Love, Remember Me

by Bertrice Small

  Nyssa suddenly arose from her bed, a new light of determination in her eyes. “There are things I must ask Mama,” she said. “I do not know if we dare to continue sharing our passion. I do not think I should like it if we had to stop altogether, but I do not know.” Then her eyes twinkled. “One good thing has come of this, my lord. We will not have to go back to court! Whatever your cousin Catherine wants, the king would not allow me to endanger our child.”

  He laughed. “I agree, sweeting. In a few days, when you feel better, we will go home to Winterhaven and settle down like two mice in their winter burrow. No one but family shall come to visit, and we will never go to court again unless you wish it. Cat will soon forget about us amid all the wonders she will have as Queen of England.”

  “Ohh, Varian,” Nyssa declared fervently, “I do like you so very much! I do not think I could have found a better husband myself.” She flung her arms about him and kissed him passionately.

  His heart almost broke with his happiness. It was the first time since they had married that she had voiced any strong emotion toward him. She was going to love him. One day she would love him every bit as much as he loved her. But for now it was enough. She liked him very much, and they were to have a baby. “I should like to call our son Thomas, after my grandfather,” he said.

  “Never!” Nyssa said. “I will never forgive your grandfather for his cruelty. Our son will be called Edmund Anthony de Winter, after my two fathers. I think it only fitting, and my family will agree.”

  “If you bring your family into this matter,” he said, laughing, “then I am outnumbered, madame. We will call our second son Thomas.”

  “We will call our second son Henry after your father, and after the king,” Nyssa declared firmly.

  “Then our third son shall be Thomas,” he said stubbornly.

  “After our dear archbishop, if you wish it, my lord,” she answered him sweetly, and smiled. “But never shall I name a son of mine after Thomas Howard!”

  “I do not believe in beating breeding women,” he said. “Are you certain you are breeding, madame?”

  “My mama says so, and she is the expert, sir. Besides, you cannot beat me,” Nyssa told him.

  “Why not?” he retorted.

  “Because you will never be able to catch me,” she teased him, and slipping from his arms, she ran from the room.

  His laughter followed her.

  Chapter 10

  Winterhaven had been built in the thirteenth century. Despite the battlements crowning its four towers, which gave it the appearance of a small castle, its interior was that of a comfortable, well-to-do manor house. It was set upon the topmost crest of a hill. A small moat surrounded it. The moat was filled with weeds, for it had been many years since it had been necessary to flood it and fortify the house. The drawbridge had long ago been dispensed with. The Earl and Countess of March clattered across a pretty stone bridge, stopping directly in front of the main entry, which was already wide open to welcome them.

  The house was built of pale gray stone. Nyssa was pleased to see that someone had modernized the windows in the recent past. Ancient buildings such as this one were usually much too dark. Everything was neat, but shabby. She could see that there was a great deal of work to be done. She wondered if Varian could afford it. It was not something that they had discussed. Her father had given her husband a very generous dowry, but he had insisted that Nyssa’s house, Riverside, as well as the bulk of her inherited wealth, remain in her own hands.

  “Nyssa seems fond of you, and you seem to genuinely care for her,” Anthony Wyndham had told the Earl of March thoughtfully. “Still, I think it better for now, and perhaps for always, that my daughter retain a certain measure of her independence. Neither Nyssa nor I chose you to be her husband. When we know you better, we will reconsider the matter.”

  Varian had been surprised. The idea of a woman retaining her own property was an interesting one. Not that it was a new idea; it certainly was not. But he had never expected to marry such a woman. He understood Anthony Wyndham’s position, however, and thought that had he found himself in the Earl of Langford’s position, he might very well have done the same thing to protect his daughter.

  “I am not a rich man,” he told his father-in-law, “but neither am I a poor one. Now that I am to live again on my own lands, I must decide how best to utilize those lands.”

  “Have you tenants?” Lord Wyndham asked.

  “Aye,” Varian answered.

  “Has your estate steward been collecting the rents from your tenants? Be certain that he has, and then find out what has happened to those rents,” Anthony advised. “If they were not turned over to you for your living, they should have been used to maintain your property. You will have to visit each farmstead and see if it is being cared for properly. If it is not, then you will have to decide whether to evict the tenant or give him an opportunity to rectify his bad habits. You have lived at court long enough to be able to tell a man’s worth. Common sense is all that you need.

  “My in-laws breed horses, but once they raised sheep. If you have the means, try both. Sheep are a certainty every year, unless they get diseased and you lose the flock. That is what happened to the Morgans, but ’twas years ago. Wool is a valuable cash crop.”

  He chuckled at the look on his son-in-law’s face. “The gold and silver have to come from somewheres,” he told him practically. “You’ve spent so much of your life at court that you’ve forgotten, indeed if you ever knew, that wealth has to have a source, Varian. You’ve lived off your grandsire’s bounty most of your life. He had to have some means to support the great family and the establishment that he has.

  “Oh, he’s in debt to be certain. Mighty men like Duke Thomas forget how to be truly frugal, but here in the country we don’t live beyond our means. We cannot afford to if we’re going to pay the king’s taxes on time, see that our daughters are dowered, our sons outfitted, and our tenants fed. After all, poor Henry Tudor could not keep his magnificent court without us, and the taxes he gets from us.” The Earl of Langford chuckled broadly. “No, indeed, he needs us.”

  Varian shook his dark head. “This will be more complicated than I had anticipated,” he said slowly.

  “Go with your instincts, sir, and trust Nyssa’s,” Anthony Wyndham advised him. “She’s been raised in the country, and has a broad streak of good, common sense. My daughter is a country woman.”

  Varian remembered his father-in-law’s words as he lifted his wife from her mare. “After RiversEdge, it must seem very old-fashioned,” he said apologetically. He had not remembered Winterhaven quite this way, quite so down-at-the-heels as it now appeared to him.

  “It will be so much fun bringing it up to date,” she assured him sweetly. “As long as the chimneys draw well, my lord, and the windows are tight, we shall be cozy for the winter. There is time for us to renovate.” Then she kissed his cheek reassuringly, and he loved her all the more.

  An elderly couple hobbled through the front door, smiles wreathing their wrinkled faces. “Welcome home, my lord, my lady,” they chorused brightly. It was obvious they were very happy to see their master and his new bride.

  “This is Browning, and Mistress Browning,” Varian said to Nyssa, “and this is the new Countess of March,” he told the old couple. “She is the daughter of the Earl and Countess of Langford, and already carries the heir to Winterhaven. Have you assembled the other servants?”

  “There are no others, my lord,” Browning told his master. “Master Smale, the steward, says ’tis wasteful to hire servants to serve in an empty house.”

  “There is a chill in the air,” Nyssa said. “Let us go inside and discuss this, my lord.” She hurried past him, and the Brownings followed her.

  Varian de Winter smiled to himself. He was impressed that his old servants immediately recognized in Nyssa the voice of authority. Bringing up the rear, he entered his house.

  The Brownings led Nyssa into the Great Hall of Win
terhaven. It was a cozy rectangle with two large fireplaces that were heaped high with burning logs. The room was more than comfortable. Nyssa removed her cloak, and handed it to Browning. “You are responsible for the kitchen, I presume, Mistress Browning? The morning meal will be served after mass each day. Nothing fancy unless we have important guests. Then you and I will go over the menus together. Cereal, hard-cooked eggs, ham, bread, cheese. I like stewed fruits, particularly now.” She smiled at the elderly Mistress Browning. “No court hours here. Dinner will be at two o’clock in the afternoon. Then a light supper around seven.”

  “Yes, m’lady,” Mistress Browning said, returning the smile. “I’ll be needing help in my kitchens now, however.”

  “I will rely upon you to find it, for you know the families hereabouts. The girls you choose must be hardworking and of good character,” Nyssa told her. “Pick as many as you need. I will see each girl myself, and determine who is fit to serve in this house. Those who are not suited to the kitchens will be considered for housework and the laundry. I am a fair woman, but know that I will tolerate neither immorality nor pertness in a servant. Now, please make my tiring woman welcome and comfortable.”

  “Aye, m’lady,” Mistress Browning replied, curtseying. My goodness, she thought, her ladyship was very young to be so stern. It was clear she had been raised very well. Mistress Browning knew of RiversEdge. Its hospitality was famed, and its servants were the elite of the serving class. Her ladyship was obviously used to the very best. So much the better for Winterhaven, which had not seen a mistress in thirty years. It was going to be a new era. She could but hope she was up to it.

  Varian de Winter watched proudly as his wife directed his two old retainers with a mixture of kindness and firmness. When she had finished speaking to Mistress Browning, he said to Browning, “I will want to see Master Smale immediately.”

  “I’ll fetch him myself,” Browning said. Now the fur was going to fly. Arthur Smale had been running the estate for over fifteen years. He was an honest man, but not one open to change. There would certainly be changes now that his lordship was home, unless, of course, they returned to court after the heir was born. “My lord,” Browning ventured. “Have you and her ladyship come home for good?” He peered anxiously at them.

  “Aye, Browning, we have. You may tell everyone,” the Earl of March said with a warm smile. “We have come home to stay. We have come home to raise a houseful of children. Does it suit you, old friend?”

  “Aye, m’lord! And ’twill suit all of yer people as well,” the beaming old man told his master. “I’ll go fetch Smale to you now, m’lord. He comes from the stables this time every day for his dinner in the kitchens. He’s not changed his schedule in all the years he’s been here as estate steward. He’s a predictable man, is Smale.”

  “And I’ll get ye some nice wine and biscuits, m’lady,” Mistress Browning said, curtseying, her smile broad.

  They hurried off. Nyssa looked about the hall. It was paneled. Both the paneling and the floors needed a good scrubbing and polishing. Poor old Mistress Browning was hardly up to such work. The high board and chairs were attractive, but they too needed attention. “Are there no tapestries?” she asked her husband.

  “Packed away years ago,” he replied. “My mother did two beautiful ones that hung in here when I was a boy, but when my father died, I stored them in the attics. I knew one day I should come home, and I did not want those tapestries ruined by dust and sunlight.”

  “Who on earth ever told you how to care properly for tapestries?” she wondered. “ ’Tis not a man’s province.”

  “My step-grandmother, Duchess Elizabeth,” he said.

  There was so much to do, Nyssa discovered in the next few weeks. Her early sickness past, she felt filled with vigor, and anxious that her new home be in order before her child was born. She sent to her mother for several older servants to train her new servants. Mistress Browning, though beloved and respected by all, was simply not up to the task. She probably never had been. Winterhaven had not been properly kept in years. Still, Nyssa diplomatically sought her opinion on a variety of matters, and the elderly housekeeper’s dignity was preserved. Her daughter-in-law, known as Young Mistress Browning, began to gradually take over the old woman’s duties, and proved quite satisfactory. The elderly housekeeper spent most of her days in the kitchens supervising the staff there, seated most comfortably in a large chair by the fire, a wooden spoon her badge of office.

  To Nyssa’s surprise, much of the furniture at Winterhaven was in good order, and that which was not was easily repaired. New cushions were made for chairs, along with bed hangings and drapes. Tapestries were brought from the attics and rehung. Carpets were ordered from London.

  “Only the most backward of households still put rushes on the floor,” Nyssa said. “We must have carpets.”

  “The king’s houses still have rushes sometimes,” Varian teased his wife. “Do you think the king is old-fashioned, sweeting?”

  “Aye!” she answered without hesitation. “Besides, you were so frugal in your bachelor days, my lord, you have more than enough to cover the expense. It is a wife’s duty to spend her husband’s gold,” she teased back.

  On St. Thomas’s Day a messenger arrived from the court. The day was icy, and the earl invited the king’s messenger to stay overnight. “We will have an answer for you to carry back to His Grace,” he said.

  The messenger was grateful for their hospitality. He was a younger son come to court to make his fortune, but there were so many like him also at court that he knew it would take a miracle to set him above the rest. One never knew, however, where a miracle would come from, and the queen had personally asked him to deliver her message into the hands of the Earl and Countess of March. If their answer pleased the royal couple, the messenger could profit.

  “We are ordered to court by Twelfth Night,” Varian told his wife in the privacy of their bedchamber, the scarlet bed hangings drawn about their oaken bedstead. “Will you be sorry that we cannot go, sweeting?” He caressed her ripening belly, thrilled to feel the child stir restlessly beneath his gentle hand.

  Nyssa shifted her body so she might elevate her shoulders a trifle more. She was beginning to feel very uncomfortable with this child. Her body was swollen like a large marrow. Even the special gowns her mother had loaned her for this time were beginning to feel tight across her breasts and her belly. “I would hardly go to court looking like this,” she muttered irritably. “I look like a cow about to calve. Besides, why would I prefer court to Winterhaven? Nay, my lord, this child of ours is providential. None of the king’s wives, save the Princess of Aragon, has remained his wife for long. By the time our son is born, and I have recovered from the birth, and weaned him from my breast, your cousin could easily be replaced in the king’s heart, and bed, by another pretty English rose,” Nyssa concluded.

  “Not if my grandfather has anything to say about it,” the earl teased his wife. “Remember that Duke Thomas likes power.”

  “He could not prevent Anne Boleyn from losing her head,” Nyssa countered. “He was, I am told, quick to disassociate himself from her once he saw the handwriting on the wall. He saved his own position while she sacrificed hers.” She shifted herself again.

  “You are just out of sorts, sweeting, because we cannot go to RiversEdge for the Christmas festivities,” he reasoned. “You know I am sorry about it, Nyssa, but even your mother said it would not be wise to travel now. And so I shall tell the king. Smale has already drafted the missive. He is enormously disappointed that we are not returning to court.”

  “He is honest, but carries himself above his station,” Nyssa replied. “He was his own master for too long, and believed it would always be that way. I do not think he will be able to change, Varian. Come spring you must replace him with his son. We have already sent most of the old servants to the cottages and replaced them with their younger sons and daughters and other relatives.”

  “Aye,” h
e agreed. “I am tired of having to explain everything I wish to do. Winterhaven is, after all, mine to do with as I please. I value Smale’s judgment, but the final decision must be mine.” He had taken his father-in-law’s advice in this and other matters. It had not failed him yet.

  Early the following morning he entrusted the king’s messenger with a sealed parchment in a leather pouch that would keep it dry in the inclement weather. The messenger rode with all speed, reaching Hampton Court on Christmas Day and delivering his message personally.

  “Why can they not come?” demanded the young queen Catherine of the king. “Did you not order them to court, my lord, as you promised me?” She pouted at him prettily.

  “The Earl of March begs our indulgence,” Henry Tudor said. “His wife is with child and is advised against traveling. The baby is due in the spring. I can certainly understand his concern for her safety, my rose. I only wish that we shared the same predicament.”

  “But I wanted Nyssa to come,” Catherine whined, ignoring his barb. “I miss her!”

  “Have I not given you everything that your heart desires, my adorable wife?” the king crooned at her. He reached out to draw her into his embrace.

  “Nyssa is my friend,” the queen cried, pulling away. “My only friend! What fun is all of this without a best friend to share it with, Henry?” She stamped her foot at him.

  He wanted to understand, but he did not. She was Queen of England. She had everything anyone could desire at her fingertips. Why was she complaining?

  “You must make her come back to court after her child is born, my lord,” the queen insisted. “I want Nyssa with me. I need her to be with me, Henry.”

  “But it will be some months before she can safely travel,” the king told her. Catherine, of course, not having yet had a child, would not understand. He attempted to explain it to her. “She will need several weeks to recover from the birth itself. Then, as a country woman, she will want to nurse her child herself. It cannot be weaned from her breast for two or three years, Catherine. By that time, or before, she will surely be enceinte with another child. It is unlikely that you will see Nyssa de Winter in the near future, my sweet. But we will have to try all the harder to have our own children, won’t we? If you are busy with your own family, you will not have time to think of Nyssa.”