Love, Remember Me

by Bertrice Small

  “I simply will not let you go, Nyssa!” Catherine Howard told the Countess of March. “You cannot leave me! You are the only true friend that I have. All the rest of them! Pah! Hangers-on, and greedy for what I can give them, but you are not like that at all. I can trust you! You must stay!”

  “Nay, Cat, I must go home,” Nyssa told her friend. “My parents know absolutely nothing of my marriage to your cousin. It is hardly something I wished to elaborate upon in a letter. In all my whole life I have never been away from RiversEdge until I came to court last autumn. I miss my family, and they must meet and get to know Varian. If we do not go now, then when?”

  Although she was ostensibly staying with her grandmother at Lambeth House, Cat Howard had rooms at Greenwich. Both she and her companion would have been fascinated to know that they were the very same rooms once inhabited by Nyssa’s mother, Blaze Wyndham, during her brief tenure as Henry Tudor’s mistress.

  Cat pouted prettily at her friend’s words. Her auburn hair caught the sunlight streaming in through the windows that overlooked the river. Nyssa thought how pretty she suddenly was. The dress Cat wore was obviously new and of a very expensive material such as Cat had rarely seen. It was a deep rose silk with a low neckline that exposed a good deal of her pretty breasts. The gold pomander ball that the king had given her in April hung from her waist. About her neck was a rich gold chain studded with rubies, and every one of her plump little fingers had a beautiful ring upon it; and each of those rings had a fine gemstone set in it.

  “If I ask Henry,” Cat said shyly, “he will make you stay. He will do anything for me, Nyssa! Anything! I have never had a man so wild for me. It is quite astounding, considering his age.”

  “You have had other suitors? I did not know that.” Nyssa was surprised. Cat had always presented herself as a complete innocent, although looking back upon some of their conversations, Nyssa realized now that that was not quite the case. And why wouldn’t she have had suitors? She was a pretty young woman. Thomas Culpeper had certainly noticed her, although Cat said she had never bothered with him. If Cat was lacking in dowry, she was rich in powerful relations, which was almost as good in some cases.

  Cat giggled. “You must not tell on me,” she said. “Duke Thomas does not even know. The first man to pay me court was my music master, Henry Manox. He gave me my first kiss. Then when I was at Lambeth before I came to court, there was Francis Dereham, a gentleman pensioner in Duke Thomas’s service.” She giggled again. “My step-grandmother, Duchess Agnes, never knew what went on amongst her charges as long as we were mannerly in her sight.”

  Nyssa was shocked. “Tell me no more, Cat,” she said. “But you had best tell the king of your harmless little romps. If you do not, someone else, jealous of you, surely will.”

  “If I tell Henry, and he grows angry with me, Duke Thomas will never forgive me. Nay, it is better I say nothing. No one will tell, for all were equally guilty of collective naughtiness. None will want to accept blame, and so all are safe from scandal,” Cat said to Nyssa. Her little hands nervously smoothed her gown. “You will stay, won’t you, Nyssa? I should be lost without you,” she wheedled her friend.

  Nyssa shook her head. “I must go home, Cat. Besides,” she explained reasonably, “you will soon marry the king, and be off on your honeymoon. You will not want me along then. The king will want you all to himself. He is very much in love with you. Everyone can see it. It is quite the talk of the court.”

  “It is, isn’t it?” Cat replied with a rather smug smile. “They say he has never behaved with any of the others as he does with me.”

  “You are very fortunate to have a man who loves you, Cat,” Nyssa said. “Do be good to him. My mother says if a woman is good to her husband, he will always treat her well.”

  “Does she? How curious. I do not remember my mother for she died when I was very young, and I was sent off to the Howards at Horsham to be raised with my sisters and half a dozen others. I came to Lambeth when I was fifteen, and was put in Duchess Agnes’s care. Do you think I will have children, Nyssa? I think I am afraid of it.”

  “The king wants other children, Cat. ’Tis one of the reasons he takes a young wife. We have only Prince Edward. There should be at least a Duke of York, and perhaps another Duke of Richmond.”

  “The king has two daughters,” Cat answered sullenly.

  “But a woman cannot rule England,” Nyssa said. “Nay, you must give His Grace at least two fine boys.”

  “And what of you? Will you not give my cousin Varian sons? You have been married for almost three months already. Is there no sign of a child? Varian likes children, you know. He would come to Horsham when I was a child to play with the little ones,” Cat told her.

  “Did he?” Nyssa was fascinated with this bit of information regarding her husband. He had certainly never said anything to her about children.

  The two young women chattered for some minutes more, and then Nyssa arose, saying, “I really must go, Cat. Varian will be furious with me. I told him I was coming just to bid you farewell. I have been here for almost an hour. We have several days’ travel ahead of us.”

  Catherine Howard stood up and hugged her friend. “Promise me you will come back to court when I am queen,” she said, her cerulean-blue eyes boring into Nyssa’s soft violet-blue ones. “Promise!”

  “Some day,” Nyssa said offhandedly. “I promise.”

  “For Christmas at Hampton Court,” Cat persisted.

  “Oh, not Christmas,” Nyssa said, shaking her head. “Christmas is always at RiversEdge. I missed both it and my birthday last year because I was in service to the queen. Not Christmas, Cat.”

  “Twelfth Night, then,” the young queen-to-be commanded.

  “I shall speak to Varian,” Nyssa promised.

  And I shall speak to Henry, Catherine Howard thought silently.

  Nyssa went to take her leave of the king. She curtsied low to the monarch.

  “It has been some weeks since I have seen you, my wild rose,” Henry Tudor said. His love for Cat had made him benevolent again toward Nyssa. “You bloom,” he noted. “I must assume that your marriage to the Earl of March is not an unhappy one, then. What thinks your lady mother?”

  “She does not know, Your Grace,” Nyssa said. “We prefer to tell her together face-to-face. I think it better that way.”

  “Aye, you are very wise, madame.” He smiled at her. “I have a wedding gift for you, Nyssa de Winter.” The king lifted a fine filigreed gold chain studded with diamonds from about his own neck and placed it over her head. “You may come back to court when it suits you, madame,” he told her. “You served well, and are much like your faithful mother.”

  “Your Grace!” She was astounded. Her hand went to the magnificent chain, and then she looked directly at him. “Ohh, thank you, my good lord! I shall treasure this gift all my life.”

  The king was pleased by her ingenuousness. “Go, madame, for you have a long journey ahead of you, I know. Perhaps next year we shall visit you, but this summer we have other matters to attend to, eh Will?” He turned to his fool, who nodded. “Tell your good parents that I sent them my felicitations and praise the service that their daughter did render to the crown.” He held his hand out to Nyssa, and she kissed it.

  Then she curtsied a final time. “God bless Your Grace in all of his endeavors,” she said, and backed from his presence. The king could be kind, but she had learned he was a gross monster who demanded his way in everything. She knew now the pleasures of lovemaking, and the thought of Henry Tudor as a lover sent cold chills down her spine. She most certainly did not envy Cat Howard.

  When the door had closed behind her, Will Somers said to the king, “Once I chided you for letting her mother go, Hal, but nothing would do but you must have a Howard. I wonder if you do not make the same mistake again.” His sharp brown eyes queried the king.

  “This time it will be different,” Henry Tudor said firmly. “My Catherine is a rose without a th
orn, Will. I shall never be unhappy ever again. She will give me sons, and brighten my old age.”

  Will Somers shook his grizzled gray-brown head. The king was practically fifty years of age. He had walked this earth almost a half century, yet he was still a dreamer and a romantic. Will loved his master, and it pained him to see him hurt. How long would Catherine Howard make poor Hal happy before something or someone spoiled the idyll? Will Somers had seldom seen a happy ending here at court. He moved quietly to the windows and looked into the court below. The travelers were even now departing Greenwich.

  Young Owen FitzHugh and his Kingsley cousin had been sent home earlier in the spring. They had seen the court, and there was no reason for them to remain. Nyssa and Varian would travel in the company of the Earl and Countess of Marwood, and young Viscount Wyndham. There was a coach along in the event the ladies chose to nap along the way, but for now both Nyssa and her aunt preferred to ride. A second carriage was provided for the upper servants, but Toby and Lord FitzHugh’s body servants also rode. Only Tillie and Maybelle sat within. There were several baggage carts, and, of course, men-at-arms to guard it all.

  The countryside was in full summer dress, but by mid-month there had yet to be any rain. In fact it had not rained since the end of May. The roads were hard, dusty, and dry as they made their way, moving west from Greenwich, and thereby avoiding the city of London. The Earl of March was impressed by the traveling arrangements made by his in-laws. There were fresh horses for them and for their coaches available all along their route. They stayed at the best inns, all of which had been notified ahead of time of their coming.

  Marwood Hall and RiversEdge were located relatively near to one another, the boundaries of the two estates lying only five miles apart. Bliss and her husband would not, however, be going directly home. It would be necessary for them to accompany their niece to RiversEdge, where her parents would be told of Nyssa’s marriage. Varian de Winter found himself nervous for the first time in his life. They traveled comfortably for several long days, and then suddenly one afternoon Nyssa began to recognize the landscape about her.

  “We are near to home!” she said excitedly. “Look! There is the dear old Wye. Ohhh, see! The Mary’s gold and the asters are already beginning to bloom.” Her face was bright with delight. She knew she had missed RiversEdge, but not until this moment had she realized how much.

  They descended from the London Road to what was called the River Road. It ran parallel along the Wye for several miles directly to RiversEdge. The land rolled gently on either side of the water.

  Nyssa spurred her horse ahead of the others. “ ’Tis Michaelschurch ferry crossing, Varian,” she called to her husband. “Rumford! Rumford! ’Tis Nyssa Wyndham, and I’m home from court!”

  The very elderly man seated upon a bench beneath a large oak tree arose slowly and turned to see who it was calling his name. His weathered face split into a wide grin as his eyes made out the rider. Reaching for his staff, he hobbled forward. “Mistress Nyssa! Yer home, and surely prettier than ever before,” he told her as she came to a halt before him. Nyssa dismounted and hugged the old man.

  “How is the ferry business, Rumford?” she asked him.

  “Slow, mistress. Only the family and an occasional peddler to take across the old Wye these days,” Rumford said. “Two of me three sons is now farming for yer da. Only the youngest helps me with the ferry. T’others say he can have their inheritance and good riddance. These modern times is different than when I was a lad, but what can I do.”

  “As long as there is a Rumford for the ferry, I can see no changes,” Nyssa told him. “The Michaelschurch ferry is Rumford business.”

  The old man cackled with laughter. “Aye, and it is, mistress. Didn’t I tell yer mama that all those years back when she come here as a bride for Lord Edmund, yer good father of sainted memory, God assoil him? Michaelschurch ferry and the Rumfords are one and the same.”

  Nyssa remounted her mare. “I will be needing your services shortly, Rumford,” she told him with a smile. “You’ll hear soon enough.” Then she rejoined the others in her party, who were making their way to the house.

  “Who was that?” Varian asked her. When he had visited Winterhaven, he had taken a road on the other side of the river.

  “Old Rumford, the ferry keeper,” Nyssa told him. “There have always been Rumfords to keep the ferry at Michaelschurch, or so they tell everyone. Frankly, no one can remember a time when there were not. My mother arrived at RiversEdge by crossing the Wye on that ferry. My grandparents and Kingsley relations live on the other side of the river. It is how we will go to Winterhaven, is it not, my lord? Oh, look! ’Tis RiversEdge!” she said excitedly.

  Varian gazed in the direction in which her slender finger was pointed. A magnificent dark red brick house, covered in shiny green ivy and built in the shape of an H, lay ahead of them. About it were well-tended gardens, colorful with summer blooms. “I fear, sweeting, that Winterhaven is nothing so fine as your RiversEdge,” he told her. His eyes scanned the gray slates that roofed the house. There were a number of chimneys soaring upward above the roofs, which indicated to him a vast number of rooms with fireplaces.

  “We will make Winterhaven every bit as grand,” Nyssa promised him. He smiled at her, adoring her loyalty, for he knew how much she loved her childhood home.

  As the horses and vehicles came to a stop before the great front door of RiversEdge, that door was thrown open and a very handsome couple emerged. The woman had Nyssa’s eyes, but her hair was honey-colored. The gentleman was tall, with dark hair and very blue eyes. It was he who reached up and lifted Nyssa from her mount.

  “Welcome home, my precious daughter,” Anthony Wyndham said warmly, and he kissed the girl on both of her cheeks.

  “Thank you, Papa,” Nyssa said, and then turned to her mother.

  The two women kissed, and Blaze knew instantly that something had changed. “Has the king dispensed with your services, my child? While I am delighted to see you home again, I am surprised. Until your uncle’s outrider arrived yesterday, we had no idea that you would be coming. Is everything all right?” Blaze could see that her sister looked nervous, and who was this unfamiliar but most handsome gentleman?

  Nyssa smiled at her parents reassuringly. “Let us go inside and have some wine, Mama. The road has been appallingly dusty. I shall tell you both of my adventures at court.” She slipped her arm through her mother’s and walked with her into the house.

  Anthony Wyndham greeted his eldest son and heir. “So you’ve come home, lad, eh? Court not to your liking?”

  “It is an experience worth having,” Philip said, “but like both of my parents, I prefer the country. I did, however, meet a young lady I should like to speak with you about, sir. I realize that we are yet too young for marriage, but perhaps we could make those arrangements for the future before the year’s end. She is one of the lady Anne’s maids of honor. Her name is Helga von Grafsteen.”

  “A foreigner?” The Earl of Langford looked a bit disturbed. “She’ll need a good dowry, lad, to make up for a lack of English lands. I had hoped one of the girls about here would suit you, but we can talk.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Viscount Wyndham replied, and then he accompanied his father into the house.

  Varian de Winter followed, his eyes reflecting his amazement at the warmth and charm of the Great Hall of RiversEdge. The room had a lofty, soaring ceiling with carved beams that were gilded and highlighted in a scroll design. Windows, set high, lined both sides of the hall, allowing in a wealth of bright sunlight. There were four fireplaces, none of which was now burning, as the day was so hot. The high board, at the far end of the room, was fashioned from golden oak. It was well-polished, and gleamed with the warmth that only age and loving care could give it. Behind the high board, and centered, were two thronelike chairs.

  Well-trained, attentive servants were immediately in evidence, offering the guests wine and small biscuits. The servants were clea
n, as was their clothing. They were soft-spoken and mannerly. The Earl of March could but wonder what Nyssa would think of the elderly, creaking retainers she was going to find at Winterhaven.

  Blaze Wyndham now turned to look at Varian de Winter. “And who is this gentleman, Nyssa?” she asked her daughter.

  “Mama, may I present to you Varian de Winter, the Earl of March … my husband,” Nyssa replied quietly. There! It was done.

  “What?” The single word was positively shouted by the Earl of Langford. “You cannot marry anyone, Nyssa, without my permission, and if you have, it shall be annulled immediately, girl. I will not have it! Do you understand?”

  “Tony,” his wife pleaded, “cease your outrage, and let me learn the truth of this matter.” She turned to her sister and brother-in-law. “How were you involved in this matter, Bliss? Why did you not write to me about it?” She turned back to her daughter. “Indeed, Nyssa, why did you not write to your father and me about this?”

  Owen FitzHugh spoke for them both. “This is Nyssa’s story to tell, Blaze. Afterward, if either Bliss or I can add anything, we shall be happy to do so. We protected Nyssa as best we could.”

  “But obviously not well enough,” growled the Earl of Langford. “My daughter’s come home wed to some damn fortune hunter we don’t even know! A fine state of affairs, and you’ll answer to me for it, Owen.”

  Varian de Winter spoke up. “My lord, I am no fortune hunter, but your neighbor from across the river. Winterhaven is my family’s home. You may have known my late father, Henry de Winter. I left my estates when I was six and was raised by my grandfather.”

  “And who the hell is he?” demanded Anthony Wyndham, red-faced with outrage. What the hell had possessed Nyssa to marry this man without their permission, or even their knowledge? She was not a flighty girl.

  “My grandfather,” the Earl of March said quietly, “is Thomas Howard.”

  “The Duke of Norfolk?” The Earl of Langford was visibly impressed, but he was still not satisfied.

  “I would like to hear my daughter’s explanation for her rash behavior,” Blaze said quietly. Her husband noted the use of the word my.