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significant, powerful men in England, though she never took her position for granted and was at pains to please her husband at every opportunity. When she was with him, she hung on his every word and laughed appreciatively whenever he said something clever. Away from him, she spent hours with her seamstress, demanding the creation of ever-more-lavish gowns, or with her maid, patiently trying new and attractive ways of dressing her hair.
    Her meetings with Margery were more covert but no less regular. Mistress Jourdemayne was a constant source of face creams, soaps, powders and perfumes but, over the years, she had also provided Eleanor with potions and decoctions which she claimed would attract and keep a lover. Once Eleanor had trapped her man and married him, she began to demand medicines to help her conceive a child, preferably a son. Margery had promised to do all she could to help her.
    The Duchess spent even longer than usual on her appearance during the morning that followed her sleepless night. Now, standing tall and elegant beside her husband, she smiled winningly at the young King as he received them both in the Throne Room of the Palace of Westminster. His Royal Highness bestowed a dazzling smile on them.
    ‘Come,’ he said, ‘let us find a private corner where I can tell you something in great confidence. No one else must know!’ He grinned at them conspiratorially as he led them towards the far corner of the big room. When they were safely out of earshot of the handful of courtiers who were in constant attendance on him, the King turned excitedly towards them.
    ‘I have made an important decision,’ he whispered, looking from side to side to ensure he wasn’t overheard, for all the world like a child sharing a secret in the nursery, ‘and I do hope it will please you both.’ The Duke and Duchess glanced uncertainly at each other as the King went on. ‘Now, if you, Uncle, were not already a member of the most chivalrous Order of the Garter, I would want to make you one as a token of my esteem. Of course, I shall be fourteen years old come December and expect to take more decisions myself after that, as is right and proper. But, my noble uncle, I do wish to mark your excellent service to the Crown.’
    ‘That is most kind of you, my Lord, but there is no need...’
    ‘Let me finish, Uncle,’ said the King. ‘Now, since you are already a Garter Knight, I cannot confer that honour upon you so I have decided instead to invite you, Aunt Eleanor, to become a Lady of the Garter. As your King, this honour is solely within my gift and I think it entirely appropriate.’
    ‘An admirable idea! Excellent!’ said Humphrey, clearly delighted.
    It took all Eleanor’s self-control to remember where she was. Astounded, she wanted to shout out loud, to lift her skirts and cavort around the big room, singing at the top of her voice. The King appeared to notice nothing, pleased with himself for having made a decision independently of the Council.
    ‘Of course,’ he went on, as confidingly as before, ‘the Garter ceremony will not be held until next May, and the announcement of the names of the new recipients of the honour will not be made public until St George’s Day in April. That is more than six months hence, so I must ask you both to keep the secret until then. I do hope you won’t find that too arduous. Of course, some administrators will need to know, including my esteemed great-uncle, Cardinal Beaufort, since he is Prelate of the Order.’ He paused. ‘Are you pleased?’ he asked.
    Beaming, Humphrey turned to his wife. ‘Are you pleased, my dear?’
    Eleanor had recovered her composure. ‘More pleased than I would ever have thought possible,’ she said slowly.
    She was to become a Lady of the Garter. This was the ultimate accolade.
    ‘Come,’ the King was saying from somewhere in the distance. In her imagination, Eleanor was already wearing a white silk gown under the dark blue velvet mantle of the