Belle glanced at Sir Edward, seeking some hint as to what she should next do. His face like unto a thundercloud, the knight raised his cup to his lips. In relief Belle did the same, drinking deeply. As the wine hit her empty stomach, she discovered its smoothness hid a surprising potency.
“Now, as to this wedding,” the squire said in blunt introduction of the subject she least wanted to discuss. “Has Her Majesty sent me any instructions?” he asked of Elizabeth's proxy.
Belle gulped another mouthful of wine. Heaven keep her. What if he demanded a Catholic service? Would she be strong enough to play out the lie she’d told Sir Edward and bow her head in obedience to her husband and his religion?
Sir Edward looked at Belle. The resentment that burned in his gaze said he was no happier discussing this issue in her presence than she was to hear about it in his. He set his cup on the table between them.
“Her Grace understands you are an invalid and a man desirous of his privacy,” the knight began, only to have his host interrupt.
“That is kind of her. Then she’d have no objection to my steward once more serving as my proxy for the wedding ceremony?”
Sir Edward’s jaw tightened. Belle now knew him well enough to read his reactions and expressions. The resentment that filled his face said the queen had told her official witness the squire could use a proxy for the ceremony.
“It will serve,” the knight said harshly. “However, Her Grace does insist on the union's immediate consummation. In this and as head of all families in our fair country she takes up the role of your long-departed father, who would have commanded the same from you.”
This won a nod from the squire. “I am content to do as duty requires.”
“As to the ceremony and celebration,” the knight continued, “Her Grace doesn’t ask that you invite outsiders, only that all is done in a manner that befits your station.”
“Rightly so,” the squire replied with yet another nod, his strange voice untouched with anger when there'd been no mistaking the couched insult in Sir Edward's words. “Has she any expectations as to when the rite should take place?”
“Within two months,” his opponent replied, sharpness creeping into his gaze as he watched the masked man.
Again, Squire Hollier nodded, but now his gloved fingers tightened on the chair’s arms. “Acceptable. However, we now sit upon the brink of summer becoming autumn. I daresay my brother has told you that the coming of colder, wetter weather wreaks havoc with my health. Against the possibility of forthcoming illness it would be best if we hurried the ceremony. As I see it the only thing that holds us back is the calling of our banns.”
He paused, his head moving as he seemed to glance from the knight to Belle. “If they are called first on Sunday next, a week from the morrow, then again a week hence as custom requires, we can celebrate our nuptials in a month. Since Lady Purfoy is an acknowledged widow and all the country knows why I’ve never wed, I doubt we need fret over anyone raising a protest.”
Worry deepened until it gnawed at Belle's bones. In one month she was going to have to kneel before a Catholic priest and make a mockery of everything she believed. Lifting her cup to her lips, she swallowed another hasty mouthful of wine.
Beside her, Sir Edward blinked and straightened suddenly, something hopeful in his new posture. “In but a month?”
The squire’s shoulders slumped. “Ah, I see Her Grace expects us to wait the full two months. Do you think it would be wrong of me to send her a message explaining my reasons for desiring a speedier ceremony?” Despite his disappointed posture, there was something about his words that suggested a smile.
Sir Edward held up a hand as if to stop a messenger from leaving the room. “Nay, that won’t be necessary. A month is acceptable.”
“As for the ceremony itself,” his host went on, “I had in mind to use the one in Her Majesty’s prayer book.”
The silence that followed these words was so deep Belle could hear the hiss and snap of the candle flames as they ate up their wicks. Behind him, Master James's eyes were wide, his mouth ajar. His surprise made her believe the offer genuine. She stared at her new husband in disbelief. She wouldn’t have to blaspheme. In her elation, Belle raised her cup and finished the contents all the way to the dregs.
Beside her, Sir Edward’s ribbons rattled as he shifted forward in his chair. His face was slack as he stared at the masked man. “I beg your pardon?”
“I am content to use the English service to seal this union,” the squire repeated more slowly this time, as if assuming the knight hadn’t been able to decipher his words.
Sir Edward glanced from Graceton’s steward to its master. His eyes narrowed as two small spots of color burned high upon his cheekbones. “I am certain Her Majesty will be overjoyed to hear of her subject’s unexpected conversion.”
Squire Hollier held up a gloved hand. “You mistake me. There has been no conversion. I am and will always be committed to my faith. However, it's to honor Her Grace that I choose to marry in the church her royal father founded.”
As Belle again heard these miraculous words, they fair lifted her from her chair. She flew to kneel before her husband. “Oh Your Worship,” she cried, certain she was grinning from ear to ear. “How kind you are to offer this. I daren’t speak for Her Majesty, but I am greatly honored by your sacrifice.”
She was close enough to see his eyes beneath his mask. They were green. He studied her face for a moment then glanced at his steward. When he again looked at her, there was new warmth in his gaze.
“Madam, it is my pleasure to offer it to you,” he said. “Since you and I are content with these arrangements, all that remains is to make Her Majesty's proxy as easy as we.”
All Belle’s fear died. This was no monster; this was a man like any other, perhaps more decent than most, save that he had some reason to disguise his features.
Still floating in elation, she came to her feet then turned. Sir Edward was glaring at her, his teeth clenched so hard that a muscle worked along his jaw. Those heated spots on his cheeks had spread until his face was flushed with blood.
That he wished to object was obvious, but why? The knight's gaze slipped from her to the squire. “If Lady Purfoy is content, so am I,” he said, his voice hard.
Belle sighed in relief and returned to her chair. “It’s settled, then,” she murmured to herself.
“Not quite,” Sir Edward said, startling Belle for she hadn’t realized he'd overheard her. “Where will this ceremony take place?” he demanded of his host.
“The squire prefers to use the village church,” Master James replied for his master.
“What? You'd not use your own chapel?” Scorn filled Sir Edward's voice.
Belle's eyes narrowed. She knew full well what the knight intended. He meant to trade upon the queen's authority to strip Squire Hollier's private chapel of whatever illegal Catholic items it might hold. She turned in her chair to look at the knight.
“I am astounded at you, Sir Edward. Squire Hollier has been naught but generous and honest with us this evening. I'm certain if there were a chapel we might use within the house, he would say as much.”
The instant the words were out, she gasped, unable to believe how she’d said them. Pressing her fingers to her lips to keep anything else untoward from escaping, she glanced at the men in the room. If there was nothing to be discerned in Squire Hollier's mask, Master James was staring at her, his face alive with astonishment. Shame flickered in Sir Edward's eyes only to be followed by upset over the insult she’d done him in the presence of other men.
Belle folded her hands in her lap and bowed her head. This was what came of a woman who dared to meddle in the dangerous affairs of men. “I beg your pardon, Sir Edward,” she whispered, neither expecting nor receiving a reply from him.
Across the room Squire Hollier shifted in his chair. “I am flattered you should regard me so highly in so short a time, Lady Purfoy. Pray Sir Edward, give the lady the fo
rgiveness she craves for I see she is much distressed at the trouble her words have caused.”
Belle's head rose. She let a tremulous smile bend her lips as he extended his protection to her with his words. She’d been right from the first. Squire Hollier was just as kind as the steward he employed.
“But of course she has my pardon,” Sir Edward managed to grind out.
“As for the village church,” Squire Hollier went on, “it has served my ancestors for generations, ever since they moved out of the old keep. Tradition demands it serve for this wedding.”
He leaned back in his chair, the picture of relaxation.
“Now that we are all resolved I will pass all responsibility for the arranging of this event to Master Wyatt. Should you have any other requirements, you may inform him and he'll carry your messages to me. Now, please go and enjoy your dinner.”
Belle caught back a laugh. Not only was the squire dismissing the knight, a man his superior in rank, he was making it clear he had no intention of again meeting the queen’s proxy face-to-face. Of course, he traded on the fact that once the wedding was done, he’d be the knight's better.
Against so bold a move, the hostility drained from Sir Edward’s face, leaving a dazed expression in its place. “Dare I say I’m astonished at your flexibility? When I arrived at Graceton this morn I had no idea our business would be so easily completed.”
The squire spread his hands wide. “For that you must thank Her Grace. Now that she's shown me I was wrong to think myself unfit to wed, I'm eager to rectify the situation.”
Again, Squire Hollier's head moved as he glanced between Belle and the knight. “If you’ll excuse me. I fear our meeting has left me overtired and longing for my bed.”
A battle raged on Sir Edward's face. As little as he liked being dismissed, only a boor would persist against the squire's excuse. He came to his feet, his shoulders stiff and his back pike-straight. It was with obvious effort that he affected the customary bow.
“I bid you good evening then, Squire Hollier. You can be assured that word of your cooperation will soon reach Her Grace's ears.” This sounded more like a threat than reassurance.
As the knight turned to leave, Belle rose from her chair. To her surprise her head swam a little. It seemed the wine had been much more potent than she’d thought.
“Stay a moment, Lady Purfoy,” the squire bade her before she could move. He turned his hooded gaze on Master James. “Master Wyatt, would you fetch Tom for me as you escort Sir Edward to the hall?”
Surprise touched his steward's face. Belle stifled her giggle. Apparently, Master James wasn’t accustomed to being sent on such menial errands. “As you will, Your Worship,” the steward said with a stiff bow.
Taking the single candle from the hearth, Master James joined Sir Edward. Once they stepped into the darkened gallery and shut the door behind them, Belle was alone with the man she’d feared as a monster only moments ago. She smiled at the masked man in his chair. It was truly miraculous that she could be so completely at ease in so short a time.
“Pray sit,” her new husband bid her.
“As you will,” she replied, dropping into Sir Edward’s empty chair, content to use the nearer seat this time.
“Your journey to Graceton was without event?” It was a mundane question, meant to initiate conversation.
“It was.” Once again, that giggle bubbled up in her, nearly escaping this time. She cleared it from her throat. “I cannot tell you how glad I am to be out of that wagon. It's nearly a month we spent in it, traveling first to Richmond then coming here. Indeed, by journey's end our traveling attire was so filthy my maid says the skirts stood on their own when she took them down to the laundry.”
Belle stifled a groan. Lord, but the wine was making her babble like a goose. She hoped the squire didn’t notice, for fear he’d think her a sot.
Something like unto a chuckle rasped from Squire Hollier. “Is that so? Well, our laundresses are capable. Your garments will be returned as good as new. And how do you find your apartment?”
Although a part of her knew this was but another customary question, all the joy she’d known upon entering her suite returned. “My apartment is magnificent, Your Worship. Can you believe it! There's a hearth in my bedchamber,” she told him, forgetting that as master of the house he no doubt knew this already. In her previous home, only Sir William's bedchamber had its own hearth.
“John and Watt found cots for my servants and chairs for the sitting room,” she went on, yet adrift in thoughts of a warm chamber on a cold winter's morn. “There’s even a small table, to be used when we wish to dine in our chamber. I must say, we were all terribly surprised by the kindness of your servants, especially after the welcome we received upon arrival,” she finished with a laugh, only to catch back her amusement as she realized her error.
Would she never learn to be more circumspect? Belle bowed her head. “Pardon, Your Worship. I mean no ill will toward your house or servants. Nor did I think to ask your permission to use the items your footmen found for me.”
“No insult taken,” the squire replied. “I know the servants were less than friendly in their greeting this morn. Take heart. Time will accustom them to you. As for your apartment, I expect you to be comfortable. If there is anything you need for your chambers that Watt and John cannot find in my storerooms, pray speak to Master Wyatt about procuring it for you.”
So long a speech seemed to strain him, for he paused to cough. The sound was deep, as if his lungs ached. Concern rushed through Belle, the emotion strong enough to again drive her across the room to kneel before him.
“You have told Sir Edward that you fear coming illness, Your Worship, but in that cough I hear that you already ail. I have a good hand with medicines and cures. It would please me well to tend you.”
There was silence for a moment as he studied her through the slits in his mask, his green eyes filled with questions. Belle's heart gave a quirk. Here it was, the moment he decided if he would accept her only as his wife in name or make theirs a true marriage. Although a part of her trembled at the thought of his rejection, Belle sat back on her heels and let him stare as he would.
The lift of his brows made the mask shift slightly on his face. “You are kind to offer, but my present condition is the same as it's been for the past twenty years. I fear there's naught to be done for it that hasn’t already been tried. As for tonics and tinctures, I have a healer who delights in forcing all manner of odd concoctions down my throat. I beg you to take no insult if I refuse. I fear I’m not willing to let another set of foul brews past my lips.”
It was a rejection, but one so carefully done that she could only smile. There was no room in his life for her; theirs would be a marriage of policy rather than heart. Indeed, as private a man as he was, it wouldn’t surprise her if she saw him no more after their wedding night
Because he’d already given her far more than she'd ever expected it was easy to honor his wishes. Belle nodded. “Know that the offer stands,” she replied as she came to her feet, “should you change your mind.”
“I shall take your words to heart,” he replied, a smile coming to life in his eyes.
Again, he strove to be kind when he could have simply dismissed her. Belle's need to offer something in return expanded beyond the brewing of teas to the threat posed by Sir Edward. “Your Worship, might I confide in you?”
Surprise widened his gaze. “But of course.”
“As much as I regret speaking ill of the queen's proxy,” Belle said, lacing her fingers before her, “I fear I must. Sir Edward has asked me to pry into your affairs on his behalf, something I've most vehemently refused him. Please, take heed. Where he’s asked one and been denied, he may well seek another.”
Peace flowed over Belle as she fell silent. If what she offered wasn’t the equal of all the gifts he’d given her this evening, at least it was something.
Another rasping cough wracked her new husband. “My l
ady, I am indebted to you for the warning.”
Behind Belle the door groaned quietly as it opened. The squire glanced over her shoulder. “Ah, here is Master Wyatt and Tom,” he said. “Go now my lady, and make merry where I cannot.”
Belle curtsied deeply. “Do you know, I think I shall,” she said, straightening with a smile. “Good night, Squire Hollier.”
It was with a girl’s light step that she crossed the room to join Tom and Master James at the door.
As the lady crossed the room Jamie leaned his head near to Tom. “Show her to the hall for me, will you?” he whispered. “I need five minutes alone here.”
Knowing full well this wasn’t what Graceton’s master expected, Tom shot a questioning glance at his own employer then shrugged. “Aye, Master James.”
His hand on the latch, Jamie waited until Lady Purfoy and Tom left the room then shut the door behind them. It was only by the most stringent control that he managed not to slam it. When it was closed, he whirled on Nick.
“What in God’s name do you think you’re doing?” he demanded. “You were fair goading Sir Edward along every step in that discussion!”
Never mind that Jamie himself had done the same to the man at court. If Sir Edward called him out, he could give a good account of himself. Not so Nick.
“Was I?” Nick asked in mock innocence as he removed his mask. Running his fingers through his hair to straighten it, he shot Jamie a glance along with what passed for a cheeky grin in him. “I hadn't noticed.”
This only drove Jamie's worry higher. “And what in Satan’s hell is this nonsense about a Protestant wedding? Not only is that heresy to you, your faith claims all such marriages are illegal.”
Triumph filled Nick's gaze. “Why should my Protestant queen care about making this union legal to a pope she doesn’t recognize? Nay, if Elizabeth wishes me to wed then it's only right we use this country's unique service. Besides, is this not the way to disarm most, if not all, of the traps her proxy might lay?”
The Lady Series Page 43