Cavendish stole a couple of hours from Whitehall to dine with the Greys, who were back at Suffolk House celebrating their own good news. Their other guests were Lord and Lady Herbert, William Parr and his wife, and Thomas Seymour. All the men were members of the privy council except Henry Grey, who was always careful to show no political ambition.
Cavendish kissed Frances and, when they sat down to dine, proposed a toast to the new Duke and Duchess of Suffolk. Bess and Cavendish couldn't keep their eyes from each other. His forced absence had created a hunger in both of them that could hardly be satisfied beneath the watchful eyes of others. But under the circumstances it was impossible for them to withdraw to Bess's private chambers.
Thomas Seymour, the newly appointed lord high admiral, held forth on the necessity of increasing the navy to a formidable force of ten thousand.
“Necessity?” William Herbert, Earl of Pembroke, asked, puzzled.
Frances laughed. “The necessity is to increase Tom's power. He has to do something to counter the power of his odious brother Edward and that insatiable wife of his!”
Her guests all joined in her laughter, for Edward Seymour had ridden roughshod over his fellow councillors. Bess watched Thomas with speculative eyes. Not only was he vain and arrogant, he, too, was insatiably ambitious. She wanted to say something to Cavendish, to warn him in some way.
When the meal was over and the company moved to a drawing room, William sought out Bess. “I've been starving for the sight of you.”
“Oh, William, I am so happy that you are confirmed as treasurer of the new king's chamber.”
He drew her hand to his lips in a formal kiss. “Who the devil else could do the job?” he murmured, unable to hide the wry amusement in his eyes. “The trouble is, I have to go to Evesham and Bordesley Abbeys in Warwickshire.”
Bess's dark eyes looked into his wistfully. “How long will you be gone?”
“Not an hour longer than is absolutely necessary,” he pledged, squeezing her hand, telling her how much he would miss her.
Bess confided in a near whisper, “I may be wrong, but I think the admiral has ambitions to marry Elizabeth.”
“You're not wrong. He's been told to forget it; it's absolutely impossible.” William shook his head. “Don't speak of it.”
Bess was relieved. It would put an end to the dangerous liaison. Yet she felt sorry for Elizabeth, who imagined herself in love with the swaggering devil.
The talk had turned to country homes. “Have you had a chance to visit Sudely yet?” Frances asked Thomas.
“Nay, it is in Gloucestershire, built of mellowed Cots-wold stone and reputed to have a magnificent banqueting hall.”
“We shall be going to Bradgate for the summer. Where does the time go? Only another month and we shall be packing up here.”
Bess said to William, “Try to get back before we leave for Bradgate.” She had been looking forward to seeing Bradgate in Leicestershire and visiting with her family in the next county, but suddenly the only place she wanted to go was Northaw.
Frances looked over at them and winked knowingly. “You are all invited to Bradgate to stay as long as you wish. William, you must promise to come and keep Henry company.”
Sir William was the first to leave, and Lady Herbert waited until Thomas Seymour had also departed before she told Frances—in strictest confidence, of course— what her sister Catherine Parr, Queen Dowager, had divulged.
“That wretched Edward Seymour, self-styled protector of our king, wants the queen out of Hampton Court.”
Frances didn't give a tinker's damn for Catherine Parr, who had managed to put three elderly husbands in their graves, until Anne Herbert mentioned the word Chelsea. “Chelsea?” Frances cried in outrage. “He had the audacity to suggest she move her household to Chelsea Palace? My Chelsea? Bess, get my smelling salts.”
In spite of the fact that Frances declared Catherine Parr would reside at Chelsea over her dead body, she began to remove the furniture, paintings, and household items that belonged to the Greys, as well as everything else that took her fancy. With the aid of Bess and her other ladies, they spent almost a fortnight packing up clothes, linens, silver, bed hangings, and curtains. Some of the items were marked for Dorset House or Suffolk House, but Frances decided the bulk of the furnishings would go north to Bradgate.
Frances, Duchess of Suffolk, then made a formal protest to the privy council, pointing out that she had had the use of Chelsea Palace for many years. Surely, with all the palaces owned by the Crown, another residence could be found for the queen dowager.
“I have decided to sit tight and delay going to Brad-gate,” Frances told Bess. “The moment I leave London, they will descend upon Chelsea like bloody vultures!”
“If they do they will find that the carcass has been picked clean,” Bess remarked candidly.
Frances laughed heartily. “Possession is nine tenths of the law, remember that.”
In spite of Frances Grey's protest, Chelsea Palace was declared the official residence of Catherine Parr, Queen Dowager. And since she was stepmother to Elizabeth, it was decided that the princess would go with her. Now Frances really had a dilemma on her hands. Would she allow her daughter, Lady Jane, to reside with the queen dowager, or would she bring her home? It was clear she could not remain at Hampton Court Palace, which was turning into a male bastion for the bachelor king.
“The bloody lord protector has won!” Frances cried angrily. “It is clear he intends to isolate the little king from everyone he loves. Edward Seymour is removing anyone who might influence him: his stepmother, his sister, and my daughter. It is clear that his rabid bitch of a wife is advising him every step of the way!”
Since Frances had been outmaneuvered, she decided that Lady Jane Grey would indeed reside at Chelsea with the queen dowager and Princess Elizabeth. Frances, Bess, and a cluster of servants descended upon Hampton to move Lady Jane and her furnishings from one residence to the other.
Princess Elizabeth was in the middle of her own move, and Bess could steal only a moment alone with her. “Are you upset about moving to Chelsea, Your Grace?”
“No!” Elizabeth whispered. Suppressed excitement turned her amber eyes to glittering gold. “We'll be free of their watchful eyes; we'll be able to see each other every day at Chelsea!”
Bess was stunned. Didn't she know the admiral had been refused permission to marry her?
“I must go, Bess. Come and visit me at Chelsea.”
* * *
At the end of the month, Bess received a note from Cavendish marked Private. She opened the envelope and read the short message with a slight frown.
My Dearest Bess:
I have news. I will come after midnight when we can be private.
W.
Her imagination conjured dozens of reasons for the secrecy. Was the news about Princess Elizabeth, Tom Seymour, the Greys? Or did it have to do with treasury business or his position therein? Was it about the privy council and some decision they had taken? The mystery baffled her.
In the late afternoon Bess gathered spring flowers from the gardens at Suffolk House, filling vases with lovely white lilies, purple lilac, and heavily scented hawthorne. She waited until after the evening meal to bathe and put on one of William's favorite gowns to help fill the hours until midnight.
At last the knock she had been waiting for came. She opened the door and flew into his arms. “Whatever is it?”
He enfolded her against him and kissed her hair. “Bess, my wife died today.”
She stared up at him in disbelief. It was the one thing she had never thought of. “William.” Her arms tightened about him.
“We must not be seen together for a decent interval; the gossips would crucify you,” he said intensely. “But I want to be with you. Will you come to Northaw for a few days, where we can be away from prying eyes?”
“Oh, yes, William. I love you so much.” She hid her face against his chest to hide her tears. They were no
t tears of sorrow, may God forgive her, they were tears of joy.
“We cannot go together; we shall have to meet there. The funeral is the day after tomorrow. I'll come the next day.”
“Do Frances and Henry know?”
He shook his head. “We'll go and tell them together.” Hand in hand they made their way to the west wing, where the Greys had their private suite. Frances opened to their knock and admitted them, then her hand flew to her throat. “There's been another death!”
“Yes, my wife,” William acknowledged.
“Oh, thank God,” Frances said with an exaggerated sigh of relief. “Henry, pour us all some brandy, darling.”
“The burial is arranged for the day after tomorrow.”
“We'll be there, as will the rest of the Court, but Bess should disappear for a few days.”
“I'm going to Northaw. I'll ride there tomorrow.”
“You'll do no such thing. You'll go in a carriage,” Frances insisted.
“Thank you, Frances.” William kissed her hand.
“An unmarked carriage, with a discreet driver and a guard,” Henry interjected.
“Bess, would you like Cecily to go with you? She considers herself your maid, darling.”
“Thank you, but I'd rather go alone,” Bess said as a blush dusted her cheekbones.
“Northaw has a small staff of servants,” William said, squeezing Bess's hand and watching her blush deepen.
On the drive to Northaw, Bess carefully went over the things she had packed to make sure that in her excitement she hadn't forgotten anything. Long trained to pack up entire households, she decided to take bed linen, food, and wine. In her head Bess also went over the things she would say to the staff of Northaw. Because she had been a servant, she knew how they wished to be treated.
The moment she arrived Bess asked the housekeeper, Mistress Bagshaw, to assemble the servants. The indoor staff consisted of the housekeeper–cook, a pantryman, a footman, and two housemaids. She discerned immediately that Mistress Bagshaw ruled the roost and knew if she won her over, the others would follow.
“I have been asked by Sir William Cavendish, the new owner of Northaw, to prepare the house for his arrival. I am Mistress Elizabeth Barlow from Suffolk House, where Sir William spends his time when he is not at Court. I realize how difficult it is to serve a new master.” Bess looked directly at Mistress Bagshaw. “I will help you all I can and beg that you will help me. I understand you do not know how Sir William likes his household run. Neither do I.” Bess smiled. “We shall learn together. Thank you very much.”
She repeated her little speech for the outdoor servants, the gamekeeper, the stableman, and the grounds keeper, then she returned to the carriage to speak to the coachman and his guard.
“A Mistress Bagshaw is in charge here; please defer to her in all things. There are ample chambers on the third floor. Ask for anything you need. Thank you for a safe and pleasant journey.”
Bess, with Mistress Bagshaw at her side, soon set the maids to dusting and polishing. The food and wine were turned over to the pantryman, and the mounds of fresh bed linen carried upstairs to the second floor.
She chose a spacious bedchamber with long windows that looked out over the garden and the Chiltern Hills. She stripped the big bed down to its feather mattress, then used the bed steps to reach the dusty curtains. When all was removed Bess flung open the windows and bade the maids give the chamber a thorough cleaning.
When the room was spotless, Bess made up the bed with fresh linen, a soft woolen blanket, and a green velvet bedcover. Then the footman helped her hang her own matching bed-curtains. By the time the chamber was finished, the afternoon shadows were lengthening.
“Thank you, we'll do the second bedchamber tomorrow. I'll unpack my own trunk,” she told the maids. “Go and help Mistress Bagshaw in the kitchen.” To the housekeeper she said, “I'll just have a light supper of fruit and cheese—and perhaps a little of that delicious soup I smell.”
On the day that William was to arrive, Bess filled Northaw with flowers from the gardens. She gave Mistress Bagshaw a detailed menu for dinner, then spoke to the footman. “Sir William will most likely bring his own manservant, James Cromp, but could you please scrub out the wooden bathtub upstairs and make sure there is ample hot water ready? Sir William will wish to bathe and shave when he arrives.”
Bess tried to control her excitement, but as the hours ticked by she found she could not. It would have been easier to hold back the tide than the happiness that was building inside her. In the early afternoon she bathed and changed into a pale green gown that she knew was one of his favorites. She brushed her heavy mass of red-gold hair until it crackled and touched all her pulse points with the scent of April violets.
Some inner sense told her he was here, and already breathless and giddy, Bess flew down the stairs and out the front door of Northaw just in time to see him arrive. Astride the black stallion, his great horsemanship was evident, and she knew he was aware of the splendid figure he cut. As Bess watched him dismount, a dozen emotions swam together, threatening to engulf her. As well as elation and excitement, uncertainty made her feel shy and tongue-tied. What would he say to her—what would she say to him?
Then suddenly she was in his arms, his lips whispering against her ear, “Why aren't you in bed?” Then his deep laughter rang out, and she saw the teasing amusement in his eyes and knew why she loved him so much.
No longer tongue-tied, her sultry laugh matched his. “You are a damned rogue!”
SEVENTEEN
The servants gathered inside the front entrance to greet Sir William. To give him an opportunity to speak to them in private, Bess led James Cromp upstairs and showed him where to put William's luggage.
“James, I see no need for formality between us, since you will be privy to all our secrets,” Bess said with her usual candor. “I've ordered plenty of hot water, and there is a huge wooden bathtub in the next bedchamber.”
“Thank you, ma'am.” He started to unpack and hung Cavendish's clothes in the wardrobe beside hers. He glanced at the fireplace. “Would you like a fire lit tonight?”
“Yes, after dinner. It got quite cool last night when the sun went down.” Bess blushed, thinking her bed would not likely be cold tonight.
Cavendish came bounding up the stairs. As he entered the room, she saw his eyes sweep about the spacious chamber she had chosen for them. He nodded his approval.
“I just love the house,” she said breathlessly.
He gathered her in his arms, unmindful of James's presence. “And I just love you.” Bess closed her eyes as he kissed her, not quite believing that at last their time had come.
He kissed her again. “Let me get the stink of London off me.”
Bess and William had dinner alone in the private dining parlor off the hall. Northaw's only footman served them. The beefsteak was cooked perfectly, the vegetables tender, the Yorkshire pudding crisp. Bess was proud of her menu; she had planned it with a man's hearty appetite in mind.
William lifted his wine goblet. “I toast the loveliest lady in England tonight.” Then he quaffed deeply. “This claret is extremely good. I had no idea Northaw had anything in its wine cellars.”
“It doesn't.” Bess laughed softly. “I brought the wine.”
“I always knew you were a very clever girl. What other surprises do you have for me?” he asked with a rakish smile.
“Faith, my lord, 'tis the other way about. What surprises do you have for me?”
His deep laugh rolled across the table. “Sweetheart, don't tell me you're apprehensive?”
“A little,” she admitted breathlessly.
His whole heart went out to her. He came around the table and lifted her into his lap.
“William, the servants,” she protested softly.
“They won't mind a bit. I told them I was raising their wages.”
“But that's almost a bribe.”
“No, love, it is exactly a brib
e. The golden spur works every time. Watch, we'll have them eating out of our hands.”
“You're unconscionable.”
“I know.” He brushed the backs of his fingers across her cheek. “What do you want for dessert?”
“Strawberries, of course!”
“I'll feed them to you.” He dipped a red berry in sugar and lifted it to her lips. Her tongue came out to lick off the sugar before she took the strawberry into her mouth. His eyes showed his adoration as his desire mounted. “Luscious,” he murmured, touching his lips to hers. He repeated the ritual of strawberry and kiss until she was laughing helplessly.
“No more,” she said breathlessly.
“No more strawberries or no more kisses?” he teased.
“Come into the garden and I'll show you where they're grown.”
He quirked an eyebrow at her, then realized that perhaps she needed a little more time before they went upstairs.
Outside, dusk had fallen as they strolled hand in hand along the overgrown garden paths. Night-scented flowers filled the cooling air with their intoxicating perfume. Bess was about to tell him all her plans for the garden when he drew her into the deep shadows and took her into his arms. Her breasts heaved quickly, and she began to shiver with the intensity of her feelings. When he kissed her, her response was fierce, telling him that though she might be apprehensive, her desire was fast becoming greater than her trepidation.
His lips brushed the bright tendrils at her temple. “Bess, I've waited so long.”
She took his hand and drew him toward the house. Her heart was hammering. It was true, she had made him wait forever, but now that their time had come, she vowed she would love him with every pulse in her body.
When they entered Northaw there were no servants in evidence, but they were beyond caring. They climbed the stairs with their arms entwined about each other, unwilling and unable to conceal their passionate desire any longer. If any had seen them, they would have known the pair were about to become lovers.
Before their heavy bedchamber door swung closed, he enfolded her in his powerful arms, then claimed her mouth with his in a kiss that was possessive and demanding and would never be denied again. Her lips parted at his insistence, and his tongue invaded the hot, sweet cave of her mouth, exploring with strokes and thrusts until she shivered at the intensity of her arousal.
A Woman of Passion Page 19