Elizabeth Meredith, like her mother before her, had been born to manage the Friarsgate inheritance. She loved the land. The raising of sheep fascinated her. She tried breeding different kinds of the creatures to see whether the wool they grew was different, or better. She spent two days each week in a chamber set aside for estate business, where she oversaw the export trade her mother and uncle had set up. No one had yet to match the Friarsgate blue wool cloth they sold through their factors in the Netherlands, and Elizabeth had been working for several years now to develop a new and unique color. So far, nothing had satisfied her.
She was a great chatelaine of her lands, and therein lay the problem. Nothing meant more to her than Friarsgate. It was her raison d’être. Elizabeth did not acknowledge the passing of time, or bother to consider a future in which she would play no part. Like all great estates, Friarsgate needed to be assured of a new generation.
Thomas Bolton sighed to himself. Elizabeth Meredith was by far the loveliest of Rosamund’s daughters. But her social skills were practically nonexistent. She had been taught them, but had no use for fine table manners, or the playing of an instrument, which she had once done quite well. Her clothing was that of a country farmer’s wife, and not a young heiress. She spoke directly, and sometimes roughly. All the niceties she had been bred and born to were forgotten in her passion to oversee Friarsgate.
And that in part, along with his desire for a quieter household, was his reason for going to Friarsgate for the rest of the winter months. Before he might introduce Elizabeth into court he would have to reeducate her in the ways of her station. They were going to need Philippa’s aid once they were at Greenwich, and Philippa was unlikely to give it, blood kin or no, if Elizabeth was going to prove an embarrassment to her oldest sister. That would be one of the first things he must work on with Elizabeth, Thomas Bolton decided. He had to convince her before they departed Friarsgate not to deliberately irritate Philippa. Finding a husband for Elizabeth Meredith was going to prove a far greater challenge to him than finding a husband for her two sisters had.
William Smythe was an invaluable servant and companion. By the following morning he had his master prepared to depart Otterly. The cart carrying their baggage had left at first light for Friarsgate. Six Otterly men-at-arms were waiting to escort Lord Cambridge and his secretary. It was a long ride, but if they rode out early enough they would reach Friarsgate shortly after dusk.
“Oh, Uncle, must you leave us?” Banon Meredith Neville asked him as they broke their fast in the hall. “When will you return? Jemima, stop teasing your sister!”
“My dearest girl, you know how your mother relies upon me in such matters. Elizabeth must have a husband, and seems not of a mind to find one for herself. I must drag her off to court and seek a miracle, Banon, my angel. I hope you will pray for our success.” He spooned some egg into his mouth, smiling as he tasted a hint of both chive and cheese. Then he took a swallow of his morning wine. “Your youngest sister is not an easy creature, as you well know.”
“Will you ask for Philippa’s help?” Banon queried him, her pretty face curious. “Katherine, Thomasina, Jemima, and Elizabeth, it is time for your lessons. Run along to your tutor now, and take Margaret with you. I know she is but three, but perhaps an early start will help.” Banon sighed.
“I fear I have no choice,” he answered her. “Philippa’s connections at court are impeccable, as you know.” He waved to the little girls leaving the hall, for he did love them all despite their high spirits, and his heart warmed as they blew him kisses.
“Perhaps no longer,” Banon noted. “Even here, Uncle, we get the gossip. Later than most, but eventually it comes. You know the queen is no longer in favor with the king. And he pays most public court to the younger Boleyn girl. I doubt my eldest sister approves, for like our mother her devotion to Queen Katherine is deep.”
“Indeed it is,” Lord Cambridge agreed, “but I suspect now her loyalty to her sons will be even stronger. She must look to their future, and the king will decide their fate, not the queen. Philippa may love the queen, but it is the king who wields the power, Banon. Your sister will not embrace Mistress Boleyn, but neither will she offend her.”
“Well, Uncle, you shall soon see,” Banon replied. “How long will you remain at Friarsgate, and when will you depart for court?”
“There is so much to do.” He sighed, taking a piece of fresh, warm cottage loaf and buttering it lavishly. The butter ran down his fingers as he popped it into his mouth. “Elizabeth must be reminded of her heritage and her breeding. She must begin to practice her social skills again. The court is not filled with sheep. At least not those with woolly coats,” Lord Cambridge amended. “And she will need clothing.” He licked his fingers clean of the butter. “Maybel and Edmund have little authority over her, I fear.”
“They are old, Uncle. Edmund will be seventy-one in the spring, but he is still strong enough to steward Friarsgate for Elizabeth.” Her blue eyes grew thoughtful, and her plump fingers drummed upon the tabletop. “But what will she do when Edmund cannot aid her? I do not know if my sister has even considered such a possibility. Elizabeth seems to think that nothing changes, but of course it does.”
“First things first, my angel girl. And the first thing is to recivilize your little sister, and then take her to court to show to her best advantage. There has to be one younger son of some sense who could find it in himself to live in the north. I shall track him down and get Mistress Elizabeth married properly before year’s end.” He stood up. “I must go now, Banon, if I am to reach Friarsgate by nightfall. I shall send word when I plan to return. In the meantime Otterly is yours to care for and watch over.” He kissed her cheek and gave Banon’s husband, Robert Neville, a friendly wave as he turned and departed the hall.
“Well,” Banon said, turning to her husband, “what do you think of all of this?”
“Tom knows well what he is doing,” Robert Neville said. He was a man of few words, which was fortunate, since everyone else around him had a great deal to say. And he had quickly accepted the fact that his wife ruled Otterly. It suited him, as he far preferred hunting and other gentlemanly pursuits. Leaning over he gave her a kiss on the cheek, knowing it was expected of him. Then, grinning lecherously at Banon, he remarked, “We shall have Otterly to ourselves all winter, my sweet. Only the children to consider, and the nights are yet long.”
Lord Cambridge’s party rode hard the day long, and as he had anticipated it was dusk as they came down the hills to Friarsgate. The fields about them lay fallow, the plow ruts frozen and touched with white frost. The lake had a skim of ice upon it, and already a moon was rising in the half-light to reflect itself in the frozen waters. William Smythe rode ahead to alert the house to their arrival. The cook would need to be informed, and places must be made in the stables for the horses and their riders. But stable lads were there to take Thomas Bolton’s horse and lead his men-at-arms to the stable.
The front door was flung open, and light poured forth through its opening as Elizabeth Meredith came forth to greet her uncle. “You did not wait very long after receiving my mother’s plea,” she teased him. “Or have you come to tell me you are too old to go to court? That is what Mama said.” She kissed his cheek, and then, linking her arm in his, brought him into the house and through into her hall. She was wearing a long blue wool skirt, a wide leather belt about her narrow waist, and a long-sleeved white linen shirt.
It suited her, Lord Cambridge thought. “I shall never be too old to go to court,” he replied a trifle indignantly. So Rosamund thought because he had begun his sixth decade he was not the man he had always been. Well, she would see soon enough. He would turn Elizabeth into a little princess in spite of herself. “Nor will I ever grow too old to fail Rosamund’s daughters, my pet,” he said, smiling with pleasure as she kissed his cold cheek in welcome. He plunked himself into a tapestry-backed chair by the fire and, pulling off his gloves, held his hands to the fire. “God’s wo
unds, ’tis cold!” he exclaimed.
“Wine for my lord!” Elizabeth shouted to her servants.
Lord Cambridge winced. “Dear child,” he pleaded, “do not call out as if you were in the taproom of a crowded inn. A lady’s voice should be gentle but firm in tone when instructing her servants.”
“Oh, lord!” Elizabeth said almost wearily. “Are my lessons to start at once?”
“Aye, they are,” he said, taking the goblet of wine from a hovering servant. “You are obviously in sore need, Elizabeth Meredith, of civilizing. And I shall not be driven off. Your mother is correct: You must have a husband. Friarsgate needs to be assured of another generation of those who love it and will care for it. I am going to turn you back into the lady you were born to be, and then, dear girl, we shall go hunt for a nice young man who will not be frightened of you, and who shall wed you and give you the sons and daughters this estate nurtures so well.” He put the goblet to his lips and drank half of the contents down. “Now what is for dinner? I have not eaten since we left Otterly, except for a wedge of hard cheese and a bit of bread. I must have a good meal if I am to take on this incredible task, dear girl.”
Elizabeth laughed aloud. “Uncle, you have not changed, and if anyone can make me presentable long enough to snag a healthy young ram to mate with, ’tis you!”
He raised a sandy-gray eyebrow. “You will have to learn to temper your speech no matter your thoughts, my pet,” he advised, and drank down the rest of his wine. This would be a herculean task indeed.
Elizabeth grinned back at him. “Well, isn’t that what we’re going to do, Uncle? Find me a mate for the purpose of getting heirs for Friarsgate?”
“You might put it a bit more delicately, dear girl, and there is always the possibility that you might fall in love,” he suggested dryly.
Elizabeth made a rude noise. “Love? No, thank you! Love weakens a body. Philippa gave up Friarsgate for love. Even Mama gave up Friarsgate for love. I shall never give up Friarsgate.”
“Ahh,” Lord Cambridge responded, “but the right man will never ask such a sacrifice of you. Your own father, who had lived all his life at court, was more than willing to come to Friarsgate, for love of your mother. And he quickly grew to love this land. And Philippa made her own decision in the matter. She did not want Friarsgate, for her passion is for the court. And your mother would have never left to live at Claven’s Carn had not you been here to accept her responsibilities as she has always accepted them. Even now she raises her sons in their father’s house as she should. You would not have had Friarsgate so soon otherwise, Elizabeth. Remember that.”
“Oh, Uncle, I doubt I will find a man who can love Friarsgate as I do! Philippa threw away her inheritance because no young man at court would have it,” Elizabeth said. She pushed a lock of her long, straight blond hair from her face. “I shall never do such a thing, I assure you.”
“Philippa was a creature of the court from the moment she first visited it when she was ten, Elizabeth. For her, Friarsgate paled in comparison after that first visit. I saw it, but your mother would not until she could no longer avoid it,” Thomas Bolton said.
“What if I find the court fascinating, and do not want to return?” she asked him.
“I doubt that will happen, my dear child,” he reassured her. “Your heart is here, and wherever your heart is, is home. Somewhere out there, Elizabeth, is a man who will make Friarsgate his home because you are here.” He patted her arm. “Now, where is my supper? I am about to swoon with hunger. And where is Will?”
“I am here, my lord,” William Smythe said, entering the hall. “I was seeing to your things. Good evening, Mistress Elizabeth.” He bowed politely.
“Welcome back, Will,” Elizabeth greeted him. “Are you hungry too?” She chuckled at him. She signaled a servant to bring William Smythe some wine.
“Indeed I am, Mistress Elizabeth, and your board is always a most excellent and tasty one, if I remember correctly.” He took the proffered goblet from the servant.
“Ah, but tonight I fear it will be a very simple meal, as I had not enough notice of your arrival. Now, Uncle, that is not at all like you. Were you so eager to depart Otterly that you could not send to me?” Elizabeth teased Thomas Bolton. “How are Banon’s little girls? Still as full of fun as always?”
“They are, it seems to me, overly lively,” Lord Cambridge said. “How simple a supper?” His look was anxious.
“Broiled trout, venison stew, a roasted duck, a potage of winter vegetables, bread, butter, cheese, and baked apples with cream,” Elizabeth told him.
“No beef?” Lord Cambridge looked disappointed.
“Tomorrow, I promise,” Elizabeth said with a small smile, and she patted his arm.
“Well, I suppose it will have to do, dear girl,” Thomas Bolton said with a sigh.
“It is your own fault,” she repeated, “for not giving me more notice. But I did have Cook make that sauce you like so for the trout.”
“With the dill?” He looked hopeful.
Elizabeth nodded. “With the dill,” she answered him. “And the apples have been baked with cinnamon,” she continued.
He smiled. “I shall survive then until morning, but you must have Cook do those poached eggs with marsala, cream, and nutmeg for me, my pet,” Lord Cambridge told her.
Elizabeth Meredith laughed. “I well know your tastes, Uncle. The order has already been given. And you will have ham too,” she promised him.
“You are a perfect hostess, my dear Elizabeth. Now if I can just remind you of your other duties as a lady we shall be quite successful at court.”
Elizabeth’s hazel-green eyes twinkled with mischief. “We can but hope, dear sir,” she said, and then she grinned at him.
She was the most charming girl when she chose to be, Thomas Bolton thought. But there was no denying she was a country woman. She was not particularly anxious to emulate her two elder sisters. Her mother had probably been like her before she was whisked off to court an early age and learned how a lady behaved. Her eldest sister was delighted to gain the court, and absorbed its manners and ways like a sea sponge. Banon, his own heiress, Elizabeth’s middle sister, stood between Elizabeth and Philippa. She saw no disadvantage in good manners and womanly ways, although she was not nearly as high-flown about it as was Philippa.
But Elizabeth must be properly wed, and to do so meant that she must regain her ladylike ways. But had she ever really had them? Thomas Bolton wondered. After Owein Meredith’s unfortunate death, Rosamund spent much time away from Friarsgate and her daughters. She traveled to the king’s court at the invitation of Queen Katherine. She visited the court of the late King James IV, and his queen, Margaret Tudor, who had been Rosamund’s girlhood friend. She disappeared off to San Lorenzo with Patrick Leslie, the Earl of Glenkirk. She returned to both courts, taking Philippa with her. Her younger daughters were almost forgotten, particularly Elizabeth, who was known as Bessie in those distant days.
Elizabeth Meredith had grown up at Friarsgate, and she had never lived anywhere else except for brief visits to her stepfather’s home at Claven’s Carn before her mother turned Friarsgate over to her. She had lived among the simple folk of her holding, meeting few outsiders. She had met Philippa’s husband once, when he had come north to meet his in-laws. Elizabeth vaguely recalled the Earl of Glenkirk, who had been so taken with her when she was a little girl. And he, Lord Cambridge thought, had been taken from the start with Banon. No one had a great deal of time for Elizabeth Meredith, it seemed. Because she had been healthy and well fed she had managed to grow up. If her mother had not been there, her mother’s old nursemaid, Maybel, had been there for her. Elizabeth had never been neglected, but neither had she been nurtured. She had grown up independent, outspoken, and completely capable of running her own life. She was a girl for whom sentiment had little meaning.
Lord Cambridge sighed and shook his head. How was he to find a husband worthy of Elizabeth? A man whom she could res
pect? A man who would respect her. He doubted any man at court would serve his family’s purpose. Finding Philippa’s noble husband had been a stroke of pure luck. Banon’s husband, also found at court, was the younger son of a northern family delighted by their good fortune, and convinced that they had wasted their coin to send John to court when they might have found Banon for themselves nearby. Yet they had never looked.
It would be a very special man who could live in the north; who could accept the fact that his wife was an excellent chatelaine of her lands, and that she was heavily involved in a cloth trade her family had set up themselves. What son of a family used to being surrounded by the kingdom’s high and mighty could understand a girl like Elizabeth Meredith? She would be welcomed at court because the king would accept her as Rosamund Bolton’s daughter; because her sister was the Countess of Witton; because her father was the late Sir Owein Meredith, a man respected and well thought of by those few who would remember him. Who one knew at court, to whom one was related among the aristocracy, was important, and so Elizabeth would be welcomed. But she would not be accepted as Philippa had. And her age was against her. An unmarried woman of twenty-two. An unproven breeder. She would be considered little more than a glorified farmer once she began speaking of Friarsgate and her sheep.
But Elizabeth Meredith was what she was, and Lord Cambridge knew there was very little he could do to change that. Nor was he certain he wanted to change her. She was not Rosamund. She was not her sisters. She was unique. Beautiful, witty, intelligent, and charming when she chose to be. There had to be a man out there who would appreciate those qualities. A man who could live with a young woman who took her duties as the heiress of Friarsgate far more seriously than had those before her. And by the Christ’s blessed body, Thomas Bolton was going to find him!
The Last Heiress Page 2