“I meant,” explained Maude, “to have a care of our Lady.”
“Maybe he shall keep her in ointment for her hair,” returned the Dowager.
The Earl of Kent returned to Court, and for some time stayed there. He was rather too busy to prosecute his wooing. The Lord Thomas of Lancaster, one of the King’s sons, was projecting and executing an expedition from Calais to Sluys, and he took Kent with him; so that, with one or another obstacle arising, Constance’s second marriage was not quite so quick in coming as Maude had expected. But at last it did come.
The Duke of York and his Duchess—not long married—and the Earl of Cambridge, journeyed to Cardiff for their sister’s wedding. The Duchess of York, though both an heiress and a beauty, left no mark on her time. She was by profession at least a Lollard; and since Lollardism was not now walking in silver slippers, this says something for her. But in all other respects she appears to have been one of those beautiful, mindless women whom clever men frequently marry. Perhaps no woman with a decided character of her own would have ventured on such a husband as Edward Duke of York.
It was a mild winter day, and a picnic was projected in the woods near Cardiff. The wedding was to take place in about a week. Maude rode on a pillion to the scene where the rustic dinner was to be behind Bertram Lyngern, who seemed in a particularly bright and amiable mood. When a woman rode on a pillion, it must be remembered that she was in a very insecure position; and it was an absolute necessity for the fair rider to clasp her arms round the waist of the man who sat before her, and, when the road was rough, to cling pretty tightly. It was therefore desirable that the pair should be at least reasonably civil to one another, and should not get on quarrelsome terms. There was little likelihood of Maude’s quarrelling with Bertram, her friend of twenty years’ standing; but she did not share his evident light-heartedness as he rode carolling along, now breaking out into a snatch of one song, and now of another, and constantly interrupting himself with playful remarks.
“‘Sitteth all still, and hearkeneth to me:
The King of Almayne, by my léauté,
Thritti thousand pound asked he—’
“A squirrel, Mistress Maude! shall I catch it?
“Dame avec l’oeil de beauté—
“So, my good lad, softly! so, Lyard! How clereful a day! Nigh as soft as summer.
“‘Summer is ycomen in—
Merry sing, cuckoo!
Groweth glede, and bloweth mead,
And springeth wood anew.’