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surrounding herself with such pretty girls did little to make her enticing.
    His eyes swept the bevy of maids keeping the queen company. It lingered on Montjoy’s cousin, the delicious Elizabeth Blount. Petite and round where a woman should be round. Blond and blue-eyed. And she was the finest dancer next to his sister, Mary, that he had ever encountered. And she sang like an angel. She was quite a favorite with his closest friends, for she had a quick wit. Yet she was also docile in the face of authority, he remembered Montjoy saying. Bessie, Montjoy once remarked, would make the most perfect wife. The king’s small blue eyes narrowed. Bessie Blount. She would make a wonderful armful, and being an obedient lass by nature if Montjoy was to be believed, she would yield to her sovereign’s passion. Henry Tudor smiled. What a lovely summer lay ahead of them. If, of course, the plague and sweating sickness did not strike again this year. He moved across the lawns greeting his guests jovially.
    Philippa returned with the little princess to the queen’s side. “We have had a fine walk, your highness. The princess wanted to go on the river, but I did not think it wise.”
    “Nay,” the queen agreed, “you were right, my child.”
    “What did the king say when he stopped you?” Millicent Langholme asked meanly. “He engaged you in conversation for some time, Philippa Meredith.”
    “The king’s care and interest were for his daughter,” Philippa replied quietly. “And he asked after my mother, and her family in Cumbria. They knew each other as children. Why are you interested, Millicent Langholme? Is your own life so uneventful then? But then it would be, wouldn’t it, for Sir Walter has yet to make any decision in the matter of a possible betrothal between you.” And what fun I shall have with the gentleman right beneath your turned-up nose, Millicent, Philippa thought. And you will be able to do naught about it except fume.
    The queen smiled silently as the Langholme girl sputtered her outrage but was unable to reply. “How is your mama?” she asked Philippa.
    “Well, I believe, for I have not heard otherwise. Do you think, madame, that there might be a place at court for my sister, Banon? She is a charming girl, but could certainly use the polish time in your service would give her. She has her own estates at Otterly.”
    “If Millicent Langholme weds, then aye, I would be happy to receive her into my service,” Queen Katherine replied graciously. “Banon. ’Tis an odd name to my ears.”
    “It means queen in the Welsh tongue. She is Banon Mary Katherine Meredith, madame. My father wanted her called Banon,” Philippa explained.
    “Of course he would honor his own heritage,” the queen said, thinking that Philippa had become quite a creature of the court, even soliciting a place for her sister.
    The afternoon began to wane. Some people were dancing the country dances before the platform where the musicians were seated at their instruments. The archery butts were being well-used by several gentlemen who had removed their doublets, and were in their shirt-sleeves. The punts upon the river contained mostly young couples, along with their boatmen. Philippa’s eyes carefully surveyed the gathering. Ahh, there was Sir Walter Lumley. He stood among a group of gentlemen who were dicing. Philippa moved off toward the gathering. She saw Bessie Blount there too, so it would not be so unusual that she joined them.
    Bessie smiled as Philippa approached. She was a very good-natured girl who had even less to recommend her in marriage than did Philippa. “Come, and see what luck Tony Deane is having!” she called to Philippa.
    “Does Cecily know you have a penchant for the dice?” Philippa teased Sir Anthony Deane, Cecily’s betrothed husband.
    He grinned up at her, and shook his head. “But as long as I’m lucky, can she complain?” he asked. Then throwing the bones he made his point once again, to the cheers