That was her main reason for keeping her child’s parentage to herself. As long as Charles believed him to be her husband’s son, there was no reason for him to know she was a whore, her child a bastard. She thought her heart would break if he were to discover the truth.
“We have never really talked about it, have we?” He said. “How fervent are your beliefs? How would you feel about a Catholic on the throne?”
“I cannot imagine such a thing,” she replied, but her first thought was Bethany and her treacherous bargain.
“It might well happen,” he told her. “Jane Grey will not sit securely on the throne. Mary Tudor will fight to reclaim it and she will be ruthless in her efforts to restore England to the Church of Rome.”
“Let us pray you are wrong.”
But he was not wrong. The reign of Queen Jane lasted little more than a week and while Julia gave birth to a son on the narrow, straw mattress in the little room she had grown accustomed to, Mary Tudor arrived in London with her army of soldiers and her chief advisors at her side. She promised religious tolerance, but the Protestants did not believe it and the Catholics did not approve of it.
The birth of Richard’s son was very different to what she had been expecting when she had thought about motherhood, and very, very different from the way an Earl’s son should arrive in the world.
There was no confinement chamber to which noble ladies would retire to await the birth, with their ladies. Nobody even suggested she should hide herself and she carried on as normal until the first pain came. She wondered if her sister had yet given birth; she wondered what she would think of this little room with its narrow, straw mattress.
“He is beautiful.” Charles sat on the edge of the bed and gave his finger to the tiny hand of this newborn babe. “What will you call him?”
“Simon,” she answered. He raised an enquiring eyebrow. “St Peter was called Simon before Jesus found him and told him he would be his rock. This child will be my rock, Charles. I love him so much already; do you think you can love him too?”
“I would be honoured.”
As she held the tiny person in her arms she remembered Geoffrey’s threat and could almost see him holding a cushion over the baby’s face to smother him. She shivered with fear that he might be looking for her, that he might still find her and her son. She would kill him if he came near Simon and to hell with the consequences.
The women came in to see the new baby, all bearing gifts of clothes they had made for him and not one of them asked about his father.
It was but a few weeks before she regained her figure and Julia’s next task was to make Charles Carlisle declare his love for her. She was certain he had that love. She was also certain that Charles keenly felt the great social divide between them and she wondered if perhaps she should be the one to say it first.
Her plan was put on hold when Charles told her, before she recovered from the birth, that the new Queen was busy putting in place her plans to reunite England with the Church of Rome. His words frightened her, but his next words shocked her into silence.
“She is aided by the Earl of Summerville,” Charles told her. “His family have ever been fervent Catholics and he has been just waiting for this moment. Rumour has it he is as zealous as his Queen, that she keeps him close and values his advice above all others.”
The Catholic Queen’s right hand man? Her close adviser? Bethany had not bargained for that, Julia was certain. And if she had known, would it have made a difference? Would it have stopped her from marrying him? Somehow she doubted it.
Her memory showed her their childhood together, how they listened to the Protestant priests as they instilled into all three of the children the importance of their faith, how the Papist idolaters had corrupted Christ’s message to suit themselves, how they grew rich on the terror of the place they called Purgatory, how they charged money in return for promises that they could shorten a soul’s time there.
Her father hated all Catholics, and his children were supposed to do the same. But Bethany did not hesitate to promise to relinquish those beliefs when offered a title and the wealth which went with it.
Charles’ tone was bitter, full of hatred for both the Queen and the Earl and for a moment Julia wondered if she should tell him that the man’s wife was her own sister. Thank God he did not know that Simon was fathered by the Earl Charles so obviously despised. That was one secret she never wanted him to know.
She had never seen him angry before and she waited until she was sitting with her babe in her arms, her breast to his tiny mouth.
“Charles,” she began. “The Earl; his Countess is my sister.”
***
Julia stayed at the smallholding with Charles and his friends for the first few months of the new reign. She thought at first it would not affect her very much, as they were farmers, not close to the court as her sister was. How was she faring? Julia wondered.
She also wondered often just why His Lordship had chosen a commoner, inexperienced and many years his junior, to be his countess. She had no real knowledge of the nobility, she was too young to have very much to bring to the marriage and she was a Protestant. He knew that, and he likely thought her beliefs to be shallow if she would give them up so easily.
She imagined Richard would have wanted his wife at the palace for the coronation and the idea made her shudder. Was Bethany so far besotted with her new life and her new husband that she would have no qualms about meeting the Queen face to face?
Her attempts to get closer to Charles were thwarted by her revelation that her sister was the Countess of Summerville and she resented that. She knew she was falling in love with him; he was so kind and so good to all his people, a truly genuine man who she found very attractive. Sometimes she would lie awake and remember Richard Summerville’s touch on her naked flesh and wish she could somehow persuade Charles to do the same.
It was but a few months before Charles was proved right about the Queen’s religious intentions.
“I knew she was lying!” He declared. “I knew she would not allow religious tolerance. One of their mantras is that they shall not suffer a heretic to live. That is what they think we are, heretics.”
She took his hand, held on to his arm.
Since recovering from Simon’s birth, she had wanted very much to find a way into this man’s heart. She was sure he cared for her and he treated the baby as his own, but she had been unable to tempt him to anything else. Perhaps the farming class had different rules; perhaps he thought her somehow above him, although she never used her title and would rather forget she had ever had it.
He filled her dreams at night, he filled her thoughts in the daylight, but he treated her as a much loved sister, not as the desirable woman she wanted to be to him.
What would her father think of that? He had fought so hard to find her a title, and she had discarded it for a farmer. She smiled at the thought.
“I am sorry, Charles,” she said. “What can we do?”
He turned and smiled at her.
“What can we do?” He repeated. “That is what endears you to me; always you look to help.”
“Can I help? Is there anything I can do to help?”
He looked at her thoughtfully for a few moments. It was a warm day and they stood outside in the front yard, the baby in his crib in the shade of the house. It was a comfortable scene, and one anyone would think of as a happy one, but Charles could not feel that way.
At last he spoke.
“You have discarded your status,” he said. “You work with the animals like the others, you cook for us and sew for us and never once hanker after your wealth. I have to wonder when the novelty will wear off.”
Quick tears filled her eyes and she released his arm and took a step away from him.
“What exactly do you mean by that, Sir?” She asked in a quivering voice.
She had been happy here these few months and while she was thinking she could learn to love this man, he was
thinking she was playing some upper class game? She was hurt and that hurt was rapidly turning to anger.
“I mean, Julia, that you must miss the life you left behind. You were wealthy, titled, with fine clothes. Your husband was a brute who did not deserve you, but still this is not what you are used to, is it? It is not what you were raised for.”
“What has that to do with anything?” She demanded angrily. “I came here seeking help for a terrible predicament; I thought I had found happiness, friendship, perhaps something more. But all the time you thought me playing at being a farmer, that I would soon want to return to the life I knew before.” She turned away from him, folded her arms and swallowed back a sob. “You do not have to tolerate my presence any longer. I shall leave at first light.”
She felt his hand on her arm as he came up behind her and turned her to face him. He ran his fingers through her thick, pale hair and turned her face to look at him.
“Something more?” He asked.
“It is of no matter.”
“You are really happy here?”
“I was.”
“Forgive me,” he said. “I wanted to know where I stood. Since the evening I saw you riding towards my house I have been slowly falling in love with you. I have been afraid of that, afraid that you would grow weary of this life and want to return to your husband and his wealth. Are you really saying you would rather stay here with me?”
“Why would I want to return to him? You saw what he did to me.”
“I have no knowledge of how the wealthy live, or their values. You tell me your sister married the Papist Earl for his wealth, despite having to give up her beliefs, despite even having to tolerate his infidelities. How was I to know you would not believe any sort of treatment worth the wealth?”
She stared up at him, her mouth turned down bitterly and hoping she could hold on to those threatening tears.
“I am not my sister, Sir,” she said at last. “I have been happier here with you these months than ever in my entire life before.”
She was rewarded with a delighted smile and he bent his head and kissed her, a long, tender kiss which she had only imagined all these months.
“So it is safe to fall in love with you?” He asked.
“Very safe.”
He took her hand and led her inside the house, up the narrow, wooden staircase to the room above where he slept alone in a much larger bed. The mattress was straw, like the one downstairs, but it was thicker and now they stood beside that bed and he began to undress her.
Her memory showed her quick flashes of the only other time a man had undressed her like this. That time they had stood before an expensive, carved bed with soft feather mattresses and pillows and all around her were valuable furnishings, oak panelling and old paintings. She wondered if she would feel the same, or if her one afternoon with the Earl had somehow spoilt her for other men.
“I cannot offer you marriage,” Charles said softly. “You already have a husband and what I am offering you is against the laws of man and church. You have only to say and I will leave you be.”
How odd; before he bedded her, Richard had told her what he could not offer her. She began to wonder if there was anything a man could offer her, but she already knew the answer.
In reply she untied the front of his shirt and put her hand inside to gently caress his chest.
“Will you promise not to think badly of me?”
“I promise.”
“Then it is right.”
“It was not so very long ago the church had nothing to do with marriage,” he told her. “A man and woman simply moved in together and they were wed in the eyes of the law.”
“Then we, too, are wed.”
He pulled her to him and kissed her again, then his hands trailed down her neck to her shoulders to slide her shift from her body and let it fall to the floor. She stood naked before him and he stirred as he had never stirred before, his lips touched her neck and his hand cupped her breast. She pulled the tie on his breeches and pulled him onto the bed, ran her fingers over his body while he gently stroked her flesh.
“I love you, Charles,” she whispered against his neck. “I have never said that to any man before; I have never felt it for any man before.”
“And I love you.”
He gathered her close to him and she felt him inside her. It was like no other feeling she had ever had. Richard Summerville had made her feel like a woman again; this man made her feel like a woman who was loved and that meant everything.
CHAPTER SIX
Baby Simon was but a few weeks old when they were discovered. Julia was out beside the stream, some half mile away from the house, helping the other women with the laundry and washing the baby’s clothes to be dried while the sun still shone.
Charles was watching the baby in the front yard. He had laid a blanket out on the grass for him to catch some warmth and he laughed at the child’s efforts to roll over. Now he turned his head as a man approached on a big bay stallion. He had no idea who he was, but his clothing was rich and his expression was threatening. Charles scooped the child up into his arms and took him inside the house, laid him down in the crib he had made specially for him.
He returned to greet the visitor.
“I have come in search of my wife,” the man said.
“Your wife, Sir? We have no strangers here.”
“Do not waste my time,” he replied. He pulled from his pocket a huge, blue stone set into a pendant and held it out. “The thieving whore had someone sell this to a broker in Norwich. Luckily for me, it is a well known piece and had she looked well enough she would have seen the engraving. The broker returned it to me, along with the name of the man from whom he bought it. Seems he recognised him; from there it took little effort to discover this place.”
Charles silently cursed himself for a fool. Why had he not looked closely for identifying marks on such a valuable jewel? Perhaps because he had never had one in his hand before.
“Just tell me where my wife is and I will not press charges.”
Now Charles was too angry to be afraid of arrest. He had fallen in love with Julia and when he thought of her beautiful body covered in fading bruises from this man’s savagery, he wanted to pull him down from his horse and beat his superior face into the mud.
“Why do you want her?” He demanded. “You do not care for her; that is obvious.”
Geoffrey raised an eyebrow.
“Why? Because she belongs to me, that is why. Because she is as much my property as this gemstone, and the other jewels she stole. Why do you protect her?” The sound of a crying baby from inside the house caused him to cast his eyes toward the building. He smirked. “I see the whore has given birth to Summerville’s bastard.”
Charles’ eyes opened wide and he flinched, but said nothing. He had no wish to give this man ammunition to use against Julia, but if the baby was the son of the arch Papist, why had she not told him? Well, she had her reasons and he would keep his counsel. But for now, he had to get rid of this man before he ruined them all.
“Julia is no longer here, Sir,” Charles replied. “That child you are referring to is my son.”
“Your son?”
“Yes. I did sell the jewel, I admit it, but then Lady Winterton left as she did not want to involve us in her troubles.”
Geoffrey laughed loudly, as though enjoying a good joke.
“You are a liar,” he replied. “So, she is whoring with the peasant classes now. Why does that not surprise me? Who is your Lord? Where should I go to report the adultery to him?”
“I am no peasant, Sir. This farm is mine.”
“Oh, excuse me.” Geoffrey said mockingly, with a cruel smile, a smile his wife would recognise. “I will be back,” he said. “You can keep the brat, but I want my property. I intend to have her publicly flogged for her adultery and you with her if you do not give her up. You may not find her so appealing when all that gorgeous hair is lying about her feet and she has a
scarlet S painted on her hairless dome. You may not stir for her when she is stripped naked from the waist up in the market square with you beside her.” He turned his horse and began to ride slowly away. “The choice is yours. You have until this hour tomorrow to decide.”
***
Julia stood rigidly beside the stream, a basket containing her wet laundry balanced on her hip, her eyes open wide and her heart racing with fear. She knew that horse, she knew the figure of the man who sat upon him and terror twisted her gut until she thought she might vomit.
Geoffrey had found her. She was half surprised he would bother to look, to take time out of his busy schedule of pleasures to seek her out, but he likely wanted his jewels back. How did he find her? Was there no escape? And what was he telling Charles? Her husband knew who had sired her son, a fact she wanted to keep from her lover for fear it would be too much, for fear he would think her a whore.
She watched him turn his stallion and ride away then she hurried to the house, saw Charles disappear inside where baby Simon was crying and when she followed him she saw him pacing the floor with the babe in his arms, trying to soothe his tears. He kissed the child’s cheek then put him into the crib and continued to rock it gently.
Did that mean Geoffrey had not told him, that he did not know the truth? Or could she hope that it did not matter? She would not ask, would not tempt fate. She would wait until he mentioned it himself.
Charles turned when he had put the child in his crib and met her with a smile, saw the fear in her eyes.
“You saw?” He asked.
She nodded.
“How did he find us?” She asked tearfully. “How could he have found us?”
“It was my fault,” he answered as he took a step to stand before her and, setting the basket of wet clothes on the floor, pulled her into his arms. “One of those jewels had engravings on which led the jeweller to him. I am so sorry.”
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