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how he had spent weeks searching for them, believing that his wife’s wits were deranged after the loss of their son, fearing for the girls’ safety and that of their mother. This had been after Mary’s father’s death when Gawain had taken on new responsibilities. Then he had struck lucky or so he had thought, only to discover that Mary had made a cuckold of him and when he had rode to the place where she had been observed, it was too late. She had vanished again. Then the king had summoned him to court and he’d had no choice but to abandon his search.
    ‘I have two daughters: Lydia, who has seen seven summers, and Tabitha, who is three years old.’ He found it too painful still to mention the loss of his son to her, but added swiftly, ‘More recently I’ve been sorting out my father-in-law’s affairs. He died a year ago and left it to me to rescue his ailing boat-building yard. I have hopes that in a few years it will be prosperous again.’
    Beth frowned. ‘You have enough matters of your own to sort out as it is without being bothered with mine. Why do you not allow me to handle my own affairs?’
    Gawain was tempted to agree, but found himselfsaying, ‘I made a promise to your father that I would find you a husband. His dearest wish was that you provided him with a grandson.’
    ‘A grandson!’ This was news, indeed, to Beth and it angered and hurt her further. ‘A daughter was not good enough for him,’ she added in a trembling voice. ‘Only a male offspring will do.’
    Gawain paused in the act of setting the table. ‘You must forgive him. It is natural for a man to want a son to carry on his name. No doubt your father had it in mind for you to marry someone who understood the printing- and book-selling business, but perhaps it would be wiser to sell it, so as to provide you with a substantial dowry to attract a gentleman so you would not be forever thinking of printing and books.’
    ‘No! It cannot be sold,’ she cried, starting to her feet and spilling a little wine on her gown. ‘If I have a son, then he will inherit and carry on with my work.’
    ‘What do you mean by that?’ asked Gawain, frowning. ‘What work is this? Tell me?’
    Encouraged and filled with an overwhelming need to share her secret, Beth said, ‘I know how to set type and to work the presses, and I have continued with the work Jonathan began. I write and print a newsletter and it is distributed in London and I am determined to carry on doing so.’
    His eyes flared. ‘By St George, I believe you are serious!’
    ‘Indeed, I am!’ Her face was alight with enthusiasm. ‘I write about matters that I know will interest those who have learnt to read since their parents’ generationgrasped the first books that came off Master Caxton’s presses here in England. They are eager for the written word and they desire more than just the gospels and stories of the saints. They enjoy the old tales from classical history such as
Aesop’s Fables
, but they also want to be kept informed about what is happening today.’
    ‘Are you saying that the printing and distribution of Holy Writ in our own tongue does not interest you?’ he asked, his dark brows knitting.
    ‘No, of course not,’ she said, flushing. ‘I am saying that the printed word has the power to do more than bring religious enlightenment to those who wish to read the gospels for themselves. It can educate, entertain and amuse on several topics.’
    ‘I agree that there is much enjoyment to be found in such as Homer’s
Illiad
, but the printed word can also be dangerous, as you well know. It can preach sedition and moral laxity,’ he said drily.
    ‘That is not my intention,’ she said hastily. ‘I sincerely believe there are many people who are eager to know what is happening in other countries. They are interested in the great occasions such as this one taking place here. They would also enjoy reading of the wonders of the Indies and the New World by those who