The Sun in Splendour (The Plantagenets Book 6)

by Juliet Dymoke

  ‘Did he?’ Bess was surprised. ‘It seems to me you are as fit to be a knight's lady as any. We shall look into the matter in due time.’

  But Elysia and Robert were young enough to wait a while and she had her own wedding day to face. The Queen did not attend for she was confined a week before of a daughter, baptized Margaret in the chapel at Windsor. Both she and the King were disappointed that the child was not a second son, but Edward welcomed his new daughter with the affection he had for all children. He also attended Bess's wedding, turning it into a sumptuous court affair, much to the Howards' gratification.

  ‘Lord Howard is a rising man,’ Sir Frederick told his daughter when he and Lady Tilney arrived from Norfolk. ‘We shall see him a great man in the kingdom, I think, and his son with him. It is a good match, my child.’

  Bess went through the ceremony and the bridal feast preserving a cool, careful manner. The King danced with her and pressing her hand said, ‘You will see, Bess, you will find contentment again.’

  ‘I am glad you said 'content',’ was her low-voiced answer. ‘I do not look for happiness.’ How like a man, she thought, to put aside so swiftly what a woman could not forget.

  ‘What we do not look for, we sometimes find,’ he said lightly, 'as under a yew tree on a wild day.’ He saw her colour, a stricken expression in her eyes, and added hastily, ‘Secrets, Bess, shared and treasured, make up much of life's richness. Take what comes, keep your memories. I have many that are happy. And God send you better ones.’

  ‘Never,’ she whispered and for the first time that day she wanted to weep. Edward's hand held hers, forcing her to feel the pressure of Thomas's ring, and she was glad when the dance ended. Edward's affection for her was the same as always, but no more, and in a sense the dance was a kind of farewell.

  When Thomas came to their bridal bed there were the usual ceremonies, the last good wishes, the jokes, the laughter. She remembered her first wedding night and Edward's kiss on her forehead. He did not kiss her this time and she was grateful. Left alone in the dark Tom turned towards her, and aware that she had known lovemaking before, borne children, he did not seem to think preliminaries necessary.

  ‘You are my wife now,’ he said in a voice made even more gruff by rising passion. ‘This I have desired.’ His lips were seeking hers, his body hard against hers and she clenched both fists, her arms pressed flat against the sheet. Mother of God, she prayed, help me, help me now.

  And when Thomas, satisfied, rolled on his back and began to snore gently, her tears ran down the sides of her face. She felt violated, that he should take her, that he should have the right. She must spend the rest of her life with this man and she did not know how she was to endure it.

  CHAPTER NINE

  The Castle of Middleham was set high on a steep hill above Wensleydale and riding up to it on an autumn afternoon, the road rough and stony, Bess's mare stumbled several times.

  ‘That horse is blown,’ Thomas Howard said. ‘Why will you not ride the jennet I bought you last week?’

  Bess laid a hand on the mare's sweating neck. ‘I am so fond of her, but I suppose you are right. She is old and tired.’ He was so often right, she thought, so sensible and so dull. She glanced behind her at Annette and saw her daughter watching her anxiously. ‘I am not so old and tired as my poor little mare,’ she called over her shoulder and laughed.

  Annette brought her pony closer to her mother's. ‘The journey has not been too tiring for you?’

  ‘No, though I am glad we are here. At least Tom is not fretful today. He has slept most of the way.’

  ‘He is only fretful because he is wilful,’ Annette said wisely, ‘not because he is sick. I never saw so strong a boy.’

  Thomas turned his head to look at his two-year-old son lying in Aline's arms, and a faint proud smile crossed his dark face. ‘Aye, and you enjoy playing elder sister to him, do you not, my love?’

  It was odd, Bess thought, how fond he and Annette had grown of each other. Annette who had loved her own father so dearly had transferred that affection easily, perhaps because her rather taciturn stepfather was so utterly different, but it still surprised Bess. Despite her words to her daughter she was tired and glad to be away from London and the court. She had borne Tom without much difficulty, but he had been followed by a stillborn child, and then a few months ago she had had a hard labour with a breech birth. The little boy had died within a few weeks and was borne away in a tiny coffin. For a long while she had felt ill and weak. Thomas went to France with the King on an expedition which set out to regain English lands, to relight the torch borne by Henry V, but which ended without a blow struck and Edward and the French King meeting on reasonable terms. A foolish exercise, she thought, but was too unwell to care very much what came of it. The only worthwhile thing seemed to be the ransoming of Queen Margaret for an enormous sum which rid England of an embarrassment.

  Now she was looking forward to seeing Richard and Anne again. The air from the moors was fresh and invigorating, the smell of heather in it, and she turned to Thomas with a spontaneity she seldom used towards him. ‘No wonder the Duke and Duchess love it so much here.’

  ‘It is a long way from London,’ he said.

  ‘But since the Duke is Lord of the North I am sure it suits him very well.’

  Thomas said no more and they rode up to the great gate in the outer wall, their household and men-at-arms following.

  Richard himself came to the steps of the hall to greet them and a few minutes later Anne was sweeping Bess away to the apartments that were to be hers. Elysia followed with Annette and the children and for a while they were busy unpacking and chattering, while young Tom, awake again, began to toddle about the bedchamber. ‘He is a sturdy boy,’ Anne said. ‘Though they are within a month of each other my little Edward is not as big as Tom.’

  ‘But then you and the Duke are small,’ Bess said, smiling, ‘and Tom seems to be taking after his grandfather.’

  Annette was on her knees playing with the child and presently at the Duchess's suggestion took him away to meet young Edward, her own son. Elysia went into the outer chamber with Aline and Anne sat down on the bed.

  ‘Are you well again, Bess? I was so sorry about your babe.’

  ‘I am well. Poor little soul, he was sickly and not made for this world.’

  ‘Please God you will have another, and you have Tom. And how Annette has grown and Margaret too. I am sorry you did not bring John.’

  ‘He was so wretchedly unhappy when Lord Berners died that I sent him to study at Canterbury. His great uncle, the Archbishop, saw him well placed in the school.’ She paused to look closely at the Duchess. ‘You look as if the life here suits you very well.’

  ‘Indeed it does. And Richard is so well loved up here. I think his fairness in dealing with people of all sorts is perhaps what I love best about him too. He has a plain way of doing things that suits the men of the north. And it is not only that. The Countess of Oxford wrote to him, nearly in despair, poor woman, since her husband's attainder, and Richard has sent her money and written to your father-in-law to give her what succour he can. He is like that.’

  ‘Dearest Anne,’ Bess kissed her. ‘I can't tell you how I rejoice to see you both so content.’

  ‘And I you. You will spend some time with us? We may have to travel to court for Christmas, but perhaps we can keep you until then?’

  ‘I'm sure Thomas will agree. The King gave us leave to stay as long as we might.’ Bess stifled a little sigh. She had never told Anne at the time of her wedding to Richard, nor had she spoken privately with her since, to explain how she felt about her own second marriage. And now there seemed to be little point. How few women, after all, married men of their choice. She had discovered that Richard, surprisingly, had two bastards, Catherine and John, both born when he thought Anne lost to him, but on arriving in Yorkshire Anne had accepted them both and was bringing them up with her own boy. Love, Bess thought, cared nothing for what was
done before it blossomed – or should not.

  It was not long before she fell under the spell of the Yorkshire that the Gloucesters loved so well, and the days of riding out into the dales, the quiet evenings of music, were a welcome relief after the hectic gaiety of Westminster, and Windsor and Sheen. The beauty of the moors, the bare purple hills above the deep lush valleys of Wensleydale and Coverdale were a constant source of delight. And she liked the blunt simple Yorkshire folk. When she stopped at a farm to be offered refreshment of fresh bread with delicious cheese, she talked with the peasants, laughing at her own inability to understand their speech. The autumn leaves fell, and the hunting parties came home with glowing cheeks to great log fires and tables covered with good food. London seemed far away and so too did Tendring Hall, the noisy home of Lord Howard where she had spent six somewhat trying months with Thomas's four sisters and half-sister Katherine. They were a lively, quarrelsome household and only for Katherine did she develop a real affection. Lord Howard had always overwhelmed her and his second wife Margaret was a little mouse of a woman.

  Bess was glad to be away and the weeks at Middleham were unspoilt except for her first and angry quarrel with Thomas. So far her emotions had been untouched. She was, she hoped, courteous, a careful wife, and little Tom had brought them both much joy, but there was a coldness on her part that he either did not see or at any rate made no attempt to dispel. His lovemaking was predictable, soon over, and left an emptiness in her that made her remember with longing the years with Humphrey.

  One morning one of Richard's couriers came riding in and brought her a letter from Lord Rivers. He had been on a visit to Canterbury and there found both the Archbishop and Lord Essex in despair over John who was, according to them, rebellious and unwilling to study. They considered he would be better in some great man's household and as Anthony liked the boy he was willing to take him and see if he could induce a better spirit in him.

  ‘Of course I shall let him go to Lord Rivers,’ Bess said, ‘And if John himself is eager for it, as my lord says he is –’

  ‘I do not know that I will consent,’ Thomas answered. He jerked his head at his man Davy who was getting out his hunting gear and when the door was shut he went on, ‘The Woodvilles are none of them the kind of company I would wish for the boy, and nothing will make a silk purse from a sow's ear. Licentious, all of them.’

  Bess stiffened. ‘I never heard that applied either to Anthony or the Queen. You are unjust.’

  ‘Well, I like none of them. My father has high­born friends who would better serve the purpose.’

  ‘The Archbishop and Lord Essex consider it perfectly suitable to send John to my lord Rivers.’

  ‘Two old men! What do they know of a boy's needs? You would do better to let John go to sea in one of my father's ships.’

  ‘Good God!’ Bess exclaimed. ‘He is no poor knight's son to be sent off thus. And anyway he is too young. May I remind you also that he is now Lord Berners?’

  Thomas flushed under his dark skin. ‘And I am still plain Master Howard. I know you consider me below your son in rank.’

  ‘I do not consider it,’ she flashed back and instantly regretted the words, for their very truth did not make them less cruel.

  He had flung away from her to the window. ‘I am aware that you have always despised me,’ he said at last, ‘that you took me only to please the King.’

  Jesu, Bess thought, if only he knew how true that was! She tried so hard not to think of Edward, but scarcely a day went by when she did not remember those moments under the old yew branches. At last she said, ‘I cannot change John's title nor his position. And if Lord Rivers will take him in hand I shall be very grateful. He is a learned man as well as a great jouster, as you well know. He is much interested in Master Caxton and these new printed books and he will give John a wider education than most.’

  Still with his back to her Thomas said, ‘I have not yet agreed that he may go.’

  ‘He is my son and Lord Essex is his guardian now that his grandfather is dead. It is not for you to say, sir.’

  ‘You shut me out – as always.’ Thomas turned and she saw his face blazing with rare emotion. ‘And it is always ‘sir’ – ‘sir’ – why will you not call me Thomas?’

  She made a gesture, unable to answer, and he gave a harsh laugh. ‘By God, you brought me wealth and land and a son, I suppose I should think that enough, but you have given me naught else, not one crumb of affection, even dutiful affection.’

  She twisted her hands together, seeing him standing there thus revealed for the first time as vulnerable, needing what she could not give, but she could only say, ‘I am sorry.’

  ‘Sorry!’ His voice shook with contempt. ‘I do not need your pity, madame. I am no dog to be satisfied with a bone thrown to him when all else is gone.’

  He brushed past her and went out. She found she was trembling, but she took parchment and ink and wrote in her own hand to Anthony Woodville, accepting his generous offer. Thomas Howard would not force her to obey him with regard to John.

  When he came to their chamber she said, ‘I have written to Lord Rivers,’ and he answered, ‘I know. I saw the messenger go,’ and neither spoke of it again. That night they lay in chilly silence, a foot between them in the bed.

  Gradually the resentment, the bitterness left by harsh words was, if not forgotten, at least buried under normal behaviour, but Bess was disturbed. She had never really thought Thomas cared for her personally, though in his own way he had desired her. Now she began to see him differently. And if she had only given Humphrey half measure until that last night, she had given her second husband nothing of herself at all. Strangely, it seemed that it hurt him that it should be so. Yet she could bring herself to make no overture towards lessening the gulf between them.

  A few days later Elysia found her weeping as she had not wept since Humphrey's death. ‘Dear lady, what is it? Are you crying for your babe? He is in heaven with our Blessed Lady – oh, be comforted, please.’

  Bess raised her head and wiped her eyes, glad to accept the misunderstanding. ‘It is all right now, I am better. And I must not sadden you. Is Sir Robert back yet?’

  ‘No, my lady. He said it would take a day's ride to his father's house and then he must stay a little while.’ Elysia looked at her with anxious eyes. ‘But I am afraid. Sir Robert's father sounds so stern a man and why should he let his son wed a poor girl like me?’

  Bess managed a smile. ‘Robert loves you, my child, and will be very persuasive, I'm sure.’

  It was the next afternoon before her knight returned and with a long face. His father, he said, had other plans for him concerning the daughter of a near neighbour, a man of good standing owning many manors, and the alliance would benefit both families. Only his mother's plea had turned aside an uncompromising refusal. Sir John Bellasis would consider a marriage to Elysia Hay only if he knew more of the lady's family and what dowry might come to her.

  Elysia collapsed in tears. ‘I knew it, I knew it! I am not suitable.’

  ‘Of course you are,’ Bess said firmly. ‘If necessary, Robert, I will write to your father myself, but we will certainly journey to Canterbury as soon as we can and talk to Master Hay. When we can tell Sir John what he wants to know perhaps he will agree. I shall of course add to Elysia's dowry myself.’

  ‘My lady, you are so good, so kind. ‘ Elysia seized her hand and kissed it and Robert came awkwardly to say, ‘I do not know how to thank you, madame.’

  Bess glanced up at him. ‘It is I who am in your debt, Robert. Did you not stay in my household after my husband's death when you might have sought better fortune elsewhere? And I know you did it for me as well as for this child. Comfort her now,’ she added, smiling. ‘She is no use to me if she is to weep all the way back to London.’

  It was early December when the cavalcade finally left Middleham for London and by then Bess thought she was pregnant again. This time she felt only weariness, a distaste for th
e early sickness, the long months of growing swollen and heavy, the pain of birth and perhaps the loss of yet another babe, and all for a man whose love-making did not move her, for whom she felt only pity.

  When they reached Westminster on Christmas Eve it was to find the court in mourning for the Duchess of Clarence. Isabel had given birth to a child a few weeks before and had become desperately ill, dying the previous Sunday at Warwick Castle. Anne was wan with grief for the sister she had loved and could scarcely bring herself to speak to Clarence when he returned from the funeral at Tewkesbury Abbey. It was from Catherine Hastings that Bess heard all the latest news.

  ‘My dear Bess, how I have missed you,’ Catherine said. ‘The court has been dreary this last week and it will be a dreary Christmas too I shouldn't wonder, not that anyone mourns the late Archbishop Neville who has gone to his accounting. You do not look as well as I had expected. Was the air in Yorkshire too sharp for you?’

  Bess shook her head. ‘No, I was very well there, but I'm with child again and I wish I were not.’

  Catherine raised her brows. ‘Master Thomas gets on with his business, does he not? Do you like him any better?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Well, at least you have your children. Annette is a delight and do you not see an improvement in John?’

  That was the one bright shaft in all this gloom, Bess thought. In the short time the boy had been in Lord Rivers's household he had changed almost beyond recognition. He greeted his mother eagerly and chattered of how Lord Rivers had found time to teach him how to run at the quintain, and had shown him books that were interesting to read, not like the dull stuff he had been made to study at Canterbury. Lord Rivers had even taken him to see Master Caxton's printing press working, and wanted him to go to Oxford in due course. ‘He says there is a fine library built by the last Duke of Gloucester and full of books I shall like. You will let me go, Mother?’