Sumerford's Autumn

by Barbara Gaskell Denvil

  He laughed. “That wasn’t what I had in mind as the education I’m offering.”

  “Oh. That.” Seeing the laugh in his eyes, Alysson avoided his gaze, quickly looking down at her toes and the flurry of her hems caught in the wind.

  Ludovic frowned. “Not nervous are you, my love?”

  “What should I be nervous about?” Alysson demanded. “You mean about – the wedding night? Do you? I hope you don’t expect me to be a frightened little virgin because I won’t be.”

  “I expect only bliss.” Ludovic grinned and gathered her closer. The wind had begun to bluster, curling around the battlements and blowing wisps of sea cloud down over the tops of the stone towers. A thin chill haze slipped low. “Time to go back down,” he said, “before you catch cold and I have to delay the wedding and spoil that bliss. But I need you to myself. Or do you want your own chambers, my love?”

  “If you start being polite and asking my opinion all the time,” said Alysson, “I shall think it’s you who’s ill. And of course I don’t want my own rooms. What on earth for? The pleasure of Ilara and Dulce squeezing me half to death again? No thank you. Couldn’t we walk in the gardens instead?”

  Ludovic shook his head. “The sun’s heading west and the wind’s increasing.” He began to walk with her back to the narrow stone steps. He did not explain himself further but when they reached the deep darkness of the long corridor below, he stopped abruptly and pulled her again into his embrace. The shadows fell suddenly black, the warmth disappeared with the light, and the damp enclosed them. Then he leaned her back to the wall, bent and kissed her hard.

  She felt the curl of his lashes against her cheek, the slight roughness of his jaw and the heat of his breath. He held her firm against him but his other hand roamed, discovering the soft silk warmth of her heartbeat. Then his fingers pushed up, sliding over her breast and pressing around her nipple. She gasped, her mouth imprisoned by his, but she made no attempt to pull away. His hands continued to travel, reaching for the yielding flesh above the trimming of her gown. His fingertips smoothed across the curve, savouring her nakedness, then dipping quickly into her cleavage, finding her breast once again. She stood very still, holding her breath. Then he moved back a little, released her from his kissing, and looked down. She caught the glint of his eyes in the darkness.

  “I take a woman’s silence as permission,” he said softly, “but with you, my love, I should beware my own arrogance. Stop me if you will.”

  Alysson took a deep breath. With her inhalation, her breasts swelled against Ludovic’s palm. “I don’t want you to stop,” she whispered. “I’ve imagined this for so long. Lying in that miserable place, trying not to think of what might happen, I dreamed of you instead. I dreamed of you making love to me.”

  He smiled and she felt his fingers tighten on her. “And what did you dream, my precious girl?”

  “I wasn’t sure.” She buried her head against his chest and closed her eyes. “I imagined – lots of things – but I didn’t really know, you see. Jenny told me what to do at the start, but she never really – explained everything. Not in a nice way. She made it sound terribly – rude and painful and sordid. But I don’t mind it being sordid if it’s with you.”

  She found herself flying. He had gathered her up, feet swept from the ground and knees tucked to his waist. He carried her the few short dark steps towards his own chambers, kicked open the door and marched into the sudden light. The door slammed back against the inside wall with a shuddering crash and the servants hovering within all leapt up in shock. The page who had been sitting cross legged on the rug practising reading his book of psalms, fell flat on his face with a squeak. The two men brushing out Ludovic’s clothes in the garderobe came running out white faced.

  “Out,” said Ludovic and everybody ran.

  He strode into the inner chamber where the great bed rose like a curtained throne, the unshuttered window still bright with waning sunlight and the velvets and silks glowing in the late summer glow. He laid Alysson on the bed and sat immediately on the edge, facing her.

  “Come to me now,” he said.

  Alysson felt herself unusually hot. “You want to call the priest? Now?”

  Ludovic grinned. “Certainly not. We can do without him.” He reached out and took her hand again, more gently this time. “My father has the ring. We should still go through with the ceremony he’s arranged at the church, with the banns read and the witnesses present. But I don’t need to wait to prove there’s nothing sordid in loving. Take me now, if you want me.”

  “I want you,” she breathed.

  He sat a little closer, his face bright on one side where the sunshine turned his hair pure gold, the other side etched in shadows below the cheekbone and around the crease of his widening smile. “In my heart, this’ll be my wedding night. I give you my hand and my body,” he said, “and claim you as mine.”

  Alysson hiccupped. “I’ll be a good wife, Ludovic. I promise I’ll try.”

  “I’ll show you how.”

  She was propped against pillows and bolster, her skirts spread across the furs and velvets of the bedcover. He held her eyes with his smile as he slipped his hands to her ankles beneath her hems, quickly removing both her shoes and tossing them to the floor. His hands returned to her ankles, his palms warm against the thin knitted wool of her stockings, pushing up her skirts to her knees. She trembled slightly.

  He bent over her, his eyes bright, his breath in her ear. “Nervous after all, my beloved? Shall I put up the shutters?”

  “No. Don’t make it dark,” she gulped. “I don’t think I want to be seen. But I want to see you. I want to see you beautiful and naked and sunlit.” The hiccups had come back. “Is that – wrong?”

  He laughed. “Wonderfully unexpected.” His hands had found the tops of her stockings where the little garters were tied tight around her thighs. Still watching her expression intently, his fingers quickly pulled at the knots and sprang the ribbons loose. He began to roll her stockings down. His hands, deft with a woman’s intimate clothing, were warm and brisk.

  Alysson sat very still holding her breath. She wondered if she should be doing something herself. “I don’t know how to undo a man’s lacings,” she whispered.

  Ludovic laughed again. “I shall show you. But this first.” He pulled each stocking from her toes, tossing the little rolled bundles aside to where her shoes lay discarded. At last he removed his intensity from her face and looked down at where his hands were so busy. He had raised her skirts, his palms back to her thighs. Then he leaned forwards and kissed her again. As his tongue pushed deep past her lips, one hand crept up around her shoulders, the other to her waist where he quickly unhooked her stomacher and then the hooks of her gown.

  She pulled away a little, blinking up at him, suddenly timid. “Perhaps,” she whispered, “the dark would be kinder after all.”

  Ludovic laughed again and shook his head. “Too late.” He reached down and grasping the double swathes of materials at their hems, swept her chemise and gown up together and lifted them high over her head until they fell to the ground beside the bed.

  Alysson’s curls tumbled around her face as she sat quite naked on his bed. She crossed her arms hurriedly over her breasts, squeezing her legs together and blushing. He watched her for a moment with a curious expression she had never seen before, then gently took her hands in his and uncrossed her arms, bringing them around to his own back. Then he pressed onto her, kissing her eyes and her ears and the corners of her mouth, and down her neck to her shoulders. Finally he kissed her breasts. He felt her quiver, and sat back with a reluctant smile.

  “Too fast, my precious? It’s been so long. I’m impatient and want you too much.”

  She tried to smile, though it went lop sided. Without his body wrapped tight to her, she felt suddenly cold. “I’ve never seen a man naked,” she said tentatively. “Only little boys. Is it the same?”

  Ludovic smiled down at her and stood, tall
and straight beside the bed where the sunbeams spun a halo around him, lighting his back and leaving him in shadow. He began to undress. Alysson watched him unlace his doublet and pull it off, shrug his shirt over his head, and release the points of his hose, braies and codpiece. When he stood quite naked in front of her, he was still smiling.

  “Well? Is it the same?” he asked softly.

  “Oh no,” she whispered. “It isn’t the same at all.”

  Chapter Fifty-Nine

  Autumn flecked scarlet and golden across the Bedfordshire countryside. Through the Clifton House parks with their low hedges and angular paths, the sun lit each leaf in gaudy colour, a fluttering of copper willow and saffron beech. The Lady Alysson wandered the grounds of her new home, her hand clutching tightly to her husband’s sleeve and creasing his flowing velvets. It was, he remarked, as though she expected him to run away if allowed free, to dissolve perhaps, or melt in the sunshine.

  “It could still all be a dream,” she nodded. “You could be a phantasm.”

  Ludovic had almost forgotten the ghost in his life. He had decided he preferred reality after all.

  The Countess of Sumerford had not attended her only remaining son’s nuptials. A message was sent, excusing herself with explanations of ill health, but it was not written by her own hand. Following soon after the previous heir’s funeral with the earl and his entire household officially in mourning, the marriage ceremony had been intended as a small and private affair, the priest officiating at the porch of the little village church. Alysson had at first been amazed when most of the villagers and almost every one of the castle staff had appeared through the trees and across the village green, clustering outside and climbing the churchyard’s low wall. They had cheered, and clapped, danced and sung. There was great approval for the new heir, and for his unexpected wife. After the misery of the last weeks, it was a good time to celebrate. The earl, standing a little aside, had smiled quietly. Ludovic had laughed and Alysson had blushed the same colour as her new gown.

  They had left for Bedfordshire the next day, taking the journey in easy stages and resting frequently, their lengthy entourage requiring a slow pace. Alysson had first seen her new home glowing mellow brick under the late afternoon sunshine, the long rows of windows reflecting the light and the flutter of the leaf. Huge chimneys peeped up through the surrounding greenery, and oaks and willows stretched to either side, marking the pathway to the stables and outhouses. The parklands were arranged behind, wide and open between clipped hedges, then sloping down to the lake where the fish were kept, and the trees grew thicker again.

  But it was the interior that delighted Alysson the most for she could remember no house like it. Larger than anything she had known except Sumerford castle, yet far warmer and more intimate, the furnishings were elaborate and fresh in their sunny silks, and the many large windows welcomed in the light. There was no damp stone nor icy draughts. There was no mildew on worn stair treads, no mould creeping up the bedchamber walls nor moss clinging to the ceiling beams. The grand staircase was a great sweep of dark carved wood, wide enough for four. No narrow stone steps wound steeply up, no towers brooded from their cloud cover, no freezing battlements collected the winter’s snow in slippery banks, and no open arrow slits let in the whine of wind or sleet. The sea did not pound through her dreams, nor the wail of gulls, and instead Alysson heard the blackbird announce the dawn before the cockerels crowed and bustle began.

  It was still courtship more than marriage, but Alysson learned as she had promised. When she asked questions and Ludovic answered, because I love you, it was not enough.

  “I need to understand more than that. Love means lots of things. Vymer loved Humphrey,” she whispered one night from the security of Ludovic’s embrace. “He idolised him as a brother and a master. Vymer was a terrible man, but he was sad too. And it was sad that Humphrey killed him, who loved him so. And then your mother, who loved Humphrey most of all -”

  “Hush my beloved.” Ludovic’s warm breath tickled her ear. They lay naked together in the gentle sweat after love-making, and his hand was on her breast. “This isn’t the same love that we have. I’m bitterly sorry for what my family has done to you, but I swear you’ll always be safe with me.”

  “I won’t forgive your mother, but I feel sorry for her too.”

  “More memories?” Ludovic murmured. “Does it help, or hinder, to speak of them?”

  “It helps, now I feel so safe. It tames them,” Alysson said. “And I try to make sense of what happened.”

  “There’s no sense to madness.”

  “Is your mother – just perhaps – a little mad as well?” Alysson sighed. “I don’t think so. But now she’s lost everything. Oh, she still has your father of course, but they don’t like each other at all. Just seeing her seemed to annoy him and he used to hit her. Sometimes she had so many bruises she had to disguise them with lead powder. They could both be so cruel.”

  “I don’t expect you to forgive my parents, little one.” Ludovic pulled her closer. “I can only promise never to become like either of them.”

  Alysson peeped up at him. His hair was in his eyes, his face relaxed and peaceful. “You’re very meek these days,” she whispered. “But remember, I knew you before. You won’t always be like this.”

  “I’ve been through my own nightmares, beloved. I’ve changed. Grown.”

  “Grown? If you grow any more, my love, I shall have to sleep in separate quarters after all.”

  He chuckled. “Brat. Go to sleep. I’ve a long day tomorrow, since I’ve word that both Kenelm and Hussey are back in dock.”

  “I’ll come to London with you,” Alysson said at once. “And Ilara will want to see Kenelem. But I’m glad we don’t ever have to go to court, though London will be exciting.”

  He smiled, eyes closed. “One day the summons will come from the king, and we’ll have to attend court, my love. I’ve a duty as heir to the title and once Tudor decides to forgive and forget, he’ll demand our presence. He needs allies. These claims to the throne have rattled him. Now he’s old and sick before his time, and his sons still too young for kingship.”

  “I hate the king after everything he did to you,” Alysson said. “I don’t care to meet him.”

  “But he will care about you,” Ludovic said, “and will demand fealty.”

  Alysson sighed. “Sumerford is a title for summer. But last summer was so sad. Now it’s autumn. I love the autumn colours, but it means winter’s coming. Will a Sumerford winter be bitterly cold?”

  “Winter means the coming of spring. Spring is birth. Then comes summer again. We’ll have a Sumerford summer together, my sweet. Don’t fear the winter. I’ll keep you safely warm. We’ve no more tragedies to threaten us.”

  The autumn stayed fine as the fruit ripened in the orchards, the wheat waved tall to the cloudless sky, harvests were rich and plentiful, verjuice, cider and perry fermented in their barrels and the countryside bloomed. Clinton House became known as Sumerford House and its halls glowed in autumn warmth as its trees flushed crimson, azurite and madder, a last flamboyance before the fading.

  Then finally the cold slipped in between the sunbeams and rains dampened the birdsong. The larks and swallows flocked, massing in dark clouds above the soaring chimney pots before escaping to warmer shores. The breezes turned to sharp biting winds, collecting dead leaves like scavengers on the wing.

  It was the last days of their Sumerford autumn when Ludovic woke in the night. An owl was calling, a soft hoot in the starshine. There was no moon and the land was quiet. He lay in darkness for a few moments, then rolled again into the cradle of Alysson’s warmth. She slept, curled to the shape of him, her knees tucked beneath his own. He closed his eyes and closed his mind to sleep again, when he heard the words as he had before.

  “Do you hear me? Will you listen?” But it was not the same voice.

  Ludovic sat up carefully, disentangling Alysson’s embrace. She continued to sleep undisturbed.
Ludovic left the bed and padded to the window. One of the shutters hung crooked, with a crack of starlight shining between the slats. He was naked, and the sudden chill made him reach for his bedrobe. He shrugged it on, righted the loose shutter, and turned. A faint glow of light had entered the chamber and hung now before him, as if a star had escaped its heaven and come to find him. “What do you want?” Ludovic whispered. “Are you Edward again? Your voice is changed, and you told me you’d not return. Why haven’t you stayed with your brother?”

  The silence swept cold. Ludovic stood where he was, gazing at the pale light. It flickered, as if trembling. Then the voice said, “I am not my brother Edward. I remember my real name, though I’ve been given many and some have been forced on me. My true name is Richard and I am the son of a true king. My brother should have been king, but when he was lost and died, I claimed the throne. But I failed, as my brother failed.” The voice sighed, like the breeze rustling through fallen leaves.

  Ludovic frowned. “Richard? Prince Edward’s brother then, the Duke of York? How do you come to me? And why?”

  The answer floated a little louder, the voice gaining strength. “Edward sent me. He’s taking me on into the light. I’ve no regrets, not any longer, though I leave the wife and son I loved.”

  “You leave them? Then you died?” Ludovic leaned back heavily against the tapestried wall, pulling his bedrobe tight around him. “You were a prisoner in the Tower when I was last in London. I’ve heard no news of your death.”

  “You will.” The pause lengthened, then the voice came softer. “They called me Piers Warbeck, a foreigner, and my own country repudiated me, accusing me of treason. They hung me as a common traitor. But I only wanted their love.”