B009RYSCAU EBOK (15 page)

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Sixth of July, 1547—London

I
T WAS A GLORIOUS DAY AND
B
ESS TURNED HER FACE UPWARD TO
the unbroken brilliant blue of the sky.

“Not a cloud in sight,” Jane Grey cried happily.

The tide was going out and the wherry moved swiftly in the sparkling water. They were returning to Dorset House from Whitehall, where Jane had delighted in an unfettered two-hour visit with her cousin King Edward. Bess had been touched to see Jane throw off the cares that usually seemed to weigh her down as she laughed and played. It was the first time she had seen the young king, usually so somber and stiff, behave truly like a boy. He had looked pale and fragile, though, and she had felt a tug at her heart at the thought that he reminded her of her poor Robbie.

Jane put her hand in Bess’s. Her eyes were anxious.

“Will you come to visit me in Chelsea?”

“Of course,” Bess replied. “It’s just down the river, not on the moon.” But she felt a pang of sadness that she would no longer be living in the same house as Jane.

In May, London had been shocked to learn that the widowed Queen Catherine Parr had secretly married her former suitor Thomas Seymour. They were living in Seymour’s manor house in Chelsea, with his mother and the queen’s stepdaughter the Lady Elizabeth. Harry and Frances Grey had recently agreed to Seymour’s proposal that Jane should become his ward and soon she would take up residence in the Seymour household.

“My father says that Thomas Seymour wants me to marry the king,” Jane said. “But Edward Seymour wants me to marry his son, Edward. What do you think of that?”

What Bess thought was that Jane would have little say in the matter. She had heard Lord and Lady Dorset discussing the struggle for power and growing animosity between Thomas Seymour and his brother Edward Seymour, the Lord Protector. The news that old King Henry’s will had placed the Grey girls in the line of succession to the throne after his own children had increased Jane’s value in the marriage market. She was now regarded almost as a princess, just as her parents had always treated her.

“I think,” Bess said, pulling Jane into her arms, “that either of the gentlemen would be lucky to get you. I’m sure your parents will make a wise decision. But fortunately nothing needs to happen for the present.”

“When are you leaving London?” Jane asked. Her voice was sad and Bess felt a lump form in her throat.

“In August. Your mother has most generously offered that we should be married at Bradgate, you know. And then we’ll go to Northaw.”

“I wish you weren’t going so far away.”

“I do, too. And of all the people I’ll be leaving behind, I’ll miss you most. Perhaps you can come to visit.”

The clamor of steel striking stone rose over the water and they both turned to look at the north bank of the river, where a small army of men was at work on the grand new house that the Earl of Somerset was building.

“He tore down a church,” Jane said, shading her eyes against the sun. “It scarcely seems right, even though it was a Papist church.”

“No,” Bess agreed. King Henry’s break with the church and the dissolution of the monasteries had resulted in church properties all over England being turned over to private hands, but it made her sad to think of the destruction of so many beautiful buildings that had stood for so long.

“You won’t forget me, will you?”

Bess turned back to look at Jane. There were tears in Jane’s eyes, and Bess could not hold back her own tears now.

“Of course not. You’re like a little sister to me, sweeting.” She took Jane’s face in her hands and kissed her forehead. “Now listen to me. I want you to remember this when I’m not near to remind you of it. You’re a smart, loving, brave girl. No one who has met you could help loving you. Certainly they could never forget you. You’ll be at my wedding, and we’ll see what we can do to arrange for you to come stay at Northaw later this year. But even when we’re apart, you’ll be at the center of my heart.”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

First of August, 1547—Dorset House, London

B
ESS STARED AGHAST AT HER MOTHER’S LETTER AND READ IT
through again.

I
t grieves me greatly to tell you of a matter involving your sister that touches me to the heart, and which I pray may not cause harm to you. Alice’s husband accuses her of playing him false, and has cast her out of his house. I hoped that once his temper cooled, all could be resolved. But he is not only adamant that he will not take her back, he has sold his family’s old lands, “rather than let bastards be his heirs,” as he says.

How could Alice be so stupid? Bess wondered. To risk the loss of husband and home by committing adultery—what could she gain by it but shame and grief, not only for herself but for all her family? Two families, for Alice’s husband Francis Leche was related to Ralph Leche, stepfather to Alice and Bess.

Bess threw the letter down and paced, her mind whirling. Was it really true? Perhaps Alice’s husband was wrong. But if it were true, what would William think? Would he fear that if her sister could deceive her husband, so might Bess? She felt trapped, afraid to tell him, but fearing that if she didn’t tell him and he later learned of the matter he would know she had done as much as lie to him, which would look as if she had something to hide. No, she would have to tell him, and pray that it did not cause him to reconsider marrying her. She cursed Alice for putting her in such a position, and took up the letter again.

The land that Francis sold has been in the Leche family for generations, and adjoins lands that your father owns, so the family is suing to overturn the sale and have the land returned to them. Unfortunately, Thomas Agarde, who bought the lands, has connections with Thomas Seymour, the Lord High Admiral, who has taken up his fight.

If Thomas Seymour was involved, Bess thought, it was very possible that William would hear of the matter. On the other hand, perhaps William would be able to convince Seymour that the Leches should have their land, which Francis Leche, in his anger, had sold at a bargain price.

* * *

“
I
SEE.”
W
ILLIAM’S FACE WAS GRAVE WHEN HE LOOKED UP FROM THE
letter from Bess’s mother, and Bess watched anxiously as he paced.

“I would never . . .” she began, but could speak no more, and wept with frustration and fear.

William came swiftly to where she sat and stooped to look into her face. “My Bess, dry your tears. Of course I don’t doubt that you would be ever faithful. You are not your sister.”

“I can scarcely believe it’s true, what they say of her,” she said. “But I thank you. For understanding, and for not . . .” She buried her face against his chest, comforted by his familiar scent—wool and soap, cedar from the chests in which he kept his clothes, and a faint whiff of horse.

“No, I don’t question you. I was just pondering how to put this question before my lord.”

“You mean that Edward Seymour might concern himself with whether the lands should be returned to the Leches?” Bess’s hopes rose. Just then sunshine falling through the windows grew brighter as the cloud covering the sun drifted away, and she smiled and wiped her tears.

“I think he will. And if his brother is representing the other party, perhaps it can all be dealt with without the need of going to court.”

Nineteenth of August, 1547—Bradgate House, Leicestershire

Today was the day that Bess and Sir William Cavendish were to be married at the Greys’ home, but the king had unexpectedly summoned William to London a week earlier to deal with urgent treasury matters.

“I will be back by the nineteenth of August,” William had assured Bess as he leaned down from the saddle to kiss her good-bye. “Were it not His Majesty who calls, you know I would not go.”

“I know,” Bess said. “I know how important it is.”

William had told her that when he had become treasurer of the chamber the previous year, the accounts had been in wild disorder. With diligent work he had done much to right them since then, and for his pains he was more than twenty-five thousand pounds richer than he had begun the year. It was a vast amount of money; enough to buy or build a grand home, furnish it, hire the needful servants, and run the household into the bargain. Bess was astonished to hear him talk of such sums, and amazed all over again at his having taken the care to help her secure her dower rights of thirty pounds a year, an amount which at the time she had thought would stand between her and ruin. Her own father had gone to debtors’ prison over a few hundred pounds.

She stood gazing out a window of the upper floor of Bradgate House. From here she could see the road on which William would approach, stretching away into the distance and disappearing at the horizon. No cloud of dust or hint of movement heralded his arrival.

At the dawn of day, she had not worried that William was not yet come. But now, when the sun was past the mark of noon, a shred of doubt crossed her mind. Suppose he had changed his mind? What if he had been thrown into doubt by Alice’s unfaithfulness to her husband? Or perhaps there was another lady in London who had caught his eye, and even at this moment he was with her, or debating whether to proceed with the marriage.

Bess’s gaze fell on the gown in which she was to be married. It was laid out on her bed, its deep blue set off by inner sleeves embroidered with a pattern of leaves and flowers, beside it a new chemise, soft and fine as a cobweb. On the floor lay a pair of new slippers, in buttery kid leather. How many times over the past weeks had she pictured herself in her wedding clothes, standing by William’s side? Should she shut them away again? She didn’t think she would be able to bear it if the sun rose the next morning and still he had not come.

She thought of what a crowd of friends and relations had gathered for the wedding. Her parents, Jem, and her younger sisters had all come from Hardwick—even Alice, repentant and sheepish—and her older sisters and their husbands had traveled from farther afield. Lizzie was here, with William Parr, glorying in his new position of influence as regent and uncle to the king. Doll had come with her husband, a cousin of hers whose mother came of an old Derbyshire family and knew the Hardwicks. Jane Grey had journeyed from London, and she and her seven-year-old sister Kate were Bess’s bridesmaids. And of course the rest of the Grey household was present, including Frances’s stepmother, the Duchess of Suffolk, and her boys.

Two of William’s daughters, twelve-year-old Kitty and seven-year-old Nan, had arrived the day before, pleased to be included in the festivities and shy about meeting their new stepmother. His other girl, Polly, was absent, for she had been simple since birth, and had spent the years since her mother’s death in the close care of the wife of one of William’s tenants, not quite of the family and not quite apart from it.

Bess felt that she must be as nervous as her new stepdaughters, for she wanted them to love her. She thought they had got off to a good start, for they were delighted with the little gifts she had brought them, ribbons and fine lace from London for Kitty and a little doll she had made herself for Nan. And the Grey girls had done their best to welcome the girls, Jane conversing with Kitty, and Kate Grey pleased to meet Nan and have a new friend of just her age.

A host of William’s friends and associates from London had come. His brother George, who had prospered in his long service under Cardinal Wolsey, was an important man, and had helped William rise in the world. Sir John Thynne was steward to William’s patron, Edward Seymour, the Lord Protector. Bess immediately liked young William Cecil, Seymour’s secretary, and understood why her William valued him as a friend. He was another rising man, but warm and plainspoken, a man to be trusted, she thought. His new wife, Mildred, was only a year or two older than Bess herself, and seemed a little shy at the exalted company.

If William failed to come, Bess thought, she would be embarrassed before this host of people. She couldn’t imagine having the strength to face down such shame.

“Ah, Bess.” Frances Grey entered the room and came to Bess’s side at the window. “You’re not to worry, my dear. I have every confidence that William will be here. If not today then tomorrow.”

Frances took her hand, and Bess thought how fortunate she was to have her patronage and support. More than that, her love. She smiled.

“Thank you, my lady. I know you’re right. It’s just that I still wonder sometimes what he sees in me.”

“You don’t give yourself the credit you should. You’re a very intelligent and capable girl, as well as lovely. When Sir William began to work with you to prepare for your court case he told me he was mightily impressed with you in every way. You’d make a fine wife for any man.”

Frances’s words reassured Bess, and that afternoon she distracted herself with a walk with her mother and the Grey and Cavendish girls, luxuriating in the summer sunshine. The entire company of family and friends gathered for supper, a more sumptuous meal than Bess had ever eaten. It was all in her honor, but she was keenly conscious that she was a bride without a bridegroom.

After supper there was music and dancing. As Bess passed down the middle of a laughing and clapping set of dancers on the arm of Harry Grey, she recalled how dazzled she had been during the Zouches’ festivities on Christmas night that first year in London. She remembered the thrill she had felt when Edmund had pulled her off into the shadows with him under the mistletoe, and the intoxicating feeling of his lips on hers and the heat she saw in his eyes. She had never felt like that in William’s company. Of course, he was old enough to be her father, twice widowed already, and he did not behave like a roistering boy. But she hoped that perhaps she might feel some spark of passion and excitement when once he took her in his arms.
If he ever did
, whispered a voice at the back of her head.

The candles were burning low now, and Bess saw that Frances Grey was directing the servants to take away the tarts and sweetmeats, the cold roast and cheeses. The evening was at an end then, and still no sign of William.

“He will come, my darling.” Bess started at the sound of her mother’s voice and hoped she had not been looking forlorn, for she had striven all day to be cheerful.

“I know,” she said. “At least I think he will. He’s a good man, Mother. You’ll like him.”

“Bess!” Frances Grey was hurrying toward them. “William’s secretary Bestenay has just arrived.”

“Without William?” Bess’s heart pounded. Was he not coming, then?

“He brings word, he says, but he will speak only to you.”

Bess glanced at her mother in agitation.

“Come,” her mother said, taking her hand. “Surely Sir William is on his way.”

They found Bestenay in Harry Grey’s office, his cloak heavy with dust and his boots spattered with mud.

“Mistress,” he said as he bowed, “my master bid me tell you that he will be with you this night.”

A surge of relief swept through Bess.

“But where is he?” she cried. “When did he leave London?”

“I left two days ago,” Bestenay said, mopping his ruddy face with his handkerchief, “and he purposed to leave the next morning, as soon as he had finished his business. He bade me tell you that it couldn’t be helped, but that he would make up for his tardiness by what he brought you.”

“I thank you,” Bess said. “Go to the kitchen. They’ll feed you and get you settled.”

Frances Grey nearly collided with Bestenay as he turned to leave. He bowed his apology and hustled away.

“Well, now at least we know when to expect him,” Frances said. “All is in readiness.” She came to Bess’s side and kissed her. “I’ll leave you to your mother’s care.”

“Why don’t you lie down for a while, dear heart?” Bess’s mother urged when they were in Bess’s bedchamber. “I’ll wake you the minute he arrives. After all, you want to be rested for tonight.” She came closer to Bess. “Is there anything you wish to ask me? Perhaps I should have spoken to you sooner about matters between a husband and wife.”

“No,” Bess said, blushing. Robbie had died leaving her a virgin, but as a married woman and a widow she had been privy to many whispered conversations among the giggling ladies at court and in the Zouche and Grey households and she knew what to expect on her wedding night.

“From all that you and Lady Dorset have told me,” her mother said, “Sir William is a kind man and loves you well. I have no doubt he’ll be gentle and patient.”

As it turned out it was near midnight before Bess’s mother woke her with the news that William had arrived. Bess threw on a loose gown and ran barefoot down the stairs. He stood in the great hall, bundled in a traveling cloak, his hair awry. When he saw Bess, he hastened to her and clasped her to him.

“I’m so sorry, my own love. I couldn’t help the delay. I didn’t mean to worry you.”

His arms were tight around her and his body was cold from the night air, but Bess felt happy and safe now that he was with her.

“We can wait until tomorrow for the wedding,” she assured him. “You must be ready to drop with exhaustion.”