."
That was the exact truth. Lord Stanley was very close to the king and one of the most powerful magnates of England. For Margaret's political purposes, the match was most advantageous. She would have accepted a far less pleasant husband to further those purposes.
Lord Stanley's face clouded. "I would give you the time if I could, but I do not dare. Margaret, the king is not so well as I would like. He finds it harder and harder to resist the harpies that tear at him. We must be married as soon as possible. I—I promise I will make no demand upon you if—if you …"
"How kind you are, but it is not necessary. I am willing to perform all my wifely duties as best I can. Just do not expect more than I can give, Thomas. I will withhold nothing by my will. What you do not find is not there for any man to find."
He did not reply to that but drew her closer, watching her face. Margaret looked up at him submissively. "My lady, my lady," he murmured and lifted her hand and kissed it, "I will enshrine you in gold and pearls."
"Oh, Thomas," Margaret protested, "I beg you not to say things like that. I do not mean to offend you, but it makes me think of the queen."
Worry and indecision replaced the possessive happiness in Lord Stanley's expression. "Margaret—" he began.
"Come and sit down," Margaret urged, "and tell me—if you wish, of course—what is troubling you. What did you mean when you said the king was not so well? I have not been at court for many months because of Stafford's illness, but Edward is still a young man, and he is very strong."
"Not so young or so strong as he once was. It is his way of life. He will not amend it, and Hastings encourages him, matching him bottle for bottle of wine and acting as his pander. Then, too, his spirit has no rest He bemoans the death of Clarence, looking with hatred at those who pressed him to it, but so much power has he given into their hands that he dare not move against them. Moreover, there is also justice. The king knows they urged the act for the good of the realm as well as for their own greed. Clarence was a danger to the king."
"He loves you well, Thomas. Could you not urge him gently to abate his indulgences? And surely it could do no harm to offer soothing words—" She stopped as Thomas shook his head.
"He is changed, greatly changed, since you saw him last. We must marry at once, Margaret. I fear … I fear greatly …" He dropped his voice nearly to a whisper, although they were alone in the room. "If you wish to be rid of me, Margaret, I will give you the means. You need only repeat what I tell you now and the king's headsman will see that I do not trouble you any longer. I fear the king will not live out this next
Lord Stanley clenched and unclenched his free hand. "I am sorry. I knew yon would be offended, but I dared not wait. There are hungry mouths gaping for you, Margaret, and some of them have teeth that would grind your frail bones." He felt her stiffen and continued quickly, "I am not threatening you, my dear. I am only trying to explain why I have acted seemingly without consideration for your grief."
Margaret shook her head. "Since you say you love me, Thomas, I cannot lie to you. I do not grieve for Henry Stafford in spite of the more than ten years we were man and wife. He was kind and I was fond of him, but I never loved him. I have loved only once in my life—as a woman loves a man—and that man I still love."
"I will win you," Thomas Stanley exclaimed enthusiastically. He thought she meant her first husband, twenty-five years in his grave, and he did not care about that shadowy devotion to a dead man.
"I can give you no assurance of your success," Margaret said gently, "but I can promise that I will not try to resist you, Thomas. If I become your wife, I will try to love you."
"You will accept me, then?"
Margaret smiled. "I never meant to refuse—only to gain a little time."
That was the exact truth. Lord Stanley was very close to the king and one of the most powerful magnates of England. For Margaret's political purposes, the match was most advantageous. She would have accepted a far less pleasant husband to further those purposes.
Lord Stanley's face clouded. "I would give you the time if I could, but I do not dare. Margaret, the king is not so well as I would like. He finds it harder and harder to resist the harpies that tear at him. We must be married as soon as possible. I—I promise I will make no demand upon you if—if you …"
"How kind you are, but it is not necessary. I am willing to perform all my wifely duties as best I can. Just do not expect more than I can give, Thomas. I will withhold nothing by my will. What you do not find is not there for any man to find."
He did not reply to that but drew her closer, watching her face. Margaret looked up at him submissively. "My lady, my lady," he murmured and lifted her hand and kissed it, "I will enshrine you in gold and pearls."
"Oh, Thomas," Margaret protested, "I beg you not to say things like that. I do not mean to offend you, but it makes me think of the queen."
Worry and indecision replaced the possessive happiness in Lord Stanley's expression. "Margaret—" he began.
"Come and sit down," Margaret urged, "and tell me—if you wish, of course—what is troubling you. What did you mean when you said the king was not so well? I have not been at court for many months because of Stafford's illness, but Edward is still a young man, and he is very strong."
"Not so young or so strong as he once was. It is his way of life. He will not amend it, and Hastings encourages him, matching him bottle for bottle of wine and acting as his pander. Then, too, his spirit has no rest He bemoans the death of Clarence, looking with hatred at those who pressed him to it, but so much power has he given into their hands that he dare not move against them. Moreover, there is also justice. The king knows they urged the act for the good of the realm as well as for their own greed. Clarence was a danger to the king."
"He loves you well, Thomas. Could you not urge him gently to abate his indulgences? And surely it could do no harm to offer soothing words—" She stopped as Thomas shook his head.
"He is changed, greatly changed, since you saw him last. We must marry at once, Margaret. I fear … I fear greatly …" He dropped his voice nearly to a whisper, although they were alone in the room. "If you wish to be rid of me, Margaret, I will give you the means. You need only repeat what I tell you now and the king's headsman will see that I do not trouble you any longer. I fear the king will not live out this next
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