Henry knows he's playing with fire, simply by entertaining such an idea in private -- that he shouldn't flatter himself by thinking Richard's looks and smiles have any particular freight of meaning with regards to himself alone. He doesn't know what to make of his good-natured attention any more, of conciliatory gestures aimed at Henry alone -- the constant push and pull suggesting he really would like to still be friends, even as the summer heat rises steadily outside the lovers' garden of wherever Richard holds court. The summer's heat stinks of horses and fresh-scoured armor and blood in the fields of France.

How good it would be, if they could all play together like children, Henry and Mary and Richard and Anne and all their young friends, with Robert de Vere visiting every other Tuesday. Richard would very much like to trust his restless cousins; he would like to have a family and not simply a court. And his heart is open to the ones he loves. He might love his cousins, even if it's doubtful he'll ever come to embrace his uncles.

Henry knows it, and the greater part of the outrage is this -- that Richard can prove so obliging and so tractable and yet to the wrong people. If Richard did come to love him -- the way he loves Robert de Vere, boyishly, blindly -- how was Henry supposed to dignify this or to profit from it? By using his own example to guide him well, to set him right again. If he could find some brotherly place in Richard's affections, Gaunt would hardly complain. Gaunt would throw a fucking party, if Henry's bluff good nature showed signs of charming Richard back into line. But he'd forever be his father's agent, an infiltrator -- and there should be no shame in arguing for the better course of action. Not, of course, that Richard is an innocent, whether one led by his heart or regions more southerly -- his anger is a slow-burning fuse, his affability rests on conditions and could just as easily turn to bitter hate.

Henry could love him for what he is, with a full heart. But it's inconvenient enough as it is. In the end he'll be almost grateful he never fully found favor with his princely cousin, if only because it spares him the anxiety of choice.