The Other Elizabeth *OLD VERSION*

XLVI. Candlemas Day 1461

XLVI

Candlemas Day 1461

Grafton, Northamptonshire, England

It was thought that Anthony and I mayhap would return back to reside at Middleton, once the battle was lost and won, and we had enough money to continue building, so that we could live there accordingly. Anthony had gone back to Middleton in the first dubious month of the New Year, but to use the money to raise more troops. For the fight is not over.

Everyperson thought it was, now that the poor Duke of York is dead, God rest his soul, but his son is ready to take up his father's cause, and avenge his and his brother's gruesome deaths. Edward, the youth I strolled with at Ludlow, is a young man prepared to clash swords with the Lancastrian army, led by Queen Margaret's ally, that obscure Welshman by the name of Owen Tudor, the stepfather of our King, and more unruly Scottish troops.

I shudder to think of myself as the new Duchess of York- if Edward's proposal had been in all seriousness. I think of the Dowager Duchess, sending her other sons to exile abroad. The grief I would have had to cope with... And that leads me to think of Lady Isabel, who has lost the brother who was so dear to her, her only close blood kin left, and who has also lost her son. For her Edward Bourchier, the other Edward whom I grew up with, and Henry and I regarded as his baby brother, is dead too. Henry's own little brother, slain on the cusp of manhood, my own brother-in-law. So much York blood shed. Isabel has lost two grown sons now, a brother, and a nephew. I remember Edward fondly- always talking of knights and battles in glorification when he was but young, yet he died on the losing side, doubtless bloodied, muddied, his body marred and twisted. No such glory found there.

And I sit alone in my bedchamber. 'Twas not how I dreamt the beginning of my new marriagebed- but, what, indeed truly did I expect? That Anthony would not be away for weeks, fighting? He survived the last battle. But shall one claim, such as the last claimed Edward Bourchier and his cousin Edmund, men the same age as him, when York made the fatal error of coming out of his castle of Sandal, to find the Lancastrians greedily waiting to slaughter him and his son? Will roles be reversed; will Anthony walk out another stronghold and find Edward of York, ready for revenge? Alas, Salisbury is now gone too- murdered by commoners such as my Father was, as he tried to escape his gaol at Pomfret. I should find satisfaction that the man who cornered my Father into the Tower has died by the same hands, but I do not. The English soil is spattered by so much noble blood, and I have no heart for revenge, just for the vicious warfare to end. For Anthony to come home to me safely.

He writes little- for if his letters are intercepted, he could be an unknowing Anthony Trollope for the Yorkists. There is naught I can do but to toss and turn in my bed, as the two sides battle in my head and heart. If York wins, Anthony and I fall with Lancaster. If Lancaster wins, we are in favour, but my hopes die. I pace up and down, wringing my hands. I wait. I wait. I wait for news.

He must return to me, as his father has to Jacquetta unfailing from every battle he has been in. I need him- for how could I be married thrice in so little time, and the last marriage undoubtedly loveless? For I truly do feel so lovingly inclined towards him- he is clever, gallant, handsome, and good with pen and paper as I hope he is with a sword or whatever they use these days. He knows me so well, as demonstrated by that note. How wondrous it is to have someone who truly understands me. He must know how I worry- he must know he cannot fail to return to me.

"Lyzbeth, Lyzbeth, wake!" I groan sleepily as Kate's little hands tug harshly at my coverlet. Why must she wake me when I would prefer to lay abed? I rub my eyes.

"Lyz-beth," she moans, tugging on my arm. She too, as with all the Wydevilles, has adopted the pet name Anthony calls me. I confess I do not feel I look as such, and there is some small shred of adolescence in my bones that feels that I am still Lizzie. They needed a pet name for me, to avoid confusion with their 'big sister Bess', the other Elizabeth Wydeville. Whenever I do hear the prefix 'Bess' it only makes me think of my Bessie. She has not sent word to me at all. Upon enquiring, I found she was not at Middleton either. What has happened to her? I know we quarrelled, but does she mean to put me through such agony, wondering where she is? Does she never wish to see me again? Has she met Katherine? Indeed, has she stayed with Katherine? Did Katherine want to greet her, the mother she barely knows? What of me? Should I write to her...?