The Rose of York

16th June 1424

The sun's warm rays continued to beat down on the grass tinged with yellow from lack of water, the heat felt glorious on my pale face like a warm hand gently smoothing my face. I took great care not to spent too long in the sun least my skin darken and I look like a peasant instead of a women of great birth, to ensure this my governess had sat us under the great Oak tree of our gardens here at Raby Castle.

Here I sat on a blanket to protect my pretty rose coloured dress from grass stains with my governess Mistress Crawford, a sour older lady who strictly enforced the ideals of our higher class in society and how me and my sisters must be proper ladies with aspirations to motherhood and making alliances with dukes and lesser princes for wealth and power. Mistress Crawford is ever in awe with my father and constantly reminding us of the power we wield as Nevilles, Not that she needs to tell me, I am the great granddaughter of good king Edward III I know I destined for great things.

Only a few nights ago father was talking to mother of the possible of marring me or Joan to the infant king when he comes to age. I hoped not me I very much wish to be married young and have children of my own instead of waiting while the babe grows while the wars over France continue.

The shouts of the boys catch my attention from my needle work, George and Edward practiced with their wooden swords living in hope to be one day knighted and lead men in battles for their King. Joined in their play by father's ward Richard the Earl of Cambridge's son and the heir to the Dukedom of York; a most prized ward ship for father, one that he boasted at court being the guarding to the most powerful heir in the land and the King of course.

Richard had fitted in well to the changing house around him with my older siblings take to marriage and leave Raby while younger siblings pass into the hands of God. He had found a playmate in my older brother Edward, the two being the same age and with similar dreams of glory on the battlefield. My poor little brother George enjoyed the older boys' company but could not kept up with them in wit, his mind often wondering to some unseen world of fairies. Despite being slow of mind he was the kindness of my family always treating everyone with the grace of a prince of the songs, bearing nothing but love towards everyone, it is impossible to believe if a single bone of hate lies in his little body.

Giving up on his play battle, George ran towards us in the shades, his Neville green eyes sparkle with happiness as he perched himself beside on the blanket, removing his leather boots to run his toes in the soft grass. Seeing his bright smile made the sun dim in contrast as his good nature shined through.

"How fares you my dear sisters?" He spoke while taking babbly baby Joan onto his lap receiving a smile from me, together they shared the blond hair of own grandmother the famous whore of John of Lancaster. I know it is a sin to speak ill of my relatives but the bible teaches against adultery and her children prove to be nothing but manipulative and arrogant parvenus obsessed with their own greed. My uncle had even married his daughter to the King of Scotland, the daughter of a bastard the wife of a King. What is the world coming to when bastards are of higher power than good honest families like mine who up hold the moral values of the land and must shine like beckons of virtue.

Oh heavens I'm starting to sound like Mistress Crawford!  But I guess she is right, my parents’ marriage can even demonstrate that, they cannot even be in a room with one other their marriage is that of indifference and convince and not of love or companionship. Not that  my hopes on a love filled marriage, when the time comes I will do my duty to my father and if love develops I will see it as a great gift.

A little hand on my shoulder brought me out of my musings, I turned to find my little siblings, cubby blue eyed Joan sit sitting on my brother's lap her eyes looking at my green ones as she held out a small daisy in my face, I smiled as i took it from the fist. George looked to be in one of his distant thoughts again while Mistress Crawford finished her needlework, she had been on edge all day, as if waiting for a particular moment. From the look she gave me I could tell it was now as two lady servants approached.

"Lady Cecily." they said as they curtsied "We have come upon your father's command to prepare you for your betrothal." they said with little smiles, at the very word I broke out in a huge smile, following them into the castle. I looked like the perfect little lady with a slight spring in my step and a smile on my rosy lips.

In my room I was greeted with a beautiful light green dress cut in the style of the Queen's dresses with a white kirtle and jewelled neckline. It felt soft against my body as my maids laced me into the dress with a long train and beautiful sleeves that trace the floor making it look like a dress destined for court.

Now surrounded with the slightly heavy dress I feel much like the Neville women I was born to be, looking like a beautiful maiden from the bard's songs. My older maid released my hair from its braid, brushing out my light brown hair to lay loose past my shoulders. The top of my little head was decorated with a silver circlet enlaced my pearls, while around my neck was a necklace of white jewels similar to the jewels on my dress.

My freckled checks were covered in a light brush to bring a rosy colour to them. I loved beautiful and older than my nine year old body. With my ladies I was escorted to the main hall, waiting the approval of my parents,  father with his always proud expression, it radiated from him. Beside my mother with her beady Beaufort blue eyes with harshness like father's hawks. She was not a woman of great beauty with her pointed face, sharp nose and dull black hair, big with her 16th child. I was lucky to have inherited my father's looks. Mistress Crawford called me all Neville with my face holding none of my Beaufort relatives.

Nerves began to bubble inside me as father  takes my small hand in his larger ones a smile of assurance on his face. Behind him my sibling had joined, Edward the current oldest at thirteen, Anne following him behind at eleven with such grace one would find it hard to believe she was of this world, little George of eight stood proudly holding little two year old Joan's hand as they watched on, while the wet nurse held on to the baby Thomas the first babe to survive birth since Joan.

Across the hall the doors were opened to welcome the entrance of Richard dressed in a tunic identical in pattern to my dress, his brown eyes confident and warm as ever, he very confidence added to my own as my smile came back to my face. I didn't know Richard well but at least I would have time to form common ground.

He reached us, his new sword swinging gently at his hip and his cocky smile on his lips. Father gave my steady hand into Richard's. "I plight my troth." he spoke with the voice of a diplomat that no doubt he will one day be. With care Richard placed the beautiful little ring on my finger, a gold band topped with a small white pearl.

With that the ceremony was over, the words were spoken and the ring on my finger and in time I would be the future Duchess of York, the wealthiest noble women in the land, I fitting tittle for me.