Rosamund (32 page)

The following day the royal escort arrived, and at its head was a gentleman who introduced himself as Sir Thomas Bolton, Lord Cambridge.

“We are distantly related,” Sir Thomas informed Rosamund as he looked around her little hall with a sharp eye. “Our great-grandfathers were first cousins,” he explained. “I have always wondered what this Friarsgate looked like. I actually knew my great-grandsire. He died when I was seven, but he loved to tell stories of this Cumbria where he had been raised. It is beautiful, I will grant you, but my God, lady, how do you bear the want of civilized company?”

Under other circumstances Rosamund would have been greatly offended, but for some reason she wasn’t certain of she had taken an immediate liking to Sir Thomas. He was of medium height and stockily built. He had beautiful blond hair that had been cut in a very elegant bob with bangs across his high forehead. His curious eyes were the same amber as her own. His clothing was simply gorgeous, and quite obviously the height of style. How he managed to look so perfectly turned out after his days on the road she could not imagine. But it was his manner that delighted her, for there was absolutely no malice in it no matter what he said. And Sir Thomas said a great deal.

“I am content, my lord, to live a quiet life,” she answered him. “I take my responsibility to Friarsgate seriously.”

“Indeed,” Sir Thomas sighed, and he flung himself into a chair. “With the proper clothing, my darling, you would be simply spectacular.” Then he pierced her with a sharp look. “I like you, cousin, and I am going to
take you beneath my wing, but first you must give me something to drink, for I am perishing with thirst, and then you must tell me how you were invited to court. I am weak with curiosity, dear girl.”

Rosamund giggled. She just couldn’t help it. She had never in her whole life met anyone like Sir Thomas. She poured him a pewter goblet of cider, fearing her rustic wine would insult his palate, and handed it to him.

He sipped, looked at her over the goblet, and then drained it down, holding it out for more. “Excellent, and pressed just recently. Am I right, darling girl? When in the country . . .” he said with a smile. “Now, tell me the answer to my question, cousin Rosamund.”

“I was at court as a ward of King Henry VII for a brief time. I met the Princess of Aragon then. When I returned home, the wife of Sir Owein Meredith, we fell into a correspondence. After my husband died the queen called me to court. She means to cheer me, I know, but I should far rather remain here,” Rosamund told him.

“Oh, I am sure you would, cousin, but the queen is right in this matter. A visit to court will help you through the worst of the doldrums. I remember Sir Owein. He was an honorable man, and loyal, if perhaps a bit dull. Now do not be offended. Many good men are dull, but it means naught unless you are bored to death by them, and you were obviously not bored, I can see.” His gaze went to the end of the hall, where Philippa, Banon, and Bessie stood gazing in both awe and amazement at the sight of the beautifully fashionable Sir Thomas Bolton. “Are these your daughters? How charming they are,” Sir Thomas said.

“We lost a son,” Rosamund said as if to defend her lack.

“Ah, poor girl! Another tie with the queen,” he remarked. Then he said, “We will depart tomorrow, cousin, if that is suitable. You are ready, I hope. The autumn is late, and I fear the road should the snows come early. The trip was far longer than I anticipated.”

Rosamund had refilled his cup, which he now sipped. “How,” she queried, sitting opposite him by the hearth, “is it that you were chosen to accompany me, Sir Thomas?”

“I overhead the king saying his wife was inviting the lady of Friarsgate
to court. I immediately asked his highness, or his majesty, as he now prefers to be styled, and most recherché, I think, if the lady was a Bolton by birth, and this Friarsgate was in Cumbria. When he answered aye to both of my questions, I explained that I was your most distant cousin. When the queen learned of it, and of my curiosity about Friarsgate, she assigned me the task of coming north to escort you, dear cousin. And thank heavens she did! There is so much that has happened at court since you were there last. I shall catch you up on all the best gossip, some of which may even have a bit of truth in it. Now, take me to see your wardrobe, so I may decide what needs help before we depart. I hope what you are wearing isn’t a sample of what you intend to bring to court, my darling.”

“Nay,” Rosamund said, laughing despite the insult. “I purchased material in Carlisle, and the mercer’s wife had recent sketches from her sister in London.”

Sir Thomas shuddered and made a face. “I can but imagine,” he said with a great sigh.

“But I am already packed, sir,” Rosamund protested.

“My darling cousin, we can always repack. What we cannot do is erase the impression you will give the court with a bad fashion appearance. Lead on!” He set down his pewter cup and stood up.

Rosamund laughed again. Aye, she did like this cousin who had appeared out of the blue to bring her to court. “Come along, then, but be advised that my gowns are sober in both color and style. I am, after all, in mourning for my husband, Sir Thomas.”

“Just Tom, or cousin,” he told her, and as he passed the three little girls, he stopped, and reaching into his doublet, brought forth a handful of sweetmeats, which he casually gave them. Then he continued on, following Rosamund up the stairs of the house to her bedchamber.

They entered, and Rosamund said to Annie, “This is my cousin, Sir Thomas Bolton, who has come to escort us south, Annie. He wants to see my gowns. Unpack them now.”

“Yes, m’lady,” Annie said, eyes wide as she viewed Sir Thomas.

“What kind of jewelry do you possess?” he demanded to know.

Rosamund fetched the small velvet bag and poured it onto the bed so he might view it.

His long graceful fingers pushed the ornaments about, and then he pronounced, “The pearls and the broach with the emeralds and pearls are worthy of you. The rest is not. You will leave them behind.”

“But I have nothing else,” she told him.

“I do,” he said. “My branch of the family is quite filthy rich, darling girl. I have jewelry to spare, and no wife to wear it.”

“Why do you have no wife?” she asked him. “You would, I think, be considered a most eligible parti, cousin.”

He smiled and patted her hand. “I do not wish a wife,” he said simply. “A wife,” he explained, “should encumber me. I am, I fear, a selfish man who prefers his pleasures to siring a brood of puling offspring, all waiting for me to die so that they can squander my wealth so carefully built up by my family. I am, darling girl, quite capable of squandering my wealth all by myself. I shall bedeck you in the family gems, and I shall probably have a slightly more fashionable wardrobe, in more cheerful hues, made for you after a short while.” He eyed the gowns Annie spread out for him to view. “Not bad,” he finally said. “A bit conservative, but not bad at all considering the source. The mercer’s wife did well by you, and I am surprised. These will do for a start. Repack, Annie, for we are leaving in the morning, though not too early. Just early enough to reach St. Cuthbert’s by sunset. Do you know it at all?”

“My uncle Richard has just been elected its new prior,” Rosamund said. “Come back into the hall with me, cousin, and I shall tell you of the family’s most recent history. In return you will tell me how a Bolton from Friarsgate ended up in the south a rich man.”

He chuckled. “I am glad to see you are not some silly milk-and-water creature like so many of the women about the queen. All so very fashionable, all so very proper, all so terribly proud of their perfect breeding, and frankly not a bit of sense or backbone among them all.” He followed her downstairs into the hall where Edmund had come in from the estate and Maybel was now directing the servants as they prepared for the evening meal. They would have sixteen extra mouths to feed this night,
and the tables were already laid with bowls and spoons and polished wooded cups.

“This is Sir Thomas Bolton, Lord Cambridge,” Rosamund said to them. “This is my uncle Edmund and his wife, Maybel, who raised me after my parents died.”

Edmund came forward and shook Sir Thomas’ hand. “You will be descended from Martin Bolton,” he said. “You are welcome to Friarsgate, my lord.”

“You know who he is?” Rosamund said. “Why is it that I have never heard of this offshoot of our family?”

“There was no need for you to know about them,” Edmund said with practical sense.

“Come and sit at the high board,” said Maybel, awed by the elegance of Sir Thomas.

They seated themselves, and Edmund continued. “Several generations back there were twins born into the family. Henry and Martin. Henry, the firstborn, was to inherit Friarsgate. Martin, the second-born twin, was to marry his first cousin, the daughter of a very wealthy London merchant, for Henry and Martin’s mother had come up from London. Martin went down to London when he was sixteen, and at eighteen the marriage took place. A son was born, but then Martin’s wife caught the eye of King Edward IV. The foolish lass, I am told, allowed herself to be seduced, then killed herself in shame. Has the story reached my ears intact, Sir Thomas?”

“Remarkably so, cousin Edmund. Now I shall finish it. The king was not a bad fellow, just amorous. He felt guilty for what he had done and what had happened to Martin’s wife as a result, particularly as Martin and his father-in-law had supported King Edward and been most generous in forgiving his debts to them. So the king created Martin Bolton, Lord Cambridge, and gave him another wife, the daughter of minor nobility and a small holding in Cambridge. He withdrew from the business and left that to his former father-in-law and others who seemed to have a great knack for increasing the family wealth. We have lived to be amused ever since,” he concluded with a grin.

Now it was Rosamund’s turn to explain how Sir Thomas had ended up
as her escort. She finished by saying, “We shall leave in the morning after the mass and after we have broken our fast.”

When she had finished the evening meal, Rosamund departed to her chamber. Edmund took Sir Thomas aside and related the story of his niece’s life to date. “She is wise in many ways,” he explained, “but sometimes a bit too trusting, I fear, as she has been very lucky in her friends and husbands. You are our kin. Will you give me your solemn pledge to look after her?”

“I will,” Lord Cambridge promised. “You have my word. Now tell me why you are not lord here. Was Rosamund’s sire the elder? I understand her uncle is prior of St. Cuthbert’s.”

“I am the eldest of our father’s sons,” Edmund said. “My brother Richard was the second born, but we were on the wrong side of the blanket. Rosamund’s father, our brother Guy, was the first legitimate born, and lastly came Henry. While Richard, Guy, and I were all as close as brothers can be, Henry always looked upon his two eldest bastard siblings with disdain, despite the fact that our father loved us all. He has never gotten over the fact that Rosamund survived the death of her parents and her brother to become the heiress to Friarsgate.” Then Edmund explained the story further.

“Sir Hugh was a clever fellow to have outsmarted our greedy relation so well,” Sir Thomas noted with a grin. “So that is how she came to court. I do not recall her, but then I would not have been in the slightest interested in a little maid in the queen’s household. Besides, I lived in terror of the Venerable Margaret. She was a true dragon!”

“Rosamund was quite fond of her,” Edmund said, “and grateful to her for arranging the marriage with Sir Owein.”

“Of course,” Sir Thomas said. He had heard enough. He yawned. “Show me where I am to lay my head, cousin Edmund. It has been a long journey from London, and the journey back, while more pleasant for Rosamund’s company, will be long as well.”

Edmund arose. “Come along, then,” he said, and Sir Thomas followed him from the hall.

D
eparting Friarsgate on the last day of November, they traveled south, stopping at St. Cuthbert’s where Sir Thomas was introduced to his distant relation, Prior Richard Bolton. To Rosamund’s surprise the two men were quite compatible. She would not have thought the flamboyant Thomas and the urbane Richard could have been friends, yet they forged an immediate bond that she had to admit was to her own, and the family’s, good.

“Does Henry know you have gone to court?” Richard asked his niece as they supped in his private dining room that evening.

“It is not necessary that I inform him of my comings and my goings,” Rosamund replied. “I thought it better he not be aware that my daughters are without their mother. Winter will soon set in, and he will keep to Otterly, especially as Mavis is wont to roam. I should be back in the spring before he even knows I am gone.”

“Mata will keep me informed,” the prior answered her. “We will see the lasses are kept safe, dear niece.”

“Mata seems to be a font of information for all,” Rosamund said sharply. “He sent to the Hepburn of Claven’s Carn that I was widowed. Just two days ago that brazen Scot came courting me,” she said indignantly, her color now high.

“What is this?” Sir Thomas’ eyes were leaping with curiosity. “You have a brazen Scots suitor? My dear, I am impressed!”

“He would be my suitor, but I will not have him,” Rosamund
responded, but she was near laughter. Her cousin Tom, it seemed, had the uncanny ability to make her laugh.

“Oh,” His voice fell, and his look was most disappointed. “I have never met a brazen Scot,” he said. “Is he
very
brazen?”

“Extremely,” she told him. “He claims to have been in love with me since I was six and he saw me at a cattle fair at Drumfrie,” Rosamund explained. “Have you ever heard such nonsense?”

“I think it wildly romantic, dear girl,” Sir Thomas answered with a melodramatic sigh. “The man has waited for you through three husbands. What devotion! What fidelity! Why, I believe he is actually in love with you, Rosamund. How rare a thing is love. But you do not understand that with your practical heart, do you?”

“Hugh and Owein both loved me,” she said heatedly, “and I loved them, cousin. I know love.”

“Hugh Cabot loved you like a daughter. Owein Meredith loved you because he was grateful to you. This brazen Scot, as you style him, loves you only for yourself, dear cousin. Visit the queen at court, and then come back to him. Oh, play him like a salmon on a tight line if you will amuse yourself, but then let him catch you. You will never regret it, I suspect,” Lord Cambridge said.

“The Hepburn of Claven’s Carn is a bit wild,” Prior Richard said, “but he is a good man, niece. A respectable woman such as yourself could make the difference for him and his clan branch.”

“My lords!” Both her tone and her look was exasperated. “I am not of a mind to wed again. Friarsgate has three heiresses. It is safe from Uncle Henry and his brood, for I shall seek husbands for my lasses from afar. But if I were to wed again, I should make my own choice of a husband this time. I am weary of being instructed that because I am a woman I must do what I am told. Friarsgate has never been more prosperous than it is with me. Aye, Edmund and Owein aided me, but the decisions I have made have kept my manor flourishing. I am capable of making all decisions involving me and those in my charge.”

“God’s nightshirt!” Thomas swore lightly, and then he said, “Your pardon, prior. Rosamund, I advise you not to be so outspoken before the king
and queen. The king does not like women who are forward, and the motto the queen has taken is something saintly and to do with serving and obeying. I can tell you the king was mightily pleased by it. This friendship you have formed can prove valuable to our family. Do not ruin it. No one, I am certain, will force you to wed again, and especially against your will. You will not be at court long enough for the queen to interfere in your life. Frankly, dear girl, you are not important enough. You may successfully hide yourself behind your mourning and your widowhood. Queen Katherine respects and understands such traditions. It is not necessary for you to become voluble regarding your feelings. If the king should wonder how your estate is managed, you will fall back on your uncle Edmund and Owein and Prior Richard. I beg you, dear cousin, to accept my advice to you.”

“I think,” the prior said smoothly, “that my niece merely needed to express her emotions this one time. She has lived since her earliest years beneath a great burden and strain. You have not met my brother Henry. He can be a most difficult man.”

Rosamund burst out laughing, her humor restored. “Aye,” she agreed, “Uncle Henry is
difficult,
and more so now that his wife is cuckolding him with every man who winks at her. But at least it has kept him home at Otterly more, and less prone to attempt to interfere at Friarsgate.” Then she turned to Sir Thomas. “I promise to be a model of feminine decorum while I am at court, cousin. And I am grateful for your advice. It is good counsel, I know.”

They set out in the morning, after bidding Richard Bolton farewell, and traveled south again. The nights were spent at monasteries or convents, and occasionally as they drew closer to London, at inns. She had never before overnighted at such establishments. After eight days the spires of London finally came into view, but Sir Thomas did not take her into the city. Instead they turned off the high road onto a smaller path that led to a village on the city’s outskirts. It was here that Sir Thomas Bolton had a house on the river.

“This,” he told Rosamund, “will be your home while you are in London, dear cousin.”

“Am I not to be at court with the queen?” she asked him, a trifle confused.

“Indeed, in a day or two, after you have rested, you will present yourself to the queen. Indeed, you may remain with her, but it is advisable to have a place away from the court where you may come for your privacy. The court is very crowded, especially now. You are not important or wealthy enough to be given your own apartment or a small room. You know from your previous visit that you will sleep wherever you can and will have very little space for your belongings. It is my advice that you leave them, or most of them, here in your own rooms, especially your fine jewels.”

“Is that your house?” Rosamund looked up at the mansion they were now approaching. It was built of weathered brick, some of which was covered in shiny green ivy, had a gray slate roof, and stood four stories high.

“Aye,” he said. “That is Bolton House, and it is at your disposal, dear girl.”

“I have never seen so fine a house,” Rosamund told him honestly. “Even the Venerable Margaret’s house was not as fine.”

He chuckled. “And it is so easy to get into the city from here. I have my own dock and barge. I shall obtain another barge and hire a pair of bargemen so you will have your own personal transport. We will have the bench in the cabin upholstered in sky-blue velvet, and in the spring you shall have a blue and gold awning to sit beneath when you are outside on the deck. It shall be fine enough to take you all the way downriver to Greenwich.”

“Oh, Tom, you spoil me!” Rosamund said, clapping her hands together. “I have never had my own barge, nor even the need for one. I shall feel quite grand.”

He laughed. “We shall have such a fine time, you and I, now that you have come to court. And when you wish to return home, I shall gladly escort you. I am dying to meet your brazen Scot, my dear girl. You have not told me. Is he dark, or fair?”

“His hair is black and most unruly,” she said. It did not discomfit her to speak on Logan Hepburn now that he was so far away. “And his eyes are a blue-blue. I have never seen any like them.”

“I am already intrigued,” Lord Cambridge said.

They rode through the iron gates that enclosed the park belonging to Bolton House, and down the gravel pathway to the dwelling. There they stopped, and stablemen hurried forth to take their horses from them, saying, “Welcome home, my lord. Welcome, my lady.” The front door to the house was opened, and they entered. Lord Cambridge nodded at his majordomo as they passed beneath the threshold, and then Sir Thomas led his guest into his hall.

It was a wonderful room with a coffered ceiling and great leaded paned windows that looked out over the river. The room ran the entire length of the house. It was paneled, and at one end there was a large fireplace with a fire now burning in it. The firedogs were actually large iron mastiffs. The floor of the chamber was covered in carpets. Rosamund knew what they were for she had seen them before in the royal houses. They came from an eastern land. There were several tapestries decorating the wall. The furniture was of oak, beautifully wrought and obviously well kept. There were bowls of potpourri scenting the air, and on a sideboard there was a silver tray with several decanters and goblets.

“What a beautiful room!” Rosamund told her cousin. She went to the window and looked out. “I shall find it difficult to go to court now, Tom. I could live here in this house forever.”

“You would miss your beloved Friarsgate,” he teased her.

“Probably I would,” she said, nodding, “but I think I shall love this house as much. It is comfortable.”

He chuckled. “I fear that is my humble background showing, dear girl. I know all the right things to do and to say, but I must, I simply must, but comfortable in my own home. Let the others go for an overabundance of elegance in their living quarters. I shall keep such graces for my wardrobe, which can be seen by all, and not just a favored few. What good is it to be wealthy if you cannot flaunt your riches before your friends?” he said with a grin.

“Are you liked?” she asked him mischievously.

He laughed. “Of course,” he told her. “My wit and my generosity are
legend, dear girl. Come now, and sit by the fire. I will pour you a dram of my excellent sherry.”

“I shall not think you generous if you give me but a dram, Tom,” she said dryly. “And dare I mention that I am ravenous? We have not eaten since morning, so determined you were to sleep in your own bed tonight. We did not even stop at midday.”

“I could not abide another night of flea-infested mattresses and monastery fish, as it is Advent and a penitential season. I am sure I do not remember ever having denied myself in Advent. We shall eat shortly, I promise, and the meal will be a revelation, for my cook is a miracle in himself.”

Now it was Rosamund who laughed. “You say such funny things, dearest Tom. I am not certain that I understand you half of the time you are chattering at me. You must remember that I am a simple country lass, cousin.”

“Country perhaps,” he said, “but simple? Nay, my dear Rosamund, no one who took the time to know you would say you were simple. If you are to get on at court, however, I would suggest that you practice your simpering a bit. Simpering, and a low neckline, always gets a lady far.”

“I am who I am,” Rosamund told him proudly. “The Venerable Margaret liked me. Once when he was a prince, young Henry sought to seduce me, but you will not repeat that, cousin. If the man who is now king liked me, then I have naught to fear. Besides, I have come because the queen wants to comfort me and give me pleasure in return for my aid to her when she was brought so low. I find it odd that those who scorned her, who never lifted a finger to help her in those desperate hours, should now be so high in her favor. And they are the same people who looked down on me when I was last at court and will no doubt look down on me once again.”

He nodded. “You are wise to understand the lay of this land, cousin. And those very men and women who now stand in royal favor would as quickly fall away should the queen be out of the king’s favor. True friends are not easy to find, Rosamund. Queen Katherine knows it.”

“When shall I present myself to the queen?” Rosamund asked.

“I want you to take a day to rest from your travels. Perhaps even two
days. Tomorrow I will go to court and tell the queen that we have arrived. We will follow her directive,” Lord Cambridge said. “But it must be soon.”

The servants began bringing in the meal now, and so they adjourned to the high board, which was placed facing the river. The meal was exquisite. Rosamund ate with her usual hearty appetite. There were prawns that had been steamed in white wine and were served with a mustard-dill sauce. There were wafer-thin slices of salmon braised in red wine and served with wedges of lemon. There was a fat duck stuffed with apple, pears, and raisins. It had been roasted golden brown and was served with a sweet sauce of intensely flavored dried plums. There was roasted beef, three ribs standing upon a platter, minced game birds in individual small pastries, and a ragout of rabbit. Artichokes in white wine and butter were served, and Lord Cambridge showed his cousin how to eat them with delicacy. There was a salad of braised lettuces. The bread was freshly baked and still warm as she tore off a piece. The butter was newly churned and sweet. There were two varieties of cheese. One was a hard yellow cheddar, and the other a soft runny Brie that came from France, Tom told her. Lastly came a pastry with a latticed crust filled with apples and pears that had been baked and was now served with a clotted cream.

Rosamund finally sat back, replete, a smile upon her face. “Cousin,” she said, “if a man may indeed be called a miracle then your cook is certainly one. I have never eaten such a delicious meal away from Friarsgate. The meats were all fresh, and your cook did not overspice, for he had nothing to hide. I shall eat here as often as I dare while I am in London.”