Philippa
Page 1
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Epilogue
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Teaser chapter
New York Times bestselling author
THE LAST HEIRESS
New York Times bestselling author
Praise for The Friarsgate Inheritance Series
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BOOKS BY BERTRICE SMALL
The Kadin
Love Wild and Fair
Adora
Unconquered
Beloved
Enchantress Mine
Blaze Wyndham
The Spitfire
A Moment in Time
To Love Again
Love, Remember Me
The Love Slave
Hellion
Betrayed
Deceived
The Innocent
A Memory of Love
The Dutchess
The Dragon Lord’s
Daughters
Private Pleasures
THE O’MALLEY SAGA
Skye O’Malley
All the Sweet Tomorrows
A Love for All Time
This Heart of Mine
Lost Love Found
Wild Jasmine
SKYE’S LEGACY
Darling Jasmine
Bedazzled
Beseiged
Intrigued
Just Beyond Tomorrow
Vixens
THE FRIARSGATE INHERITANCE
Rosamund
Until You
THE BORDER CHRONICLES
A Dangerous Love
ANTHOLOGIES
Captivated
Fascinated
Delighted
I Love Rogues
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Copyright © Bertrice Small, 2004
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For my beloved husband, George, from his adoring wife. An eternity isn’t time enough....
Prologue
Spring 1519
“I cannot marry you,” Giles FitzHugh said bluntly to Philippa Meredith, whose pretty jaw dropped open in surprise with his statement.
It was May, and the court was at Greenwich. The trees were full with new green growth, and the scent of early flowers was intoxicating. Beyond the royal gardens the river Thames flowed smoothly like a rippling satin ribbon beneath the sparkling sun as it made its way down to the sea. It was a place for romance, not rejection.
At first Philippa thought her heart had stopped at his words. But no. It yet beat. She closed her mouth, and tried to wrap her mind about what he had just said. Her temples throbbed. “You have fallen in love with someone else?” she finally managed to say.
“No,” he answered her simply.
“Then why?” Philippa cried. “Our families have always planned that we wed, Giles, and I have just turned fifteen. I am ready to be a wife.”
“There was never any formal betrothal between us, Philippa,” he answered her calmly. “Your own mother preferred it that way, my dear.” At nineteen Giles FitzHugh was tall and stocky. Like his elder brother he had their father’s sandy hair and their mother’s mild blue eyes.
“But everyone knew we were to marry one day,” Philippa Meredith persisted stubbornly. She could not believe Giles was behaving in such a caddish way. “If it is not another woman, then what is it that takes you from me?” she demanded. Should she be angry with him? Oh yes! She should be very angry.
“God,” he replied piously, crossing himself.
“What?” She could not have heard aright. She was definitely confused now. Was this not the same Giles FitzHugh who used to avoid the morning mass more often than not when he was in service to the king as a page? And he usually escaped punishment by offering the most creative excuses for his absences. She laughed aloud. “You jest, of course,” she told him.
Giles shook his head. “I wish to take holy orders, Philippa,” he told her. “I am going to be a priest. I studied in Rome with the king’s cousin, Reginald Pole. I did not go there with such a vocation in mind. It just happened. I have no other explanation, but I have decided it is what I want, my dear. Far more than I want marriage to a woman.”
“How long have you known this?” Philippa queried him. She couldn’t believe what he was saying. It was ridiculous! Absurd! Giles? Her Giles a priest! No!
“I went to Europe to study, Philippa. First Paris, and then Rome. I wanted my fill of literature and histories. I meant to study, drink, and wench freely like all the other young men with me, and before me. And I certainly did in Paris,” he chuckled, grinning, and breaking her heart with a glimpse of the old Giles she had fallen in love with so long ago. “But then I came to Rome,” he continued. “And something happened to me there in that ancient city.” He looked into her hazel eyes, attempting to explain it to her.
“What happened, Giles?” she inquired softly. “Tell me what happened in Rome.”
“It began with the city itself,” he said slowly. “It is so old, so holy. The sounds of the sung mass fills the air. The light is golden, and sanctity permeates the very air that one breathes. Rome is so beautiful it hurts your heart, Philippa. I do not know how I knew, but suddenly I did know that I was meant to remain there. To serve God with every fiber of my being. So I ceased my frivolity, and began a more serious concentration of the vocation to which I had been called. God does choose those whom he wants to serve him, my dear. I only returned home to tell you this myself, and to receive my parents’ blessing. They were as surprised by my decision as are you, but they do understand. In fact, seeing my devotion to holy Mother Church, they are overjoyed.”
“Well, I do not understand!” Philippa snapped, her anger fully surfaced. “You would choose a life of celibacy, toiling in some miserable church or dusty archives, rather than marry me? An heiress with her own estates? You are a second son, Giles! A match between us served both our families well. You would have had Friarsgate, and I should have taken a step up the social ladder in return. I have loved you since I was ten. And now you tell me that you do not love me?” Tears were beginning to slip down her face.
“It is not that I do not love you, Philippa. You were the most enchanting child, and you have grown into a beautiful young girl. But I do not love you as a husband should love a wife, and I love God more,” he answered her with cruel honesty. “We met but briefly when you first came to court. Then you returned to your Friarsgate, and when you came back to court to serve the queen I had already gone abroad. You do not really love me. You love the dream you created, and you will get over it, I promise you,” he told her, his voice a bit more tender now.
“I shall love you until I die!” Philippa declared. “I cannot believe that you do not want me. That you would chose the life you claim to want over a wife and your own lands! It cannot be!”
“Philippa, I do not want your lands. It is too northerly a place for me. Before I came to court I grew up in the Marcher country to the south. I do not think I could have survived in your harsh clime, so far from my family. The north is not known for its hospitable climate, my dear.”
“Will you not be miserable in Rome?” she countered. “It is much farther away from your family than Cumbria is. You may never see your family again unless you come back to England.” She wiped away the tears that were staining her pretty face.
He smiled gently. “I shall be ordained in Rome when I return. I have been promised a post in the Vatican serving the Holy Father himself. It seems I have a small talent for finance that will be of service to the church. But wherever I am sent, I shall be at home, and I shall be content to be in the service of my God.” He took her hand up in his, and kissed it. “Will you not wish me well, Philippa?” The blue eyes surveyed her quietly. There was no feeling in them for her at all except perhaps pity.
She snatched her hand from his, and then she slapped him with it as hard as she could. “No, Giles, I will not wish you well! You have ruined my life. I hate you! I will never forgive you for this wretched perfidy!”
“Philippa, please, I beg of you, try to understand,” he said to her, rubbing his cheek where her hand had made such ferocious contact with the smooth sensitive flesh.
“No! Do you not understand what you have done to me, Giles? I came to court to serve the queen with the understanding, formal or not, that we would one day be wed. Now you say we will not. How could you do this to me? I am fifteen, and ready to marry. Yet what kind of a match can I make now, cast off by a man who prefers God to a flesh and blood wife? I shall be the laughing-stock of the court. The witty jest of many a drollery until some other fool is exposed to the court’s humor, and heaven only knows when that will be. If you had spoken to me a few days ago I could have been titled the April’s fool! You say when you came to Rome you knew that the religious life was what you wanted. Why did you not then write your father, or if not at first, at least a year ago? My mother would have been free then to seek another match for me. Have you any idea how long it takes to make the right match between families like ours? Neither of us possesses a great name, Giles. You have been incredibly selfish in your own desires. Nay, I do not understand, nor will I wish you good fortune. I am not a saint, Giles FitzHugh, although it is obvious that you aspire to be one.”
He drew himself up proudly, saying stiffly as he did so, “I am sorry that you will not be happy for me, Philippa. Nonetheless I will forgive you your childish disappointment. And I will always remember you fondly, and pray for you.”
“Go to hell!” Philippa spat angrily. Then giving him a hard shove that sent him sprawling backwards into a bed of fragrant Damascene roses, she whirled around, storming furiously towards Greenwich Palace, her auburn head held high. She had begun to cry again, but he neither saw nor heard her sorrow as he struggled to extricate himself from the thorny briars, swearing softly under his breath, for the rosebushes exacted a fearsome and bloody toll on his ungloved hands.
He would have never suspected that the little wench had such a nasty temper, Giles thought, finally pulling free. God had surely saved him from an unpleasant termagant in Philippa Meredith. Well, the worst was over. He could return to Rome with all due haste. Despite her unpleasant and unladylike behavior he really would pray for Philippa Meredith’s happiness. After all, if God had a plan for Giles FitzHugh, he certainly had something in mind for Philippa Meredith.
Chapter 1
“Why did you not tell me?” Philippa Meredith demanded of Cecily FitzHugh. “I do not think I have ever been so sad and angry in all of my life. We are best friends, Cecily. How could you keep this from me? I do not know if I can ever forgive you.”
Cecily’s blue-gray eyes overflowed with tears at Philippa’s words. “I didn’t know,” she sobbed piteously. “It is as big a surprise to me as it is to you. I only learned of my brother’s decision this afternoon as Giles was speaking to you. My father said they kept it from me because they knew I would tell you, and it wasn’t up to us to speak with you. It was Giles’s responsibility. I think my brother is horrid, Philippa! We were to be sisters, and now you will marry someone else.”
“Who?” Philippa sniffed. “I am not noble, and while I am considered an heiress, my estates are in the north. Giles’s selfishness has probably rendered me impossible to marry off. Look how long it took your parents to find you a proper bridegroom. And soon you will be married, Cecily, while I shall wither away.” She sighed dramatically. “If your brother has decided
to devote his life to God, then perhaps it is a sign that I should too. My great-uncle Richard Bolton is the prior of St. Cuthbert’s, near Carlisle. He will know of a convent I may enter.”
Cecily burst out laughing. “You? A nun? Oh, no, dearest Philippa, not you. You have too great a love of all things worldly to be a nun. You would have to give up all the possessions you so love, like beautiful clothing, jewelry, and good food. You would have to be obedient. Poverty, chastity and obedience are the rules in any convent. You could never be poor, docile or biddable, Philippa.” Cecily’s blue eyes danced with merriment.
“I could too!” Philippa insisted. “My great-aunt Julia is a nun, and my father’s sisters.”
Cecily laughed all the harder.
“Well, what else is there for me now that your brother has rejected me?” Philippa demanded of her best friend.
“Your family will find you another husband,” Cecily said practically.
“I don’t want another husband!” Philippa cried. “I want Giles! I love him, and I shall never love another. Besides, who would want to exile themselves to the north where my estates are located? Even Giles said the thought of having to live at Friarsgate made him miserable. Why my mother fought so hard to retain it I will never know. I don’t want to live there either. It is much too far from the court.”
“You are only saying that because you are disappointed in my brother,” Cecily said. Then she changed the subject. “My father has written to your mother telling her of Giles’s decision. The messenger will leave for the north in the morning. Do you want to send a letter to your mother with him?”
“Aye, I do,” Philippa said. She arose from where they had been sitting together in the queen’s antechamber. “I will ask the queen’s permission to go and write it now.” Without a backward glance to her friend Philippa moved serenely across the room. At fifteen she very much resembled her mother at that age, with her slender carriage and her auburn hair, but her eyes were not Rosamund’s. Philippa had her father’s changeable hazel green eyes.