{"product_id":"the-first-princess-of-wales-isbn-9780307237910","title":"The First Princess of Wales","description":"The daughter of a disgraced earl, she matched wits with a prince.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIt is the fourteenth century, the height of the Medieval Age, and at the court of King Edward III of England, chivalry is loudly praised while treachery runs rampant. When the lovely and high-spirited Joan of Kent is sent to this politically charged court, she is woefully unprepared for the underhanded maneuverings of her peers. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eDetermined to increase the breadth of his rule, the king will use any means necessary to gain control of France—including manipulating his own son, Edward, Prince of Wales. Joan plots to become involved with the prince to scandalize the royal family, for she has learned they engineered her father’s downfall and death. But what begins as a calculated strategy soon—to Joan’s surprise—grows into love. When Joan learns that Edward returns her feelings, she is soon fighting her own, for how can she love the man that ruined her family? And, if she does, what will be the cost?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eFilled with scandal, court intrigue, and prominent figures of the Medieval Age, \u003ci\u003eThe First Princess of Wales\u003c\/i\u003e has at its center a wonderful love story, which is all the more remarkable because it is true. Karen Harper’s compelling, fast-paced novel tells the riveting tale of an innocent girl who marries a prince and gives birth to a king.KAREN HARPER is the author of the bestselling Elizabeth I mystery series and the novel The Last Boleyn. She lives in Columbus, Ohio, and Naples, Florida.CHAPTER ONE\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    On that rare and jeweled day, the great adventure of her life began.   The lush blossoms and tender crops of fertile Kent gilded the May   morning breeze with their mingled aromas, and nightingale songs   floated from the nearby forest depths unutterably sweet. Her beloved   home, the large, stone-walled house known in the English shire of   Kent as Liddell Manor, reflected its gray stones and windows, beams,   and brick chimneys in the encircling moat, but beyond the gardens and   orchards, the great Kent Road to London beckoned eternally outward.   At first in early dawn it seemed no one stirred, but soon enough the   slender, blond girl knew, they would all be upon her: then she would   go away to whatever lay out there and this gentle haven of peace and   freedom would be hers no more.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    It was not that she was afraid, she told herself determinedly as she   stood barefooted at the window in a favorite short linen chemise she   had long ago outgrown but still stubbornly slept in no matter how her   maid railed at her about it. Joan of Kent, as the shire folk called   her, had never been afraid of anything--not yet, at least. Besides,   since she was granddaughter to the past King Edward I of all England,   she had always known deep inside she should never be meek or afraid   of anything, even if she were a woman. There had not been one thing   yet, in all of her life here at Liddell, she had wanted to possess or   to do that she had not had or done. That is, not until a fortnight   ago when her eldest brother Edmund, lord of Liddell Manor ever since   their father had died so long ago, had come riding home from king's   service and told her she was leaving Liddell to be reared at court   with the king's family.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Though the sun did not touch her recessed window yet, she pushed the   casement open farther and leaned out on her elbows. Her flat stomach   scraped a bit on the thick stone ledge and her bare feet swung free   of the thin braided carpet on the floor of her little chamber, but   this position gave her the full view of the fish pond and walled herb   gardens below as she wanted.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Aye, the servants had just finished gathering breakfast from the   well-stocked fish pond, and speckled bream or spike-nosed pike would   soon enough fill the bellies of the travelers before they all set out   for London.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    \"Poor silly fish,\" Joan murmured aloud as she wriggled back inside   and her feet touched the floor. \"Saints, you do not have one bit more   say in where you are headed than I do! It is out of a quiet pool and   into a seething pot for all of us, I warrant.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    The scolding voice behind her was crisp and shrill, but so familiar   in its rich Scottish burr that Joan did not even flinch. \"Lady Joan!   My own dear lassie, skittering about barelegged and mutterin'   rebellions. Aye, I caught yer tone and know yer wayward heart about   this honor that's befallen ye!\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Joan just rolled her eyes at the wiry, lively old woman, Marta, who   had been so many things to her for as long as she could   remember--nursemaid, companion, taleteller, playfriend, almost a   mother even, since her own lady mother so seldom came out of her   room. Joan gave her luxuriant, nearly hip-length hair a wild toss off   her shoulder with one hand and shot Marta a sweet and tolerant smile   as she sat down hard on the edge of her plump feather bed.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    \"Now, do not scold, Marta, please. It is our last day here   together--my last day--and I could not sleep.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    \"Stuff and nonsense, lambie. Ye ha' slept like a soldier fresh out a   battle sin' ye were a wee lass. The lord be right, ye know. A young   woman grown and ye such a beauty to still be here in this moated   hermitage hidden out in the great Weald a green England--well. Lord   willin', there be blessings and love out there at th' great royal   court just yers fer th' askin'. My lambie, she'll have the whole   royal court in whirls afore she be done there, this Marta knows for a   truth!\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    The warm smile faded from Joan's pouting lips as her eyes locked with   Marta's. The old woman's taut-skinned face must have once been   beautiful and she must have known firsthand about things like love   and the ways of the high folk of the realm during the years she had   been with Mother, of course, Joan reasoned. Marta had served Mother   in Scotland at the time of her first marriage to the clan lord John   Comyn and had stayed faithfully with her when he died, even during   her lofty second marriage to Edmund, Earl of Kent, brother of King   Edward II, the uncle of the present Plantagenet sovereign Edward III   to whose court she was now banished.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    A pox on it all, Joan cursed silently, and her high, clear forehead   furrowed over her lavender eyes. People usually said banished from   court, but she considered it exile to be sent to that far-off place!   What if Queen Philippa were not pleased with her? What if they   thought it improper that she loved to play her lute and sing? What if   they expected her to sit and embroider all day when she wanted to be   out free in the woods or gardens somewhere!\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Marta's slender fingers touched her shoulder and Joan saw all the   scolding was gone from the sharp eyes. \"Lassie, Marta be missin' ye   like her own wee bairn, but the time ha' come for ye. Yer blood be   rich with that a kings, th' same blood and as good as that a the   king's own children, and yer life is ready for a good turn a Lady   Fortune's wheel. An' some fine, young lad will be lost forever when   he sees th' bonny sort a maid an old Scot woman can rear in the green   woods a Kent.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Joan's bare arms darted around Marta's thin body to give her a quick   hug and then she pulled back. She had no intention of crying, not   today, maybe not ever. Marta stroked the wayward blond locks where   they tumbled in natural curls across the girl's shoulders and then   the tender moment was gone.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    \"I have no intention of wedding for years and years yet, Marta. And   fine lads bore me, though I would not mind some marvelous knight to   be in love with me if I did not have to love him back--and if he   would not be such a stern lord and master to me as Edmund is to his   lady wife, Anne, now he is home.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Marta flipped a corner of coverlet over Joan's bare knees before she   perched on the edge of the bed and began to comb out the night's   snarls from her tresses. \"I truly doan' think ye'll be seein' too   many knights who'd wed wi' a lady to give her free rein like some   willful palfrey, lassie. Mayhap afore ye wed, ye'll get your way, but   Scottish clan lords or king's knights, they be all a the same cut a   cloth, I warrant. Doan' ye go believin' all those fancy lover's songs   that Roger Wakeley taught ye--no, nor those clouds-in-the-sky   romances you like to read of King Charlemagne an' such.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    \"But, some of it must be true as true, Marta, or there would not be   so many to sing or read! Edmund says courtly love and chivalry are in   high style at court.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Marta yanked at a tangle and Joan grimaced. \"Style an' love. By the   rood, it be just a game they play and doan' ye forget it. A wise   marriage, a landed lord to gi' ye sons, that be what ye need. Ye keep   your mind straight on that, my lass, and I doan' want to hear   sometime that my Lady Joan I reared from a wee bairn been swept off   her two solid feet by some Lancelot ye're always prattlin' about!\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    \"Saints, Marta. It is not prattling. I just think all that heartache   over love in those Camelot romances is immensely amusing, and   besides, I love to set it to my lute and sing it. Do not fear I shall   ever be all fond and silly like Guinevere to moan and pine for a   knight I cannot have. I shall be well enough content to marry--in   several years after I have had my fun--and if my lord agrees to my   freedom.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Joan whirled her back to Marta so the woman could begin the task of   plaiting her hair into two long braids to be coiled over each ear.   Edmund said it was more in style to gather the hair in two huge   netted cauls without braids, but her hair was so bountiful it would   all bounce loose after one jog in the saddle and what would watchdog   Edmund say then?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Marta bit back her tart reply at Joan's last flippant words. Aye,   Edmund, Earl of Kent was right, much as it hurt Marta to admit it.   The lass had been badly spoiled, allowed mayhap to run the grounds   too freely since he was off to king's service and Joan's other older   brother was being reared in the powerful Lord Salisbury's household   far to the north. Only in the last year had Edmund married the Lady   Anne and settled her at Liddell Manor, but Joan paid scant heed to   Anne's meek pronouncement of proper demeanor for a lady.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    And, then there was the dark shadow of Joan's mother, the   long-widowed Lady Margaret. The tragic loss of two husbands had taken   a grim toll on the once lovely, laughing, and strong-willed woman   Marta remembered so vividly from her wedding day to the great   Scottish Lord John Comyn whose family had always been full loyal to   England in the terrible war between the last English king and the   Scottish king, Robert the Bruce. The uniting of Margaret, English   daughter of Lord Wake, to the Comyn clan was one political marriage   that had been happy, and Marta fervently prayed at night on her bony   knees that her Joan might have the same good fortune. Even when Lord   Comyn died, the newly somber Margaret had found happiness a second   time and it was only at her second husband's disgraceful and tragic   death that the Lady Margaret had broken.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Marta surveyed her handiwork, the two huge coils of wheat-colored   hair she had arranged at the sides of Joan's head. The old woman   smiled fondly and her eyes misted. Surely, despite the polish and   sophistication the lass lacked, here was a Plantagenet beauty indeed,   one to rival King Edward's own fair daughters. It would be years   before Joan's rose-and-cream skin would need any touch of court   cosmetics like pomades or lead paste, or the eye colors Marta had   heard Edmund speak of to his wife Anne. Joan was fair of skin, with   glowing cheeks and the full pouting lips men found desirable no   matter what feminine look was supposed to be in style. Joan's head   was a lovely oval shape, her cheekbones high, her brows beautifully   arched with no need for plucking; her nose was straight and elegant   with a slightly pert turn at the end, her lashes darkly fringed for   such a fair blonde; and her eyes, the most haunting color of spring   violets or of highland heather, seemed to darken when she was   angered, which was a bit too often this last month since her lord   brother had made clear his plans for her.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    And the lass's body showed every promise of lush temptation that   would attract many a man, Marta thought, as Joan helped her carefully   settle a clean linen chemise, wool kirtle, and squirrel-lined surcote   over her newly coiffed head. The kirtle, dark blue for riding, was   made of perse, a fine light wool suited to this early May day named   for the Feasts of St. Philip and St. James in the year of 1344. The   kirtle was long-sleeved to ward off road dust; it buttoned from elbow   to wrist with tiny, metal studs forged in the shape of rosebuds. As   was the current Plantagenet style, the gown draped itself closely to   Joan's slender form, accentuating the swell of her high, firm   breasts. The oval collar was scalloped and embroidered with tendrils   of entwined ivy leaves much like those which covered the outer walls   of Liddell Manor and graced the family coat of arms, behind a white,   antlered hart.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Low on Joan's waist, Marta helped her settle a narrow leather belt   tooled in intricate designs and studded with metal ivy leaves. From   the belt hung a lady's dagger. The lass was tall for a maid,   long-waisted and leggy, and she wore the four new kirtles and   surcotes Edmund had ordered for her well, Marta thought proudly. The   sorts of garments Joan had been pleased to romp around the grounds in   these last fourteen years, like this sort of chemise she insisted on   sleeping in--well, all of that was over now, too.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    \"Marta, what are you doing with my sleeping chemise? Give it to me.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    \"Foolish lass. Sit ye carefully on the bench an' we'll get on yer new   riding boots.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    \"I will put the boots on. I will not have you kneeling on this floor,   but give me my chemise, Marta!\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Joan made a grab for it, and the material ripped at the hem as she   pulled it from the woman's grasp. \"I am taking it, Marta! Oh, now   look at it, and I hate to mend. Saints, just go finish the packing,   and I shall put this in last. Dear brother Edmund hates for me to be   late at midmorning meal and just to think I used to skip it entirely   when I had half a notion to!\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Marta bent over the remaining open wood and leather coffer which   would go by packhorse with the traveling party carrying Joan's   worldly goods to court. \"'Tis said at great Edward's court the   fashion for bed be naught but bare skin, my lassie, an' I believe   Lord Edmund told ye that clearly enough the other eve.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    \"I care not. This is what I sleep in. It is comfortable and warmer.   There will probably be dreadful drafts in Windsor Castle or   Westminster or Sheen or wherever they all live. I know I shan't have   my own room and bed anymore--Edmund says three or four queen's ladies   to one room--but I do not care a whit. I shall set my own styles, you   will see, Marta.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Marta kept her eyes on her packing and her mouth shut as she heard   Joan flop down on the bench at the end of her bed and struggle with   her stiff new boots of imported Spanish leather. Aye, Edmund has   spent a pretty penny on the new wardrobe for the lass; yet all his   preaching, his veiled threats even, had not put a halt to the maid's   willfulness.Previously published as Sweet Passion's Pain","brand":"Crown","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46303416352997,"sku":"NP9780307237910","price":21.0,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9780307237910.jpg?v=1767739355","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/es\/products\/the-first-princess-of-wales-isbn-9780307237910","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}