Destiny's Child Read online

  Destiny’s Child

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Copyright

  Chapter One

  The warm sunshine spread tantalising fingers of light into the bedchamber, illuminating the brilliant silk of the tapestries and carrying the scent of early flowers to where Margaret stood obediently still.

  “The gown suits you tolerably well, my child.” Her mother, the Duchess of Somerset, stood, head on one side, considering her daughter with careful eyes. “Now let us place the collar of rubies to see the full effect.”

  Margaret hated rubies. She disliked the colour red in any shape or form, but her opinion was not sought in the matter. The gold was heavy around her throat and the gleaming stones dazzled her eyes as the sun struck fire from their redness.

  She wondered impatiently how much longer it would be before she was free to run outside on to the soft grass and breathe the sweet air.

  “Try not to look so discontent, Margaret.” Her mother’s voice held a touch of humour as she leaned forward to adjust the fur that edged the heavy gown.

  Margaret felt the colour rise to her face and she moved restlessly under her mother’s hands, longing to throw off the rich, heavy clothes and the choking gold collar and return to the freedom of her simple linen gown.

  The Duchess returned to her chair and smiled her approval.

  “Yes, I think you will do very well. But do try to smile! You are going to the Court of King Henry the Sixth, not to a burial!”

  Margaret looked down at her shoes encrusted with gems and resisted the temptation to kick them across the room. Her mother must not be angered, especially not now when she was great with child.

  The Duchess leaned back and smiled. “You will be the finest lady there, Margaret, a credit to the House of Somerset and a joy to your dear guardian.” She pressed the tips of her white fingers together. “I will expect William de la Pole to make a great marriage for you, even though he has not taken his wardship very seriously until now.”

  Margaret shuddered delicately at the thought of her guardian and touched the cold gems in the collar which had been his present to her. William, Duke of Suffolk, was a man to fear. He had tight, mean lips and familiar hands.

  “Do I really have to leave Bletsoe, Mother?” she asked, and in spite of herself, her voice trembled.

  “Come now, Margaret,” her mother spoke kindly, “you are almost nine years of age. Time you learned a little of what womanhood is all about. You cannot forever shelter behind your mother’s skirts.” She lifted her hand and beckoned to one of her ladies. “Elizabeth, help my daughter to disrobe. I think she has put up with enough for one day.” She rose and went to the door of the chamber, smiling graciously at her daughter.

  “Be sure to present yourself early in the great hall. We must not keep William waiting. He will be eager to see how you have grown.” She paused for a moment and regarded Margaret with steady eyes. “It would be well to remember that my lord of Suffolk is perhaps the most powerful minister in the realm. You must do your best to please him so that he will take good care of you at court.”

  Margaret nodded her assent and, satisfied of her daughter’s sense of duty, the Duchess left the room.

  “Help me out of these things quickly, Elizabeth!” Margaret plucked at the hated collar and threw it on to the bed where it lay among the covers like a pool of rich blood.

  Elizabeth removed the garments with deft fingers, smiling her affection.

  “Don’t take on so, Margaret. You will make yourself overheated if you carry on like that.” She brought a bowl of rosewater and placed it on the table. “Let me bathe your head. You will soon feel better.”

  Margaret sat quietly enjoying the scented coolness and relaxing under Elizabeth’s ministrations.

  “Have you always known me, Elizabeth?” she asked after a time, and Elizabeth laughed out loud.

  “Good gracious, yes. I was present at your birth! I heard your first cry and saw you placed among the rich tapestries of your crib. A tiny delicate girl you were.”

  Margaret wriggled her toes a little and attempted to pluck up courage to ask Elizabeth the one question she dare not ask her mother.

  “Is it true my father died by his own hand?” The words came out suddenly.

  Elizabeth did not conceal her surprise. “My dear girl, where have you heard such a thing?” She busied herself at the table and Margaret noticed that her hands were trembling.

  “It is true, isn’t it?” Margaret persisted. “Please tell me. I can’t bear not to know.”

  Elizabeth sighed. “Very well. It seems as though the Duke of Somerset killed himself because he fell into ill favour with the King; but no one is sure. It could easily have been an accident.”

  Margaret brushed back a stray curl impatiently and pushed Elizabeth away when she attempted to place the cool cloth on her brow once more.

  “My mother couldn’t have loved him very well,” she said quietly. “She didn’t mourn for long before she married Leo.”

  Elizabeth looked scandalised. “My dear Margaret, that is really not the way to talk about your mother and Lord Welles. Did you expect her to remain alone without a husband to take care of her?”

  Margaret bowed her head and considered the question very carefully.

  “I wish to marry someone whom I can love with all my heart, and I shall make sure he is too happy to ever take his own life.”

  She chewed her thumbnail, her wide eyes so innocent and trusting, that Elizabeth felt tears come to her own eyes. Quickly she made the sign of the cross.

  “I pray that life may treat you with kindness, Margaret. But none can say what lies before us.”

  She tidied away the bowl and pulled the covers of Margaret’s bed neatly into place.

  “Try to rest now,” she said gently. “Your mother expects you to be at your brightest this evening. And don’t forget, once you are at Court many people will flatter you and wish to introduce you to their eligible sons. You must keep your head set on the right way, and don’t become too proud.”

  Margaret’s eyes brightened with interest. “Why should they do that? Surely everyone at the King’s Court must be wealthy already?”

  Elizabeth nodded knowingly. “That may be so, but no one is so rich that they don’t try to accumulate more riches; and you are a great heiress. A catch for anyone.”

  Margaret sighed suddenly. “It is a great pity that my father did not live, then I would not have to go with my Lord of Suffolk.”

  Elizabeth moved to the door. “You haven’t much to complain of. Your mother has more than done her duty. Why, see how well you can read. Even those funny French writings are intelligible to you.”

  Margaret sat on her bed and wound thin arms around her knees.

  “Yes, I have a lot to be grateful for, and I will do my best to be good,” she said humbly.

  Elizabeth choked back her tears. How young and vulnerable Margaret was. A small, unformed girl, who would soon be thrust into the decadent life at Court. Suddenly a thought sprang into her mind. What if she should seek permission to go with Mar
garet? Surely the Duchess would be pleased with such an idea.

  Silently she left the room. It would do no good to mention her plan yet as it might well come to nothing, and then Margaret would be disappointed.

  * * *

  The great hall rang with the sound of many voices and wine flowed like a river of blood, filling cups almost before they were empty.

  Margaret shook her head as a servant offered her more meat. Her stomach knotted so that she could not even eat the light almond sweets that she loved so much.

  At her side, towering over the proceedings like a bearded giant, sat William, Duke of Suffolk, his small eyes constantly lit with some inner amusement, resting on her now and again as if he saw not the Lady Margaret Beaufort but a shining pile of gold pieces.

  On his other side was his son John, a thin boy who blushed every time anyone looked his way.

  Margaret felt even more sorry for him than she did for herself. After all, he had spent his life with the Duke and from his pale appearance, it had not so far been a happy one.

  She leaned over and offered him a rosy apple. He glanced at her nervously, and shook his head. She persisted, and at last he held out a tentative hand and took it.

  The Duchess of Somerset intercepted the little pantomime and leaned forward, smiling indulgently.

  “Your son seems to like Margaret very well, William,” she said. “And I’m sure you are bound to agree that Margaret has become quite a little beauty, has she not?”

  William laughed out loud and Margaret flinched, her colour rising.

  “It will be a long time before she will be as lovely as you, Duchess,” he said loudly.

  Margaret glanced at Leo to see how he would take the Duke’s familiarity, but there was nothing but pride on Lord Welles’ face as if he heartily agreed that his wife was the most lovely woman in all the kingdom.

  Suddenly Margaret jumped as the Duke of Suffolk rested his hot hand on her shoulder.

  “Nevertheless, I think little Margaret will be a fine woman in a few years’ time. Maybe even make a bride for my son John. It is a possibility to keep in mind.”

  Margaret looked quickly away from John’s face, but not before he’d winked secretly at her.

  She stared down at her hands as they rested in her lap. Perhaps marriage with John would be quite pleasant so long as his father did not live close to them.

  She glanced at him again from beneath her lashes, relieved that at least he did not repel her as did his father. He seemed kindly disposed to her and she was sure that he would not subject her to the fumbling intimacies that the Duke of Suffolk imposed upon her.

  At that moment the Duke turned to face her, almost as if he could read her mind.

  “I see you like the small trinket I brought you.” His hand caressed her throat in a pretence of looking at the rubies, and Margaret sat perfectly still, feeling like a bird of prey with a hawk about to swoop on it.

  Somehow she managed to make a polite reply, but when she would have looked away, the Duke forced her chin up so that her eyes met his.

  “You are a tender little bud, Margaret, but you will be well nurtured in the House of Suffolk. Remember always that I am a man of substance. Why, the King dare not make a single move without my approval.”

  Margaret wondered what she was supposed to say, and at last she simply attempted a nod, hoping to dislodge the Duke’s fingers from their hold.

  “My dear William, the child is but nine years of age. Don’t expect to put too wise a head on young shoulders. It would not be right.”

  The Duchess of Somerset leaned forward and gently tapped his hand so the Duke withdrew his hold. Margaret turned a grateful glance towards her mother, but it seemed she was already engrossed in something her husband was saying.

  John de la Pole bit into his apple and his eyes twinkled at Margaret. She smiled, warming to him, thinking it a great pity that he was not tall and handsome as she had always imagined her husband would be. Still, he had a kind face, and seemed to be as bored with the proceedings as she was.

  He offered her an almond sweetmeat and she took it merely to please him, smiling in delight as he made a disrespectful grimace behind his father’s broad back. Life at Court might not be so bad after all, she decided, as the soft comfit melted deliciously against her teeth.

  * * *

  Margaret sat stiffly in her chair watching Elizabeth pack away the last of her clothes into a chest. Now that the moment of departure had really come, she could only think of how she would miss her mother and the kindly Leo and how she would never again run barefoot across the sweet grass of Bletsoe.

  “Cheer up,” Elizabeth said briskly, noticing her long face. “I’ll be with you, so there’s no need to be frightened.” She smiled warmly and patted Margaret’s cheek. “I think it was exceedingly kind of your mother to allow me to go to Court with you. See how she cares about your well-being.”

  Margaret tried to smile in return, but the foolish tears brimmed into her eyes and it seemed there was nothing to do to stop them flooding down her cheeks.

  Quickly she left her seat and crossed to the window, looking longingly out at the rolling Bedfordshire fields.

  “What if I never come home again?” she said brokenly. “What if I never see my mother and Leo, Lord Welles, and have to spend the rest of my life among strangers?”

  She leaned her chin against the cool window ledge and bit her lips to stop them from trembling. If her mother should see her in such a state of distress, she would be very displeased at her loss of dignity.

  Elizabeth watched her for a moment in silence, tears very near her own eyes. Margaret was a child of nine years of age, dressed in woman’s clothing and trying to think like a woman. It was a great pity that she could not remain sheltered here at Bletsoe for another few years at least. As it was, she would enter the court life still with the roundness of childhood in her face.

  Margaret straightened and moved purposefully into the room, the tears drying on her cheeks.

  “Mother has taught me to speak and act like a lady,” she said firmly. “I must not let her down after all. Am I not highly educated so as to be a fitting wife for any man?” She squared her slender shoulders and, unable to say any more, turned her face away.

  Elizabeth took her warmly in her arms, disregarding for once the strict code of behaviour that was usually observed at Bletsoe.

  “There, there, don’t fret; everything will be new and exciting at Court. You will meet King Henry, an honour which is not given to many young ladies.”

  Margaret clung for a moment and then drew herself away, nodding her head seriously.

  “I am fully aware of the honour, believe me, Elizabeth. I am sure the King is as saintly as everyone says he is. It’s just sad to leave my home, that’s all.”

  “That is a perfectly natural feeling,” Elizabeth said brightly, returning to her packing. “I even feel pangs of regret myself. Bletsoe is such a beautiful place. But each of us must move on to new experiences. Time will not stand still for anyone.”

  She searched her mind for something that would distract Margaret from her tears.

  “At least there will be new books for you to read at Court. And wonderful musicians to listen to.”

  Margaret’s face brightened. “Yes, I will enjoy reading the King’s books.” She smiled a little through her tears. “You always think of something pleasant, Elizabeth. I am grateful to you.”

  She put her arm for a moment around Elizabeth’s ample waist.

  “And if I am lonely in the night, I can call on you to keep me company, can I not?”

  Elizabeth nodded, her throat constricted with unshed tears.

  “I will always be at hand if you should need me,” she said at last. “Even when you become a married lady, I will stay with you. I love you as if you were my own child.”

  They stood in silence for a moment and then Margaret gently disengaged herself.

  “I had better go and make my farewells.”


  She took a deep breath and walked out into the long corridor trying to think of the excitement her new life would bring and not of the deep feeling of loss that was growing within her. As her mother so frequently told her, it did not become the daughter of the Duke of Somerset to behave with anything less than perfect control.

  Her mother was sitting in the great hall with Leo attentive as always at her side. She did not rise when Margaret stood before her. She could not; she was cumbersome now with child. Instead, she crooked her bejewelled finger indicating that Margaret stand beside her and receive her brief kiss.

  “I will miss you, Margaret,” she said softly, and indeed she would. She had spent nine years in grooming her daughter so that she could take her rightful place among the great and wealthy of the land. After all, the Somersets were of royal blood. She took Margaret’s hands, still small and plump like a baby’s, into her own white elegant fingers.

  “Partings are always sad,” she said gently, “but the Duke of Suffolk is your rightful guardian appointed by the King to look after you and guide you always. You must obey the Duke in everything, and he will see that you have such wonderful opportunities at Court that will dazzle even your sensible mind.”

  She paused for a moment, regarding her daughter with something like anxiety in her eyes.

  “When you are older, Margaret, you will see that sending you away to court is the best thing a mother could do for a beloved daughter, though it may seem cruel to you now. It would be selfish of me to keep you here, though that is my instinct and my wish. I must sacrifice personal feelings for your own interests, try to remember that, Margaret.”

  Leo stepped forward and smiled down at Margaret, his pleasant face full of affection for his tiny step-daughter.

  “I am coming with you, to see you safely at Court,” he said, and Margaret felt a deep gratitude to the only father she had ever known.

  “Thank you, it is a great kindness,” she said graciously and had the pleasure of seeing her mother smile with approval.

  “Goodbye, mother. I will try to remember all you have told me.”

  The Duchess held her daughter for a moment in an uncharacteristic rush of affection, and then waved her away.