Like any forbidden subject, it had the power to fascinate. She knew about the idols but not much else; her father would never allow discussion of the subject. His Lordship’s assurances that Mary Tudor would succeed her brother meant little to Bethany because she simply did not believe them. The old King had broken with Rome, the young King had brought the country to the Protestant faith and the people would never tolerate another Catholic monarch. Catholic rule was a thing of the past and would never return. That was what her father had taught both her and her siblings and she had no reason to doubt them. That new year of 1553, none of it was of any concern to the young daughter of a wealthy merchant whose future lay uneasily in the hands of others.
Lord Summerville sat down and stretched out his long legs toward the fire before he spoke.
“Can I take it you are not eager for a marriage with these suitors your father has found for you?” He asked.
Bethany laughed bitterly.
“You certainly can. But I have been considering my situation all week and I can see no alternative. My father wants a title, and he does not much care who is wearing it.”
“He would prefer an Earl to a Baron I think.”
His words made her angry. He was toying with her again, playing with her emotions simply because he could, and she was not going to tolerate it.
“What exactly are you saying, My Lord?” She demanded. “I am getting a little tired of your innuendoes and hints. Do you know someone who would be a better prospect for me?”
He leaned forward and put down his wine on a side table, dropping his hands between his knees as he spoke earnestly. Gone was the playful smile and dancing eyes, now he was deadly serious.
“I will come straight to the point then, since you seem to appreciate candour and there is little time to dissemble,” he said. “I am in need of a wife. I like you; you speak your mind and seem to have opinions and ideas of your own. I do not want a silly little mouse who agrees with everything I say and hangs off my every word.”
Bethany’s heart was hammering. She studied his face carefully, looking for any sign that he was jesting, having some sick joke at her expense. She could find none.
“You mean it?” He nodded. “Why?”
“Why not? You want a man who is not driven to marry you for your wealth; you want to feel you have been chosen, not tolerated. I want a woman with whom I can develop an intelligent relationship. So far, we seem to suit each other.”
He picked up his goblet and began to sip the wine once more while she stared in disbelief. She expected any moment that he would begin to laugh, to tell her he was only toying with her. Could this be part of her dreams? Surely he would want a noblewoman as his countess, someone who knew how to preside over a house like this, someone who would know how to behave when presented at court?
She gazed from the window at all those chimneys on those otherwise poor cottages and knew that this was a kind and genuine man, not one who would play with her emotions. He meant it; he really, really meant it.
She could be a countess; she could be mistress of this beautiful house and these endless grounds. She could have beautiful clothes, velvet and lace, even cloth of gold, fabrics forbidden to the common people no matter how wealthy.
Her excitement was clear in her eyes and he studied her for a few moments, planning his next words carefully. The promises he needed to extract from her would define their future.
“There are conditions,” he said at last.
“Which are?”
“Firstly, I need an heir. Whether you can provide one, it is beyond your capabilities to know but I do want your assurance that you will do nothing to interfere with the process.”
She was offended and anger brought a scowl to her face.
“That would go without saying, My Lord. What do you take me for?”
“I do not know as yet,” he replied. “That is why this part is so important. My main reason for marrying is to procure an heir to my estates and title. I trust you are a maid.” She nodded, her cheeks growing hotter. “But you do understand what the process is, do you not?”
Once more he had chosen a subject too intimate for discussion and she could not honestly answer that she did know what he was talking about. She did however know that married people sometimes shared a bed, although she was unclear as to precisely what went on there.
Why was he asking her such an intimate question? Did he think perhaps she would be reluctant to do her duty in that regard?
“I think I do, My Lord,” she answered quietly, her eyes firmly fixed on her clasped hands.
He gave a little sigh, almost of relief though she could not be sure.
“Please stop calling me that. I told you, my name is Richard.”
She was anxious to move passed this topic of conversation lest he find even more embarrassing questions to ask.
“What else?” She said.
She was beginning to be afraid now, afraid this prize would be snatched away from her, that it would turn out to be all a beautiful dream from which she would awake, still in her chamber at Winterton House, still almost betrothed to an unknown but titled stranger.
“You might find my other conditions harder to comply with,” he replied, looking at her earnestly. “I am a selfish soul. I have never been good at sharing myself with anyone and I have mistresses. I intend to keep them. I expect you, however, to be faithful to only me.” He paused and glanced at her for a reaction. “Grossly unfair, I know,” he went on. “But I will insist.”
He watched her for a few seconds as though deciding whether to say more.
“I confess that I am cursed with a barely controllable temper, but I do my best to keep it in check and if you honour our agreement, there will never be a need for you to see it. You will be well compensated,” he said quietly. “As my wife you will have access to the court when the time comes as well as the respect of all the people who live and work here at Summerville Hall. You will meet many important people and on equal terms; you must remember that. You will not be grateful that they choose to entertain you; you will be the Countess of Summerville and they will respect you. All my wealth will be at your disposal. I will share everything I have with you; that is my promise.”
She wore a frown as she considered his words. He said no more but instinct told her he had not finished, that he had more to say. She could tolerate his mistresses; she had no love for the man so what did it matter to her? She thought it likely she could stay faithful without too much effort, considering what she was gaining in return. Besides, adultery was not something which appealed to her. She had forgotten the most important condition.
“Why do you spend time in proposing these things to me?” She asked him. “You need only apply to my father and he will fall at your feet.”
He stared at her thoughtfully for a few moments, as though considering how much to reveal. She was sure he had secrets which were affecting his present proposals.
“Because I do not want a wife who does not want me,” he replied firmly. “It is your decision whether you marry me, not your father’s. We must be clear on that, whatever your reasons.”
“My father will never forgive me if I refuse you.”
“Should you refuse me, he will never know. I certainly will not tell him and if he should hear of it, I shall deny it. I will not be coerced into what should be an amicable relationship and I have no use for a woman who feels so coerced.”
“You seem very different from most gentlemen.”
“I am different,” he replied with a little smile. “I thought that is what you wanted.” He paused then and his expression became serious. “One more thing,” he said firmly. “You have not forgotten that I am Catholic? I shall expect my wife to follow my faith.”
She drew a deep breath then; she had been right all along. This prize was about to be stolen away before she had even savoured it. How could she give up the beliefs of a lifetime? How could she persuade him he was wrong? The simple answer was t
hat she could not, nobody could.
“I shall want you to give up your heretical beliefs,” he was saying. “You will attend Mass and learn about the true faith.”
She turned her back on him to stare at the gardens outside; she had no wish to look at him. What he asked of her, nay demanded of her, went against everything she had ever been taught. But the idols, the superstitions, the corruption of the Roman church was gone, finished, buried in the past where it belonged. Should she agree to this, she would never have to do anything but pretend; that should not be too difficult, despite her character. If she did not agree she could forsake all that he offered, including himself. He was an attractive man, any woman would see that, and fabulously wealthy. But was all that worth risking Hell for?
He spoke again, his eyes fixed on her straight back where she stood looking away from him.
“I will insist you stay faithful to all my conditions. You will not enjoy the consequences should you betray me.”
She spun around. For the first time she felt threatened, felt a shiver of fear. He did not seem to be a violent man, he had not even raised his voice, but somehow she knew he meant every word.
This was one subject about which he was deadly serious. No more mischievous grin, no more playful smile; but what would it matter, when there would never be another Catholic monarch?
“You expect me to go against the law? That is very dangerous.”
“It will not be the law for much longer. When Edward dies, Mary will be Queen and this country will be Catholic once more. I will welcome that day and I shall expect you to do the same.” He reached out and took her hand, as though reassuring a frightened child. And she was frightened, but not of him. For the first time in her life, she feared the wrath of the Almighty and wondered if He would forgive. “The choice is yours,” he went on. “I will leave you the rest of the day to consider it.”
***
She got no sleep that night. She had spent all afternoon trying to decide what she should do, when she knew very well that she should have refused without hesitation. How could she know that her failure to do so gave him hope, made him think her beliefs were a mere habit of her upbringing and perhaps he was right. If he were not, she would not even be considering his proposal, would she? Her father and brother were devout in their beliefs, her mother had no opinions which differed from those of her husband. Although her family did not know it, Bethany was far more concerned with this life than the next.
Having turned his words over in her mind all night, having compared her future prospects as they were with what was now offered, she knew her mind was made up. There was just that one condition she was still unsure of, that she should not even consider, but by the time the dawn broke she had convinced herself that she could find a way around it.
She felt sure Julia would not be happy with either his proposal or her decision to accept it, but she was not sure why. Perhaps when she said he was dangerous, she was concerned for Bethany’s virtue, afraid she might be tempted by his obvious charms. A marriage proposal made all the difference to that fear.
Bethany felt it only right to tell her sister as soon as possible. She tried again to ask her what she had against the Earl, but each time the subject was broached she only told her to stay away from him and walked out of the room. Perhaps Julia knew his secret and was afraid Bethany would get hurt, or find herself prosecuted under the law. She need not have worried; it was not something Bethany wanted to shout about.
She was leaving that morning, returning to London, and if she was going to tell Julia, it had to be now. She was unprepared for the near hysteria which greeted the news.
“I cannot believe it!” Julia almost screamed. “He has proposed marriage to you?”
“He has. He has given me the option and he has told me what to expect. I am going to Summerville Hall in a few moments to accept him.”
“No, you cannot,” she cried. “Please.” Then she clenched her fists and looked up at the ceiling in frustration. “He is a Catholic. Did he tell you that?”
“He did as a matter of fact. But I am surprised to find that you know it.” She wondered how Julia had found out, whether he had told her. “Did he tell you?”
“It does not matter how I know, only that I do. And you will accept him anyway, is that what you are saying?”
“It is.” She moved toward her sister and tried to take her hand, but Julia pulled away angrily. “Julia, he offers so much. How can I refuse him?”
“A curse on him!” She shouted. “He knows what he is doing, do you not see that? He knows you will have no choice but to accept; he wants to test you, to see how deep your faith goes.” She looked at her with contempt. “And now he knows and so do I! Go! Go make your dirty bargain with the Earl, but expect no sympathy from me when it blows up in your face!”
She spun around and fled the room, leaving Bethany to wonder about her piety, which she had never suspected went so deep. Obviously deeper than her own, she was ashamed to admit.
But she let her go and set off across the meadows on foot. She had not lied when she said she was no rider and although she did not mind a gentle mount, she would not ride out alone. She could hardly ask Julia for a servant to accompany her, not after that display of temper and outrage.
As she walked, she still wondered if she was doing the right thing, if it was worth the risk. If anyone found out he would lose everything she was trying to gain. If that happened, it would all have been for nothing. She doubted she would still have her father’s support in that event, since he would never accept a Catholic into the family, no matter what his title.
She tried to pray, to seek answers, but she felt in her heart that God would not reply. The answers she sought were so obvious and she really believed that merely to ask would damn her in God’s eyes forever. Was she not supposed to believe that all Catholics were on their way to hell? And if she obeyed the Earl’s conditions, would she not be on her way to hell with him? But hell seemed to be a very long way off that morning.
Bethany knew she should be ashamed. People had lost everything rather than deny their faith; Protestants had been burned alive for heresy rather than declare themselves Catholic. She was selling her soul for a title, a fortune and a handsome man, but she had privately always believed those martyrs were stupid, to suffer so for the sake of a few words. God knew what was in their hearts. Who else would know what she was really thinking but Him?
Richard was sure Mary Tudor would be next in line to the throne. That is what King Henry had declared in his own Will. The idea was frightening, but he was wrong! The people would never accept Mary Tudor, Bethany would be wealthy and titled and mistress of that beautiful mansion, and the Earl would never know her true feelings. At least, that is what she told herself as she made her way across the frosty meadow to her destiny.
She never quite made it to the house, for His Lordship was walking in the grounds and met her at the edge of the trees.
“Good morning, My Lord,” she said quickly before he had a chance to speak.
“You have come to give me your answer, Mistress.”
“I have. If you meant what you said, then I accept.”
She was rewarded by a quick smile of pleasure and he took her hand and kissed her fingers.
“I am delighted. I shall leave for London at once,” he said turning back toward the house. “Do not let your father promise you to anyone else until I get there.”
***
That afternoon found Bethany back in London, having left Winterton House as soon as she returned there after her talk with the Earl. There was no sign of Julia whilst she supervised the packing of her things, but she did appear just as she was getting into the carriage.
“Did you accept him?” She demanded.
“I did. Can you give me some valid reason why I should not?”
“Yes,” she said angrily. “He is a Catholic. I would have thought that would be enough.”
“I am sorry, Julia, but I cannot rej
ect this opportunity.”
“He will never be faithful to you. I hope you realise that.”
“I do. He told me that from the beginning.” Bethany looked into her eyes, hoping to find some answers to her heated objections. “What is that to me?”
She shrugged and turned back to walk into the house, but Bethany heard her calling back to her.
“Then I wish you well of each other, and I wash my hands of you. You are no sister to me.”
Bethany was very hurt by Julia’s words and she could not see why she was making so much fuss. She could understand the religious aspect, but why should it matter so much to her? It was not she who was being asked to give up a lifetime of belief.
Bethany was resting in her bedchamber late that afternoon, trying to shut out the noise from the London streets, when she heard someone leaving the house. She looked down from her window to see the Earl emerging; he had not wasted any time in getting here.
Her father was beside himself with joy when he sent for her.
“Goodness, Bethany,” he started immediately. “I know not what you have done to deserve it, but I have just accepted an offer for your hand in marriage from the Earl of Summerville! Now what do you think of that?”
She could hardly tell him what she thought of it, because she did not yet know herself. She was still arguing with her conscience, still searching her soul for an ethical way around the problem, for a way to have it both ways. Her contrary nature could not help but be tempted to tell her father that the man he had accepted for his daughter, the Earl he was so pleased about, was a hated papist. But she knew what he would do. He may have been desperate to buy a title to complete the image for which he had worked so hard, but his convictions were deep and genuine. She would find herself married to some ghastly baron or knight and her father would inform the authorities about Richard’s crime. She was surprised to feel a sudden dread of putting him in danger.
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