Page 62 of The Forgotten Boy

“Do you expect me to announce the marriage now?” she asked. “To trade on the most precious, private hours of my life in order to curry favor at your court?”

“No.”

“Then why did you come, Edward?”

“Because I thought it possible that you were pregnant. As you are. Which means you and I need to have a conversation before I return to London for my coronation.”

“Why?” she asked again. Edmund, she thought briefly, would have already known. His mind, turned to governing and politics, would have looked ahead, would have known what was coming.

“I am only king today because my father died at Wakefield,” Edward explained. “I have no children of my own—not legitimate, anyway. Until I’m married and have sons, my brothers are my successors. If Edmund had lived, he would be my immediate heir.”

Ismay refused to understand. “But Edmund didn’t live.”

“You and Edmund were married. Your child will be legitimate. If that child is a boy—”

“Absolutely not. Never.”

“—your son takes precedence. Ismay, you want to think about it carefully. Once decisions are made and written into statute—”

“This child is all I have left. The only thing that this war for England’s throne has left me. I am finished with battles and courts and eternal fighting over who should rule. I appreciate what you’re offering, Edward, I do. But please, keep me out of this. You haven’t told anyone about the marriage, have you?”

“No. Edmund was waiting until … until the fighting was over.”

“Then don’t tell anyone. There’s no point to it now.”

“You’re about to give birth, Ismay. People will think—”

“I don’t care what people think. Let them whisper. Let them scorn my child for a bastard. It doesn’t matter. The only thing that matters is that I be allowed to raise my child here, far away from other people’s fights. Promise me, Edward.”

She knew she’d won when he said, with a glint in his eyes, “You might change your mind when people assume the child is mine.”

She laughed, something she hadn’t thought would happen again. “Just one more on a long list, then.”

“Are you certain, Ismay? When I return to London, Warwick will draw up legal papers naming George as my heir until such time as I have sons. You won’t regret it?”

Ismay gave a shiver for the ten-year-old George about to be thrown to the wolves. The reminder of Warwick only strengthened her resolve. If there was one person on earth that she never wanted to know the truth about her marriage and child, it was the Earl of Warwick. “I will regret nothing.”

“All the same, I’ll leave these with you.” From the pouch he’d tossed on the table, Edward pulled out two items. The first was a livery badge, to be worn by servants and couriers and those going into battle—such badges were separate from coats of arms. Edward’s coat of arms now was the royal one, with its lions and lilies. But his badge, the one he handed her, was different.

The five-petaled white rose of York, so familiar to Ismay, had been placed atop the golden rays of the sun. Even in her isolation and grief, Ismay had heard the stories about the Battle of Mortimer’s Cross, how three suns had been seen in the sky before battle, how Edward had given a rousing speech claiming it a sign of God’s favor on him.

“The Sun in Splendor,” she whispered. And for just a moment, she allowed herself to imagine what a brilliant, charming, cultivated court Edward would create and imagined herself there …

But she couldn’t imagine herself there without Edmund.

Edward slid a heavy ring onto the middle finger of her right hand. It had a similar design to the badge etched deeply into the surface.

“Your seal?” Ismay asked, shocked.

“A variation of it, for my family and nearest advisors. This way, if you need something to be seen only by me, you can seal it with this and it will remain private.”

An optimistic if naïve hope—Ismay wagered that Warwick knew multiple ways to read sealed letters—but the meaning of it touched her. Especially when Edward put his hands on her cheeks and kissed her on the forehead.

“Anything you need, Ismay, for the rest of your life. You have but to ask and England will answer.”

It was only as he rode off that Ismay realized Edward had indeed made the jump to king—by equating himself with England.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

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