‘Is that all, my love? Or is that sparkle in your eyes the presage to another marriage plot?’
‘Not a plot, Ralph. A suggestion, that’s all. I wouldn’t want you to think we were plotting when you weren’t here.’ Meg smiled widely at her husband, doing her best not to bounce with happiness and maintain the dignity she ought to show as Lady Sadler.
‘Jane has a suitor.’ Ralph spoke before Meg could and then he laughed as her shoulders drooped and her smile faded.
‘Who told you? Jane? Tom?’ Ralph laughed again and held his lapels like a lawyer, using a booming Council voice.
‘I am a professional plot-thwarter, woman! I hunt for clues to nefarious plots like yours,’ he wriggled his brows at her and she began to giggle, ‘and then I torture people into giving me their secrets.’ He grabbed her waist and squeezed gently to tickle her ribs. Meg swatted him away with her hand and sat upright again, still chuckling.
‘Seriously Ralph, who told you? Lord Robert?’ Ralph shook his head and put his arm around Meg’s shoulder, drawing her into his embrace. He bent his head and whispered softly, ‘No one had to tell me, my love. Jane is the only one of our daughters unmarried, so she is the natural guess. And your face told me I had guessed rightly.’
He turned and kissed her lips gently then pulled his face back and screwed up his eyes again, ‘Now I must search your countenance for clues as to who the blackguard might be who wishes to steal my daughter.’ Meg was giggling silently, bosom heaving with mirth and trying not to let her face show anything to her inquisitor.
‘Dickon! Your eyes have just told me the scoundrel’s name!’ Meg let out a huge breath.
‘My eyes told you no such thing, Ralph Sadler. Your own eyes for all these years told you, and now they are old enough, we shall allow them to marry, yes?’
‘If Francis is reasonable about the dowry he intends to fleece out of me, they can.’
‘Ralph Sadler, what a thing to say about your oldest friend!’ Meg’s voice was scandalised, although she couldn’t quite keep the chuckle from creeping through. Ralph took her hand and pulled her back into the crook of his arm, where she settled happily and picked up her ale cup again.
‘We came to an arrangement when they were four years old, Meg. I can’t see that Francis would wish to change it, when Lady Cat agreed to it as well.’
‘That’s all right then,’ said Meg happily, ‘Oh, and Lord Robert wants me to stay at Leicester House while you are in Lancaster, if that is agreeable?’
‘Most agreeable, my love. You will be able to talk about weddings all day.’
‘Mmmm. Weddings and babies. How wonderful.’
Chapter 29
ettice’s solar was a hive of activity, the centre of which was the baby, determinedly crawling after a cloth ball being rolled for him by Daisy. Ursula and Jane were embroidering a trousseau for Ursula’s wedding to Tom, given the seal of approval by her father. Meg carefully stitched a tiny doublet for baby Robbie from a rich grey brocade gown Lettice had worn during her pregnancy. Lettice was sewing a new silk shirt for Robert to wear at Nell’s marriage the following week and the room was filled with laughter and gossip, punctuated by the excited squeals of the baby.
‘My Lady.’
Lettice turned towards the door and beamed. In the doorway stood Kytt, hat in hand and bowing low. She laughed gaily.
‘You might sound like your uncle, Sir Kytt, but you don’t yet have the gravel in your throat that Thomas does.’ He smiled and stepped into the room, buckles on his boots jingling with each pace.
‘A message, my Lady,’ he said quietly, and Lettice’s brows rose enquiringly.
‘From my son?’ Kit shook his head, mouth quirking at the unlikelihood of Essex sending him with a message.
‘No, my Lady, your husband. I have come with Tom to bring young Rob back with us. He said you were expecting us?’ Lettice nodded, and then noticed that Ursula had stopped stitching and was shifting and squirming in her seat at the realisation that Tom would be downstairs in the stable yard. Lettice chuckled softly and nodded at the girl.
‘Very well, Ursula, go and see him. Only if you want to, of course,’ she laughed. Ursula jumped to her feet so swiftly she upset the table with the sewing things on, and her face flamed as scissors and spools of thread clattered to the floor. Jane waved her away with a giggle as she bent to pick up the spilled items, and Ursula rushed from the room in a flurry of silk and petticoats. Lettice gazed back at Kytt so he could finish his message as Meg looked on with an amused expression and Jane tried to get to the rolling spools of thread before the baby saw them. Kytt bowed again and continued, eyes dancing merrily at Lettice.
‘And Uncle Thomas is to choose him a suitable horse to bring to the court stables.’ Lettice nodded understandingly and then tilted her head at Kytt, who seemed to be dragging out every detail of the message for as long as he could.
‘And my husband? If you and Tom are here, where is Lord Robert?’
‘Lord Robert is with the Queen, my Lady, as is Essex. That is why we have both come. Lord Robert asks you not to wait to eat supper, as he will have to eat at court tonight, although he will be home afterwards.’ Kytt thought for a while, watching Lettice and slapping his boots with his hat as he so obviously tried to remember the rest of the message. Lettice thought it odd that he was so tongue-tied, but decided it was because Meg and Jane were both watching him deliver his speech.
‘And would you ask that Rob’s clothes are packed so we might take them with us.’ He gave her a relieved grin and bowed again. Lettice rose and pulled the bell-cord, which was almost immediately answered by Cissy, who bobbed a brief curtsey.
‘Cissy, would you take Kytt here to Rob’s chamber and show him where the clothes chests are? Then, Kytt, perhaps you and Rob, with Cissy’s help, can fill them with what he wishes to take to court. If his lodgings will be small, he can leave things here until he has use for them.’ Cissy bobbed another curtsey and Kytt gave Lettice another bow before he held the door open for the maid, who blinked at him in astonishment at the unexpected courtesy.
When they were gone, Meg glanced across at Lettice and raised her brows.
‘Doesn’t that happen most nights sweetheart, that Lord Robert eats at court? Why did he need to come and tell you that?’ Lettice shrugged and gave a surprised laugh.
‘I have no idea, Aunt. Usually Robin sends a message to prepare supper for him, not the other way around. He often only has bread and cheese when he gets in. Which is probably why he’s having problems with his digestion, truth be told.’
‘Oh, really? I shall mix you some milk thistle for him, sweetheart. That will help, along with bland and plain food for a while, hmm? Chicken breast, poached fish, fresh bread.’ Lettice nodded, wide eyed that Meg understood things about digestion and diet. Meg started to chuckle as she stitched.
‘But you are right about Kytt’s voice, sweetheart. If you didn’t hear the laughter bubbling behind the words, you would mistake it for Thomas.’ Lettice giggled and snipped her thread, lifting the shirt to the light to examine her handiwork.
‘I don’t think Thomas has ever laughed, Aunt. I see him smile sometimes, though. When he watches the baby playing, I see his eyes soften and his mouth twitch behind his beard. That’s when I know he has smiled.’ Meg snorted her amusement and finished off her own sewing, putting it neatly on the now upright table and smiling across at Lettice warmly.
‘Then you are very privileged, my dear. Now, shall I be allowed to greet my son, or should I squirm in excitement too?’ Both Lettice and Jane burst into laughter, and baby Robbie looked across with wide eyes at the sudden amusement. Lettice shook her head at Meg.
‘Oh Aunt, she is so in love. She can’
t wait for the weeks to pass until her wedding, and she spends every minute sewing for it, or talking about it.’ Meg smiled her gentle smile and looked back at Lettice, eyes with their tracing of lines glowing in her face.
‘Yes, sweetheart. And I’m not so old that I can’t remember what that feels like. I shall be just like that when Ralph gets home in a few days’ time.’
‘Oh, Mother,’ It was Jane’s turn to sigh, ‘You and Father have been married for ever. Surely you don’t still miss him while he is away?’ Meg chuckled softly and stroked her daughter’s cheek.
‘When you are married to the man you love, Jane, you long for him to be at your side. Is that not right, sweetheart?’ Meg looked at Lettice and raised one eyebrow.
‘At your side. At your table,’ Lettice lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper so Daisy and the baby wouldn’t hear, ‘In your bed!’ and at Jane’s scandalised gasp of horror, both Lettice and Meg let out shrieks of laughter and went through the door to find Tom.
***
Nell stood in the chapel doorway clad in her silk gown of palest green overlaid with silver tissue. She was doing her best to bite back the tears that kept threatening to fall, and she placed a trembling hand on Henry Hastings’ arm.
‘My dear Nell,’ said Henry, taken aback by the depth of emotion in the delicate girl by his side, ‘I had no idea it was this difficult for you. I am sorry, my dear, but I’m sure it will all come right in the end.’ Nell looked at him with lashes wet with unshed tears.
‘No, Uncle. I’m afraid it won’t. Nothing will ever be right again for me. But I am Lady Penelope Devereux, and more than that, I am a Howard. We overcome.’
Nell took a huge breath and let it go. Blinking again, she nodded at her uncle and they stepped into the gloom of the chapel. It was completely full, the pews at either side of the aisle crammed with members of the court, Nell’s family and many of their friends. Through a shimmer of tears, she could see the lustrous sheen of gowns filling the upper gallery, all white silk organza and silver satin, with the pearls glowing and diamonds twinkling in the sunbeams passing through the windows; the Queen and her ladies.
As she gazed down the aisle towards the altar where the priest stood with her bridegroom, she saw the tall figure of Lord Robert in the front pew. In front of him was the diminutive shape of her mother clad in a beautiful gown of kingfisher blue silk, holding her little brother busily trying to chew the gilded studs of his doublet.
She slowly walked forward, clutching her Uncle’s arm as hard as if in a windstorm, and she saw the face of her sister Thea, her brother Essex and her aunts Mary and Kit. Behind Kit, a figure in a dark red doublet caught her eye and she glanced up through the film of tears in her eyes to see Philip, with her sorrow mirrored in his own face.
Time seemed to halt as they looked into each other’s eyes, and in the depths of his, Nell saw all the love he held for her, before he slid his gaze regretfully away, breaking the spell. As she blinked yet more tears from her eyes, she saw beside Philip a small, slender person clad in unfashionable taupe velvet with fur trimmed sleeves; Frances Walsingham, looking like a child in her mother’s cast-off gown.
Nell dragged another breath and propelled herself forward, taking Henry Hastings by surprise at the sudden increase in speed. He missed his step and then caught himself before he tripped over the ceremonial sword at his side, but not before a collective gasp had passed through those in the chapel at the thought of the bride’s sponsor falling flat on his face in front of the whole court.
Henry recovered just in time, passing Nell’s hand into that of her bridegroom so the ceremony could begin, and he moved behind her with a sigh of relief. Nell raised her eyes to meet those of Robert Riche, the man to whom she would be bound in marriage and met no humour or understanding there.
In a vulgar display of wealth, his slight figure was enveloped in a huge padded doublet in dark blue silk brocade, with matching puffed breeches and a cloak lined with coney fur hanging from one shoulder. The buttons on his doublet had sapphires set into them, and he had more sapphires on his hat. His boots had golden buckles and there was a golden-hilted dagger on the belt round his slender waist. His face was thin, with a wispy beard below a pointed nose and watery blue eyes.
Nell slid her eyes from her bridegroom up to the priest who had started to intone the words of the marriage service. She blinked until her vision cleared properly and she swallowed determinedly; this service bound her name and nobility to her husband, but it didn’t touch her heart. Her heart was already bound.
***
To Nell’s relief, after the banquet to celebrate her marriage and the dancing, there was no ‘putting to bed’ ceremony that she had so dreaded. Her husband had spoken to her during the meal, as had all the guests, and he had led her to the dance floor for the first dance. They were circumspect around one another; strangers bonded in marriage for familial benefit, not affection.
The Queen had taken part in the banquet, and had danced with Lord Robert and with Essex. Nell watched her laughing and striking her brother on the arm with her fan at almost any remark, and she had slid her eyes to see her mother’s reaction. Lettice had ignored the situation completely, sitting with her sisters-in-law Kit and Mary after the meal was over, laughing and gossiping. Thea had joined their little group and none of them had stood to dance until the Queen had retired from the celebration, taking many of the older ladies-in-waiting with her.
After that, Nell had watched her mother dance with her uncle Henry Hastings, her uncle Henry Sidney and with Lord Robert, affection and supressed passion in every touch of the dance and gaze across the room between her mother and her step-father. Nell dared not look at Philip, dancing with the dowagers and the younger maids in their turn, including his betrothed, but never asking the bride.
Eventually, her Aunt Kit had come to the table where she and her new husband sat making the occasional remark to one another, but more often in studied silence.
‘Nell, my dear, perhaps you and Sir Robert might wish to retire? The party won’t end until you leave, dearest, and we all have to be up in the morning.’ Kit smiled at Nell, who nodded and rose from her chair, then waited for Riche to rise and accompany her. She watched as he swallowed the last of his wine, and she wished she’d thought to take another cup. She dragged her mind back to Kit, who was chattering happily with Riche.
‘I am sure you will be comfortable, my Lord. The hangings and the coverlet are new, and I have had some fruit and some wine placed on the table for your comfort.’ Riche bowed at Kit and kissed her hand gallantly.
‘Many thanks, Lady Hastings. You have provided a wonderful celebration, and on behalf of my wife and myself, I would thank you most sincerely.’ He bowed again and passed through the doorway as Kit reached up to kiss Nell’s cheek.
‘Have some more wine, my dear. That might help. You are as white as bleached linen.’ Nell hugged her aunt in gratitude, but couldn’t bring herself to speak. She nodded and passed into the room as her aunt closed the door quietly.
‘Another cup of wine, my Lady?’ Riche extended a large gilded goblet to Nell and she took it gratefully.
‘Thank you, my Lord. It has been a long day.’
‘Indeed. And needs must it be slightly longer, my Lady.’ He nodded over to the bed, festooned with red velvet and pale grey silk hangings and a matching coverlet.
‘If you wish to close the hangings, my Lady, while you disrobe and get under the covers, I shall be happy to undress out here.’
Nell looked at him with wide eyes. This was the part of the day she hadn’t let herself think about, but the fact that he realised she would be shy to undress in front of him gave her hope that things might not go too badly for her. She drained her cup and smiled, dipping a curtsey.
‘Thank you, my Lord. That is very gracious of you.’ Nell walked across to the bed and unhooked the tie at either end, pulling the drapes closed.
Realising that she had no maid to help her, she managed to untie the strings at her waist holding her skirt and petticoats, and she shuffled them down and laid them on the ottoman at the foot of the bed. She deliberately kept thoughts of Philip sweeping her garments aside out of her head as much as she could; she was tired of tears.
Nell reached behind her and loosened the lacing at the back of her bodice, and with many shrugs and twists managed to undo it sufficiently to escape from its confines. Her corset joined her petticoat roll on the ottoman, and she crept under the covers clad only in her embroidered shift.
‘Thank you, my Lord,’ she called from the bed, trying not to think about Philip and trying not to dread what was to happen next. Riche swept the drapes aside and stood in front of her, wearing only his shirt and clutching his goblet tightly. Setting the goblet aside, he lifted the coverlet and slid into bed beside her, letting the drapes fall back into place.
Nell swallowed hard and he swooped his head down to kiss her lips. She smelled the wine on his breath and she felt his hand slide over her hip and down her leg until he found the hem of her shift. He brought his hand upwards, fingers spreading over the bare skin of her thigh as she lay there almost unmoving.
She felt him push her legs apart and she obliged him by lifting her hips to move her shift out of his way as he pulled his shirt over his head and settled himself between her thighs. Nell had decided that she was not going to weep nor pretend. He was her husband and they had to consummate the marriage. She opened herself to him as he pushed his way into her body, thrusting and gasping for a brief while as she lifted her pelvis to make it easier for him to find his release. He shuddered and fell forward onto her, then rolled to the side, regarding her with a hard expression and a compressed mouth.
On the Altar of England (Tudor Chronicles Book 4) Page 23