Bess covered his mouth with her hand to silence him. “You devil,” she whispered. “I'll never let you bed me again. Well,” she amended, “at least not until you pour me some wine.”
EIGHTEEN
In the bed Bess sat cradled between William's legs, a most comfortable position for talking and sipping wine from the loving cup they shared. Though her body felt replete, her mind was already anticipating and dreading the hour they would have to part. “When must you leave?”
She felt his lips glide down her neck, then felt his warm breath fan her shoulder. “Tomorrow. Bess, it will be for only a short time, then we can be together always.”
“As soon as I get back, come to me at Suffolk House.”
“I shouldn't. I want to protect you from gossip; it can be so vicious. If it was known we were already cohabiting, we could be accused of taking a hand in my wife's death.”
“No one would believe such a thing!” she said, outraged.
“The Court thrives on gossip. Did you not hear the rumor that Catherine Parr poisoned the king?”
Bess turned onto her stomach so she could look up at him. “If I'd been wed to Harry, I, too, would have poisoned him.” Her sultry laugh rang out.
He kissed her to stop her treasonous words. “Never say that outside this bed.”
Bess suddenly sobered. “What if St. Loe spreads it about the Court that we were here together?”
“Sir William St. Loe is a gentleman or he wouldn't have been chosen to guard Elizabeth. He would never besmirch a lady's reputation.”
“It doesn't seem fair that Elizabeth cannot have the man she loves.”
“Tom Seymour wants only the power she can give him.”
“How do you know he doesn't love her madly?”
“Because he asked the council for permission to wed either princess—Elizabeth or Mary.”
Bess was deeply shocked. “My God, how could he? Both the princess and Seymour know about us.”
“Don't fret, my love; they'll all know soon enough.”
“Most of them already know. Frances is probably making wedding plans.”
“Well, I think we should wait a month before we are seen openly together.”
“A month?” she wailed. “Two weeks—promise me you will come to me in a fortnight!”
He gathered her close, stroking her beautiful hair. “A fortnight, I promise—if I can hold out that long.”
The following day neither of them could bear to part, so they stole an extra night together. But despite the powerful strength of their feelings for each other, they could not hold back the dawn. Like a loving wife and dutiful chatelaine, Bess was up and dressed in time to break their fast together and to see William and James Cromp depart for London.
Uncaring of who observed them, Cavendish swept her into his arms in the courtyard. “I have a hundred things awaiting my attention, sweetheart. Thank you for these precious days at Northaw. I adore you, Bess.”
She was devastated at the parting but kept her emotions hidden from him. She gave him a brilliant smile as he took the reins from Cromp and swung into the saddle. Bess stood waving until he was out of sight, feeling utterly forlorn. Then she realized how ridiculous she was. She was no longer a girl, she was a woman, the luckiest in the world, with a lifetime of happiness before her.
Bess swept up the steps into Northaw, thinking of at least a dozen things she must accomplish before she packed for London. By the time she reached the servants' hall she was already humming a merry tune.
“Bess, thank God you are back. I've been trying to pack for Bradgate, but I make such a bollix of everything. You will restore order from chaos. What the hellfire I'll do without you, I'll never know. When is the wedding, by the way?”
Henry protested vigorously. “For Christ's sake, Frances, the woman's corpse isn't cold yet!”
Frances waved her hand dismissively. “ 'Tis the fashion for widows to remarry quickly, and Bess has been a widow for over two years.”
“But Cavendish hasn't been a widower. The funeral was only four days ago!”
“Five, but who's counting?” Frances drawled.
As it turned out, a fortnight later it was Bess who was counting. Her monthly courses were late, and because she had been regular as clockwork since she'd turned twelve, she suspected that she had conceived.
She pushed the frightening thought away, immersed herself in the enormous task of sorting out what things were to go to Bradgate, and wished desperately that William would show up at Suffolk House.
When July turned into August, Bess began to panic. She casually asked Henry to pass a message to William that she would like to see him.
“Haven't seen him since the funeral. Strange.” He looked at her with concern. “I'll ferret him out.”
As soon as Bess had all of the pictures and furniture for Bradgate crated and labeled, she set to work packing for Lady Frances and Lady Catherine. That night she sat and wrote out long lists of inventory to occupy her hands and her mind.
The following day Henry sought her out. “I spoke to Paulet yesterday; it seems William is away on the king's business—Oxford and Abingdon Abbey.”
Bess was somewhat relieved that he had not gone farther afield. Still, Oxford was almost sixty miles from London.
“God, men are all alike—off tomcatting, no doubt, sowing his wild oats as a bachelor,” Frances teased.
Bess blushed furiously. Cavendish had certainly been sowing his oats, damn the rogue to hellfire. But she wasn't worried about other women, thank God. She could hold her own against any woman breathing. What did worry her was his possible aversion to marriage. Her overwrought mind went over everything he'd done, every word he'd uttered at Northaw.
He had told her he adored her and that they would be together always, and she believed him. He had loved her passionately, day and night, and taught her passion too, but he had not asked her to marry him. Bess had taken marriage for granted when she agreed to go to Northaw. She should have pinned him down to the specifics about a wedding—where and, more importantly, when?
Bess had no one to blame but herself. She had run to his arms, to his bed, blindly, eagerly, and, yes, shamelessly! She assured herself over and over that all would be well and that William would come on the morrow. But William did not come. The weather turned extremely wet. It poured down every day, and Bess told herself this was delaying his return.
Frances fretted over the weather. “The summer will be gone before we even get to Bradgate. We are usually up there by now.”
“The baggage carts would have bogged down in the rutted roads if we'd left earlier,” Bess pointed out. She was not anxious to leave London before William's return.
“You are right. Bess, I have a dilemma. I don't know whether to leave Jane at Chelsea with the queen or take her with us to Bradgate. I worry about plague in the hot weather.”
“Chelsea should be safe; even though it's close to London, it's surrounded by countryside.”
“We'll go to Chelsea tomorrow and let Jane decide for herself,” Frances declared.
Abiding by her daughter's wishes, Frances brought Lady Jane and her ladies back to Suffolk House. They would all set out on the journey to Bradgate, Leceistershire, on the morrow. Tonight the Greys would bid good-bye to their closest friends at their last dinner party of the season.
John Dudley and his countess were there, as were William Herbert and his countess, who was sister to the queen. As they were going in to dinner, William Herbert smiled at Bess. “Won't Cavendish be joining us tonight, my dear?”
“I—I believe he's away on the king's business, my lord,” Bess replied vaguely.
Lady Herbert cut in, “Nay, he returned from Oxford long since; he dined with us at my brother Parr's two nights back.”
Bess felt stabbed to the heart. She could not believe her beloved had returned to London without coming to see her or sending a note. The blood drained from her face as she realized his actions must be deliberate; Will
iam was avoiding her. As if she were in a trance, Bess sought out Frances. “I haven't finished my packing; will you excuse me tonight?”
Once she gained her own rooms, Bess flung herself onto the bed and began to cry. She missed William so much, her heart ached. Without William she felt utterly alone. Abandoned. She told herself that was ridiculous; how could he abandon her when he loved her? Bess sat up and swiped impatiently at her tears as a tiny spark of anger ignited within her. She knew where he lived; she would send a message to summon him immediately!
Nay! The very last thing she would ever do was send him another letter of supplication. Her pride was too great to ever humiliate herself in that way again. She'd die first! Bess picked up a flacon of perfume from beside the bed and hurled it across the chamber.
She began to pace the room like a tigress, seeking a way to vent her rage. Not only was she angry at Cavendish, she was furious at herself. She had gone to him of her own free will, knowing the risk involved. Now that he'd had his way with her, he had tossed her aside. She would have to face the shame and humiliation of bearing his bastard!
She stopped pacing and put shielding hands to her belly. Thank God she was leaving London tomorrow; she couldn't face a scandal. On the way to Bradgate perhaps she would find the courage to tell Frances, or failing that she could go home to her family. Both options were anathema to her. She clenched impotent fists, and decided to keep the shameful secret to herself. Bess was afraid and shockingly vulnerable and insecure. She did not know what she would do and resolutely pushed the decision away, but she knew that somehow, someway, she would have to find a way to cope.
Three carriages, four wagons, and a dozen packhorses made up the Greys' entourage. Lady Jane and her ladies had their own carriage, and Lady Catherine insisted on taking the dogs in the carriage in which she was traveling.
“Take the parrot with you, Henry,” Frances directed. He eyed the yapping dogs and came to a swift decision. “I'm riding!” He set the cage on the seat beside his wife. “You'll have to look after your own bloody parrot, Frances.”
“Men! Apart from bed sport, what use are they?” As the carriage bowled along the Great North Road, Frances settled in for a long gossip. “Bess, you missed all the juicy gossip last night. In a way I'm glad I'm leaving London. If what I am about to tell you turns out to be true, there will be such an uproar, we could all be dragged into it. Lady Herbert told me—in strictest confidence, of course—that our friend Tom Seymour frequents Chelsea day and night!”
Bess stiffened. Hell's teeth, gossip spread faster than the plague! How foolish Elizabeth was to think she could keep his visits secret.
“I must admit I love a whiff of scandal, but Anne Herbert has a nose for it like a bloodhound.” Frances lowered her voice confidentially, and Bess braced herself to hear the rumor about Elizabeth.
“She suspects that Catherine Parr and Seymour are secretly wed!”
Nooo! The denial screamed through Bess's brain. She was rocked with disbelief.
Bess closed her eyes. Dear God, could any man plot such perfidy? Bess's mind recoiled from the evil thought, yet still it persisted. Denied marriage to one, would he wed the other so he could live with both, have congress with both?
Bess felt sick, yet she dare not display symptoms of nausea before Lady Frances. The Court was a cesspool of scandalous gossip. Bess did not want it to touch her or her baby. “I don't believe it,” she said quietly.
“I do! Thomas is so insatiably ambitious, he would risk anything to gain more power than his brother Edward. Since he cannot have Harry's daughter, he'll settle for Harry's widow!”
“Why do men take whatever they want?”
Frances laughed. “Because women let them.”
And there is my answer, Bess thought dispassionately.
NINETEEN
During the second week of August, Bess was kept busy uncrating, unpacking, and rearranging the furnishings at Bradgate. The modern red-brick palace was massive, with twenty bedchambers, so there was plenty of space to accommodate the pieces Frances had purloined from Chelsea.
Bess took a chamber high in the east wing, away from the family, where guests were usually accommodated. Because she was kept constantly busy, the days flew by swiftly, but her nights were almost unendurable. Alone in her bed, her body ached for William, and it took hours before she could fall asleep. Then, when she did sleep, her dreams were filled with his laughing face and his powerful body. She loved him and hated him at the same time. She silently cursed him, reviled him, and condemned him, yet all the while she longed for him.
Bradgate was set among orchards and pleasure gardens, with ornamental bridges across a trout stream, a wishing well, huge shade trees, and a long terrace filled with cushioned chairs. As Bess sat in the garden in the sun-filled August afternoons, she kept putting off making a decision about what to do. She went over and over her options, knowing her mind was running in circles that accomplished absolutely nothing. She knew the time had come when she must face facts.
She thought about ridding herself of the child and recoiled from that course of action. Yet Bess knew that in order to keep her position with the Greys, she would have to give up the child in one manner or another. She could have her baby in secret and pay to have it brought up in the country. Or she could swallow her pride and go home. Her family would help her; she could leave the child with them, where she knew it would be loved and where she could see it from time to time.
Suddenly Bess knew her pride wasn't the sticking point. It was her towering ambition that was making her decision so difficult. Her hands went to her belly. This wasn't her baby's fault. A fierce protectiveness gripped her. She loved it with a passion. Her child was part of her, mayhap the best part! She knew they were inseparable. She could no more farm it out than she could get rid of it. She realized that she was just as ambitious for her child as she was for herself.
She had achieved so much, climbing the social ladder one rung at a time, and just as she was about to reach her goal, fate had snatched away the ladder. For the second time all she had worked for in London would be lost. Her glorious plan for the future lay in ruin, and she would be plummeted back to where she had started. Well, she had survived before, and she would survive again, Bess told herself fiercely.
Her energy was so sapped, it was an effort for Bess to get up out of her chair. She had become so lethargic, she felt as if she were dragging one foot after the other. Somehow she managed to get through dinner, but as she sat playing cards with Frances and her guests, Bess began to yawn her head off. She felt so weary that all she wanted was to escape into blissful sleep.
Frances laughed at her. “ 'Tis this country air, darling; it is positively soporific. You've lost every single hand, Bess. Do retire and get some sleep.”
In her chamber Bess undressed slowly, opened the window wide, and climbed into bed. Tonight she was so drained, she fell asleep almost immediately.
Bess awakened, terrified. The room was empty, stripped bare. She ran downstairs and found the bailiffs carrying off everything she possessed in the world. She begged, pleaded, and cried, all to no avail. Outside, her meager belongings were being piled on a cart. She had been put out of the house and had nowhere to go. Fear washed over her in great waves. Panic choked her. When she turned around, the cart was gone, the Greys were gone, even Bradgate had vanished. Bess had lost everything she had in the world. The terror mounted until it engulfed her, the waves of fear almost drowned her. The hollow, empty feeling inside her belly was like ravenous hunger, only worse; her baby was gone! She was overwhelmed with helplessness, hopelessness.
Bess sat up in bed, awakened by her own scream. The darkness closed in about her, terrifying her. Her hand flew to her belly in a protective gesture, then with trembling fingers she lit the bedside candles. Relief washed over her; everything was as it should be. It was only the old recurring nightmare. She drew up her knees and put her head down, waiting for her heart to stop hammering, waiting for t
he fear to go away.
Bess lifted her head as her door slowly opened. Her heart slammed against her ribs as Cavendish came in. Was she still dreaming? A great tide of anger swept through her, dousing her fear. “Get out! How dare you enter my chamber? Get out, you swine!” She looked for something to throw at him, and her hand closed about the candelabra.
He saw her intent and closed the distance between them. “Bess, it's me, it's William.”
“I know who it is, for Christ's sake; only you would have the bare-faced gall!”
“What the devil is the matter?” he demanded, reaching out a comforting hand to stroke her hair.
Bess jerked her head away. “Don't touch me!” she cried.
Cavendish stood staring down at her. What in God's name had made her change her mind? It could only be the age difference. She was barely nineteen, while he would never see his fortieth birthday again.
“It is the middle of August!” she flung at him. “I haven't seen you since the last day of June! Once I yielded to you, you abandoned me!” She was panting with fury.
“Abandoned you? My own love, how could you think such an absurd thought? Surely, you never doubted me, Bess? I swore on my life I would never let you down again. I thought our trust in each other was absolute. It has been only seven weeks—hardly a decent mourning period, and I've been so busy, the days have flown past. I sold the old house and bought you a new one from our friend William Parr. I assumed you and Frances would be up to your eyes in plans.”
“Plans?” Bess said angrily.
“You have such definite ideas about the way you want things. You have a mind of your own and so much strength of purpose, I didn't dare make wedding plans for you.”
“You never once asked me to wed you!” she accused.
“Well, I'm asking you now. Would you like a festive Christmas wedding, sweetheart?”
“Christmas?” Bess was so dismayed, she slapped his face and burst into tears.
He took her into his arms and held her close. “Bess, what's wrong?”