He must know as well as I did that children of a previous marriage always suffered if a widowed mother married again. “Tickenham Court is Forest’s rightful inheritance,” I said. “The estate’s wealth is my daughter’s marriage portion. But if I marry you tonight and we should have children, those children would take precedence over Edmund’s son and daughter. My little Ashfield children would be the ones to lose out. I love you, so much, and I want to be your wife. I want you in my bed, this night and every night, for the rest of my life. I want your face to be my first sight when I awake and the last before I sleep. I want you to get a dozen children on me. I am ready right now to give up my freedom, to give you my body and my soul and my heart, but I am not prepared to hand you my children’s home, their security, their future.”
He was already walking toward the door.
“Wait! Please wait!”
He did.
“There has to be a way.”
He looked doubtful, but he was listening.
“Let me find one. I will find one.”
“You sound very certain of it.”
“You said yourself, I am a determined little doxy. I would not marry you tonight, in any case,” I said, finding a smile for him. “I do not want to sneak off by ourselves to a church and then to a tavern. I do not want to do it quietly, not this time. You also said to me once that if I became your wife, you’d want to celebrate before everyone, with a feast that went on for twelve days.”
I instantly regretted referring to the conversation we had had that dark Valentine’s Day morning, for conjuring Edmund’s ghost to stand between us again. But oddly, Richard seemed not to be troubled by the memory of our illicit kiss, as he was evidently still so troubled by Edmund’s death. I did not want to dwell on why that might be. “Twelve days of feasting.” He smiled. “I did say that, didn’t I?”
RICHARD SLEPT in the chamber he had stayed in when Edmund was alive, and this time I woke before he did. I rode back toward Clevedon to visit George Digby. I would ask him if he knew how I might make provision for my children should I take another husband. As he was a member of Parliament, I trusted that he had some understanding of such legal matters.
Impressively attired in sumptuous tawny silk, the Earl was playing an effortless game of tennis on the Clevedon Court lawn with his tall, gangly son, but he readily broke off to entertain me. Elegantly mopping his brow with scented linen, he declared he was glad of an excuse to catch his breath while he was two games ahead. “I did at least gain one useful skill during my years in exile,” he said. “Enforced idleness and lack of funds meant that I spent days and days playing tennis. Much cheaper than hunting, you see. And even now that I can afford to hunt all day long if I so please, I’ve never lost my love of the racket.”
I smiled to myself, struck by a memory I thought long forgotten.
“I do count myself a great wit,” he said pleasantly. “But I had not thought to be one at the present. Yet it seems I have inadvertently amused you.”
“My father once told me how Cavaliers enjoyed tennis so much they’d brawl and duel over the results,” I explained. “It seems he was right about that, as about much else.”
“To be precise, the duel was over a bet of seven sovereigns on who would win the game. It was a measure of the depth of irritability and frustration we all suffered from, the tensions of exile. So tell me,” he asked jovially as we walked past the knot garden toward the terrace. “What else did your good father have to say about us? Besides a penchant for dueling and tennis, did he allot us any other vices?”
I hesitated.
“Come now,” Digby encouraged. “I am intrigued. And I promise you, I shall not be offended at all.”
I smiled. “Other vices? Well, let me see now. Debauchery. Drunkenness. Adultery. Fornication. Lust.” I ticked the list off on my fingers. “General excess and moral corruption.”
“Is that why you constantly refuse that lad?” the Earl asked, with a wickedly impudent gleam in his eyes. “Is it that you fear him to be debauched and morally corrupt?” He grinned at my astonished face. “Oh, Richard petitioned me not a month ago to appeal to you on his behalf. I was waiting for the right opportunity to present itself.”
“It is because of him that I am here, sir.”
“Ah.”
Seated in a gold-and-green-paneled room on plump chairs covered in striped silk, and sipping sweetened tea served in a delicate gilded china tea set, I started to explain my predicament.
“So I have no need to petition you,” the Earl interrupted. “Young Richard has succeeded in his pursuit of you at last, and without any help. Good for him. I am glad for him—for you both.”
“I have not agreed to wed him yet,” I said quietly.
He peered at me over the rim of his cup, arched one eyebrow. “And you will not agree if I cannot provide you with the information you need?”
“It must be a common problem,” I persisted. “There must be a solution.”
He laughed. “What a wonderfully optimistic approach to life you have, my dear lady.” He set down the cup with a tinkle. “You are right, of course, that many landed gentlemen leave behind pretty widows who are still of childbearing age, but you are wrong to think that many of those ladies are as intent on defending the position of their firstborn as are you. Or else, if they are, I imagine they take the standard precautions to ensure that there is no issue from their second marriage. A matter of timing, I understand, either of the moon or else of a man’s rod at the pinnacle of pleasure?”
I laughed, did not blush at such base talk as I would once have done, but I was rather shocked to hear it from the lips of so lofty a person as the Earl. Even if he had spent years in exile with a young king in waiting who presided over the most dissolute and debauched court. “I would not deny Richard the joy of a child,” I said seriously.
“But you would deny him the joy of seeing that child inherit your estate? I do believe you would deny yourself the joy of marriage, if it came to it.” His lips curled in a knowing smile. “It is a cool head you have on your pretty little shoulders,” he said contemplatively. “When I watched the two of you dancing here together, some years ago, I saw only the charge of passion between you. But it seems that your passion for Tickenham Court is the stronger, hmm?”
“I do this for my children,” I said. “Not for Tickenham Court. Not for myself.”
“But a marriage settlement will also benefit you considerably.”
“A marriage settlement?”
He grinned. “An excellent invention and one commonly enough used now amongst the gentry. Quite simply, it is a signed agreement that preserves a wife’s property rights and allows her to avoid giving up her liberty, estate and all authority to her husband. In real terms, with such a settlement in place, Tickenham Court would remain yours after you marry, whosoever you marry. It even remains yours to dispose of upon your death.”
I set down my own cup, felt a stirring of happiness which I held in abeyance. For now. “And gentlemen willingly agree to a settlement that so diminishes their position?”
The Earl shrugged. “It depends on the gentleman in question, of course. On how amenable he is. But most are quite content with the arrangement.” He studied me, saw I was still unconvinced. “Oho. I do detect Major Goodricke’s influence and unfavorable opinions of us lingering in your generous and loving heart. Much as you love young Richard, you cannot help thinking of his passion for Spanish stallions and silk suits and sack, and you deduce, therefore, that he’ll not be satisfied with any less than all of the coins in your coffers. Am I right? Much as you are drawn to him, you cannot help assuming that, being a Cavalier, he is therefore inclined to luxury and ease, and entirely profligate?”
“Of course not.”
But the Earl smiled almost delightedly, as if he did not mind at all my harboring such dark opinions of all Royalists, himself included.
“It is my guess that you find profligacy not so unattractive, after a life
of frugal living with your papa and Edmund Ashfield. And who would ever blame you for that, little lady? Now, I do not know your Richard nearly well enough to know if he is a wastrel or not, but I do know that life as an exile can be the most wretched existence. I know that in all likelihood, he’d have spent his most tender years in paralyzing unhappiness, endless uncertainty and much personal distress, as well as in precarious and constant need of money and a home. So I imagine he’d be more than content with regular payments from your estate, only too glad to be granted the security of an independent income. And when and if your estate reaps the rewards of drainage, his percentage will be all the more attractive. Although I imagine he might willingly forgo those extra riches to retain the goodwill of his neighbors. During those years as a fugitive, he’ll have witnessed enough faction fighting and personal feuds to last him a lifetime, given that he strikes me as a rather overly sensitive boy, not very robust in his emotions. You are just what he needs, I think.” He raised his teacup as if in a toast. “I vouch the lad will not refuse your terms, whatever they may be.”
WHEN I ARRIVED BACK at Tickenham Court, I found Richard entertaining William Merrick in the parlor. They seemed to be on good terms but broke off their conversation and stood as I entered.
“William,” I said, letting my former guardian kiss me. “I was not expecting you.”
“My partners were not expecting to hear that a mob had tried to burn down this house,” he said gruffly. “As I have already told Richard, I fear we will never win them round now.”
“I don’t think we should even try,” I said carefully, with a glance at Richard. “I think we should let them take their money away for good and use it where it will be better appreciated. We leave the common to the commoners. And to the swans and the Swallowtails.”
“What?”
“It seems I am to spend my entire adult life sifting through my father’s principles and beliefs and sorting the pearls from the pebbles,” I said. “But I think in this he was right. It seems to me there is enough land for all to have a share. And yes, it might be better for some who live on the wetlands, the people at least, if the land was dry all year, but until a way is found for us to have dry land and everyone to have enough of it to grow their own vegetables and cut their turfs and graze their cattle, I think it is better that we let well alone.”
William’s eyes flew in appeal to Richard, who looked away.
“I have said all I have to say,” I finished firmly. “Let that be an end to it. And now I would be grateful if you would leave us, William. There are matters Richard and I need to discuss, matters of far more importance than this.”
William stormed out of the room, head down like a charging bull, nearly crashing into Bess, who was entering with a tray of wine and sweetmeats.
“Did I do wrong?” I asked Richard, slipping my hand into his when we were alone.
He gave a slow shake of his head. “It is a pity you cannot join George Digby in Parliament. What a little champion you would be for the poor and the hungry and the dispossessed.” He grinned. “Not to mention the birds and the butterflies. I cannot imagine what Merrick made of that.”
“He can make of it what he will. It is no matter.” I took Richard’s other hand, held both of them. “I found a way,” I said quietly. “I said I would find a way for us to marry, and I have.”
We moved to the chairs by the fire, where Bess had set out the drinks and food on a little table.
Of necessity, a betrothal involving a landowning family was always preceded by such negotiations as I had to have with Richard, but that did not mean I found the conversation easy. No more, seemingly, did he. He sat opposite me, very still and unsmiling, screwing his heavy ring around his finger as he listened while I explained, as tactfully as I possibly could, how the Earl of Bristol, at my behest, would have his solicitor draw up a marriage settlement that would secure Forest’s position as heir to Tickenham Court, leave it in my sole charge, whilst awarding Richard an independent and regular income from the estate once he became my husband. I thought the pair of us no different from a couple of coldhearted traders discussing a shipment of sugar, except that the glasses of spiced wine and plate of sweetmeats remained totally untouched before us on the low table.
“Is this really what you want?” Richard asked me dully when he had heard me out.
“We could not hope to find a better solution,” I said steadily.
“No. I am sure that you could not.”
I saw that he did not like it, not at all. Why not? I felt a flicker of misgiving, turned my head away from him for a moment and then chided myself. It was his complicated combination of pride and insecurity which was standing in the way, that was all, wasn’t it?
“Is it the money?” I challenged, my tone brittle. “Is it not enough?”
His laugh sounded more like a cough, and there was no humor in it at all.
“George Digby suggested a sum he believed to be very generous, that would make good provision for you.” Only after I had spoken did I realize how condescending I had sounded. Oh, why was he making this so difficult? “I am sorry. I did not mean to . . .”
“It is not the money, Nell.”
“It is that you want control of the estate, then. Is that it? Because you can have it, with my blessing, if it matters so much to you.” I tried to summon a smile, tried not to think why it should matter to him. “Believe me, I shall not stand in your way if you want to mediate in endless squabbles about boundaries and rights of pasturing, if you want to harangue the tenants for their rents.”
“You would defend the rights of Tickenham tenants,” he said evenly. “And the damned swans. And yet you pay scant regard to the rights of your intended husband.”
“Rights?”
“You married Edmund without a settlement,” he said abruptly. “You gave him everything.”
“And you therefore assumed it would be the same this time? Is that why you want me?”
He looked at me as if my question was beneath contempt, beneath even warranting a reply.
“I did not even know there was such a thing as a marriage settlement when I married Edmund,” I said shakily. “I did not have children to consider then. Surely you can see that this situation is entirely different.”
“Yes,” he said curtly. “I do see that, all too plainly.”
His attention was diverted by something at the door. I knew who it was before I even looked. Forest was peering round again, wide-eyed with guilt for being caught in the act of spying.
“Darling, you shouldn’t be listening,” I said a little impatiently, wondering how long he had been there and how much he had overheard and understood. “Go and find your shuttlecock and battledores and I will come and play with you in a while.”
He ignored me, bolted round the door and across the floor. I assumed he was running to me but instead he ran straight to Richard’s side. Standing at his shoulder, making it utterly clear where his allegiance lay, he turned to me accusingly. “Mr. Glanville is not going to come and live with us now? He is not going to be my father?”
I looked to Richard, with the same question in my eyes and a lump in my throat. I was not the only person who loved him. Forest clearly did too. But I was doing this for Forest. And I could not bear for my little boy to be as distressed as I would be if Richard’s answer was no.
“I want to play battledores with you, sir,” Forest implored, laying his hand appealingly on Richard’s silk-clad arm. “Mama is no good at it at all. I don’t want to play with her.”
That made Richard chuckle, and when he looked at me the laughter was still in his eyes. He knew I considered myself particularly good at the game, which was not unlike catching butterflies with a trap net. He seemed genuinely heartened by Forest’s rush of affection, as if it changed everything for him. Astonishingly, he brought Forest gently round to face him, so they were on a level. He looked into my son’s solemn black eyes, as if whatever he saw there would help him to reach his
decision.
I sent out a silent plea: Please realize I am doing what I am doing only for this little boy and his sister. Please agree to it for their sake. Richard was Forest’s sponsor after all. Let that count for something.
“I will come and live here, rapscallion,” Richard said gently to Forest. “I will be glad to be your father. I will play battledores with you until you are so good at it you can never be beaten.” An aside to me. “I will sign the settlement, Nell. I will sign whatever damned paper you want me to sign.”
Bess came to ask Forest if he would like to play leapfrog with her Sam, and he ran off, battledores forgotten for now.
“Tell me you are not angry with me, Richard,” I said.
“I am not angry with you.”
“I am sorry for what I said.”
“I can see that you are.”
“You do still want me?”
For a moment that felt like a lifetime, he did not answer. “Nell, I would want you if you were but a beggar, the daughter of beggars. If you were dressed in rags and had nothing to give me but your heart.”
I realized with a tinge of regret that I was not idealistic enough anymore to believe him wholly, but it was the prettiest sentiment nonetheless, expressed in the manner of the poets he said he admired, and I felt joy bubble up inside me like the springs that bubbled up all over Tickenham land.
He pushed up abruptly from his chair, as if shaking a great weight from his shoulders; as if he had a sudden, urgent need for action, to obliterate something. He came round to my side of the table, grabbed my hand and pulled me to my feet. “I propose that we ride at once into Bristol and hire a coach to take us to Cheapside to buy your ring,” he said with an impulsiveness that made me giggle. “We can go to the New Exchange too, for material for a wedding gown, and anything else we might fancy.”
WE SAT TOGETHER in the rocking coach as we left the goldsmith’s and headed for the New Exchange on the Strand, Mecca for followers of the new fashion for shopping as an entertainment, a place that was filled with all that was rich and new and rare—a place that all the religious instruction I had ever received had taught me to regard as evil and corrupt as Sodom.
The Lady of the Butterflies Page 38