‘There,’ Thomas said in a smug tone, ‘I've won, Dame Bourchier.’
‘So you have,’ Bess admitted and was much relieved that at that moment their tutor came to claim them. May Day or not, he said firmly, an hour at their books would do no harm. They went, Thomas grumbling, Richard with a smile and a ‘thank you, lady’ for Bess.
She sat down on a stone seat. How long had Elizabeth and the Duchess been gone? An hour at least. She wished they would return, she wished even more she had not come. But she had wanted to spend the day at Grafton in the midst of what she imagined would be the usual noisy cheerful family dinner. Sometimes life was very dull at home. Her grandfather had left very little to his three sons having willed all the Tilney land to Bess, and she found herself an heiress. Her father accepted the situation, living contentedly at Ashwellthorpe which they both loved. Her uncles, however, were constantly at law, clamouring for a share of the family manors, and her mother took up the cudgels and employing Lawyer Paston fought for her daughter's rights. She had even refused to fide south with them because of an impending hearing at the court of oyer and terminer at Lynn.
All this Bess had wanted to forget on this lovely May day, but instead she had intruded on a matter that even she could guess must have alarming consequences. Perhaps it would be better to slip away now. But she had only half risen when there was a quick step behind her and a deep voice broke into her thoughts.
‘My lady Bourchier? I was told I would find you here. It seems the Duchess and Lady Grey have gone riding.’
She turned and then sprang to her feet, sinking into a low curtsey. Edward Plantagenet stood there smiling down at her, a fair young giant of twenty two and so handsome that he sent her heart turning, a smile of immense charm on his face, his bright blue eyes looking down at her alight with the sheer joy of the day. He took her hand and kissing it as he raised her, spoke very softly, that no passing servant might hear.
‘I understand also that you know our secret.’
‘Yes, your grace.’ Bess was aware once more of the furious colour in her cheek. ‘Is it done?’ and then thought herself too forward.
He did not seem to think so, however. ‘Aye, it's done and by a priest so scared I thought he would fail us. I did not think myself so fearful to my people.’
‘No, sire. I expect it was only –’
‘The occasion! I know. And this afternoon I must be gone to rejoin my army, so all has been done in some haste.’
‘And I have intruded. Forgive me, sire, that I came so inopportunely.’
‘Do not say that. Any friend of –’ he paused and his smile widened, ‘– of my Queen's will always be welcome to me. And both your father and your husband ride to join me. Isn't that why you are here?’
Hastily she explained and he said, sitting down on the seat and indicating she should sit beside him, ‘I am sorry that I seem to have spoiled your bridal plans but perhaps when we reach Leicester we can grace your bedding at Groby Castle. We cannot march through the night, can we? And I can spare Sir Humphrey for a short while.’
‘Your grace is most kind.’ Bess's confusion was growing and he laughed again.
‘Oh, I am not so kind that I am not thinking equally of my own desires. William Hastings has gone ahead to arrange for my wife to stay at his manor at Kirby Muxloe and I shall honour his house with my presence. The muster will take a day or two so I shall have my bridal days too, with the world none the wiser. Only William has my complete confidence in this.’
Bess was momentarily robbed of speech. To have the King sitting here beside her, his long legs encased in blue hose stretched out, the sun on his face, smiling down at her and explaining secret plans that not even his Council knew of, deepened her awkwardness. He seemed so magnificent in his white velvet coat, full-skirted and embroidered all over with blue thread and edged with fur. A great jewel hung on a chain about his neck and rings decorated at least four fingers. Yet there was nothing of the court popinjay about him, only an air of superb self-confidence and exuberant health. Overwhelmed, all she could think of to say was, ‘The Lady Elizabeth is so beautiful . . . it is no wonder. . . and, oh, I do hope. . .’
He flung back his head in laughter. ‘I trust my people will take her to their hearts. My Council wished me to wed a foreign bride, it is true, but an English beauty captured my heart and so it is done. Do you love your husband – Bess? Isn't that what my Queen calls you?’
‘Yes, sire. And I hope to love my husband dearly though I've only seen him twice since our wedding. Lady Ferrers wished me to live with her afterwards but my father would not consent.’
‘And your father is come with men for my army as well as his daughter for her bridal?’
Bess smiled up at him. ‘He sent for an our people that could bear arms as soon as we heard of the muster.’
For a moment Edward's face grew more serious. ‘I mean to stamp out rebellion once and for all. Do you understand why we fight? I think a woman should understand the cause for which her husband may well give his life.’
Her hand moved to the bosom of her gown. ‘I know that your claim is better than King Henry's was.’ She saw a grim line stretch from nose to chin and thought how fearsome an enemy he could be.
‘Margaret of Anjou murdered my father's cousin, Duke Humfrey of Gloucester, him they called “the Good Duke”, and so made my father her enemy. When he and my brother Rutland were slain fighting for his rights she set his head above the gate of York with a paper crown about it. She paid for that in blood at Towton, by God. He was a great man, my father, and cheated of his rights. But you never saw him?’
‘The Duke of York? No, sire.’
‘I loved him,’ Edward said and for a moment was silent. Then he seemed to throw off the sudden grim mood. ‘Well, thank God she is gone and I'll put an end to any more disturbance. I will have peace in this England of mine, for there's more to life than fighting. A nation can do better for itself by trading to fill its coffers than emptying them on warfare.’
Bess listened, enchanted, carried forward by his enthusiasm. She wondered why he was talking so to her, an insignificant sixteen-year-old, and was too inexperienced to guess it might be because of that very insignificance that he could thus cover his impatience for his bride.
A few moments later Elizabeth and the Duchess returned and walking into the garden expressed, for the benefit of any flapping ears, their surprise at the arrival of the King, pressing him to stay to dinner. Bess gave Elizabeth one quick glance and saw a new expression on the beautiful face. Was it love or triumph or pride, or perhaps all three? In sudden determination she said, ‘Your grace, my ladies, forgive me, but I must not stay. My father will be waiting for me.’
‘But, dear child,’ the Duchess broke in, ‘you have had no refreshment.’
‘Thank you, but I fear I must take my leave.’ Bess was vaguely aware that the King was amused, Elizabeth half laughing. She made three hasty bobs and then almost ran to the stables. Wat Sable was sitting on a block of wood with a mug of ale in his hand chatting with one of the Woodville grooms and he sprang up in surprise as she came, calling for her horse.
‘I thought we'd stay for dinner,’ he grumbled, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, but he put down the mug and stumped off to bring out their mounts. When they were once more in the leafy lane leading away from the manor he remarked that his stomach was clapped against his backbone but he got no answer and relapsed into silence.
Bess rode slowly, her head full of the morning's incredible happenings and her own unwitting part in it. She remembered Elizabeth and Edward standing together as she left, and thought that surely there could be no more handsome couple in England, that everyone would learn to love the King's English bride. That Elizabeth should also be her friend and relation filled her with a new awe.
Sir Frederick Tilney was in the courtyard of the manor where they had stayed the night, busy among the men of Ashwellthorpe, and when his daughter returned he was only half co
ncerned with her, though as he helped her from the saddle he asked where she had been.
‘Only as far as Grafton, sir. It is such a lovely day.’
‘You should have had a sweetheart to go a-maying with you,’ he said teasingly, ‘but we shall see Sir Humphrey tomorrow. Was the Duchess at home?'
‘Aye, and the Lady Grey and her sons.’
He was puzzled. ‘Did they not ask you to dine?’
Bess turned away to caress her mare's soft muzzle. ‘Yes, but I thought I should return to you. Wat said you'd not be best pleased for me to be on the road with so many soldiers riding to join the King.’
He smiled. ‘Wat can take care of you. And how hungry you must be. Come, I'm sure our host will find you some cold meats.’
He walked with her into the house and as they entered he added, ‘I hope you did not meet any unruly folk on your way.’
‘Only May Day lovers,’ she answered and wondered that she, who had never kept a secret from him before, could hide this one so easily.
CHAPTER TWO
There was nothing Lady Ferrers liked so much as to entertain the court, and she had persuaded the King to grace the supper table for the bedding of her husband's cousin. Despite her recent marriage to the Earl of Essex's youngest son, Sir John Bourchier, some ten or more years her junior, she kept the title she had inherited from her first husband, Sir Edward Grey, and was so well connected that many of the high-born gentlemen present were related to her. The King's closest friend Lord Hastings was a near neighbour and she welcomed him and his lady profusely.
‘My lord, it is good of you to attend our little ceremony. And Lady Catherine – there is nothing we like so much as a bridal, is there?’
Lady Hastings smiled and kissed her hostess. ‘No indeed. William and I are not so long wed that we have forgotten the pleasures of that day. Nor you, I think.’
‘Sir John and I suit each other well. Is my lord of Warwick able to join us? I sent word to him.’
‘I believe not,’ Lady Hastings answered. ‘My brother is much occupied as the King's first commander and if the army is to march in two days’ time there is so much to do. I left him deep in lists and papers of all sorts, and my sister-in-law has stayed at Warwick.’
Lady Ferrers nodded understandingly, but she was annoyed. The Earl of Warwick was the proudest man in England, and, his eldest sister being the King's mother, considered himself second only to Edward in the kingdom. It was like him to be too busy for a mere bedding and so typical of the King to find time. Then she saw Bess in the gallery above. ‘Ah, there is our little bride, I must bring her down,’ and she hurried off.
Bess hesitated at the top of the stairs beside the lady who, to all the world but a very few, was still Lady Grey. Elizabeth squeezed her hand and said, ‘Come, child, all these great folk need not frighten you.’
‘I am not afraid,’ Bess said, ‘only wondering where my father is.’
‘There, with my brother Anthony. Anthony will be in the vanguard when they march, I dare say. There is no man more skilled in the joust in all England and when it comes to real fighting I'm told he is a hardy knight.’
‘If it were not for this campaign perhaps we should have had a joust here. They say the King loves the sport.’
Elizabeth's lips quivered. ‘He loves many sports.’
They had come to the bottom of the stairs now and Bess was surrounded by laughing friends, young men paying her compliments. She was aware that Elizabeth had made her look her best tonight, puffing out the yellow gown to give her miniature figure more shape, shaving some of the hair from her forehead to give her height and exaggerate the tall winged head-dress. A little paste had been rubbed into her lips and cheeks, and perfume into her skin. She felt stiff and uncomfortable in the heavy gown and was glad when her father gave her his arm to lead her to speak with her father-in-law.
Lord Berners was a man of almost complete silence. ‘Well, child,’ was all he said as he bent to kiss her, only a hint of a smile on his heavy face as he gave her hand into that of his son. Humphrey Bourchier was everything his father was not, cheerful and talkative, a smile never far away, his eyes lively and alert, quick to spot any cause for friendly mockery. He put his bride's hand to his mouth and then his lips to hers in a kiss that was far from formal and drew a few laughs from his friends. His speech of welcome was all that it should be but Bess wondered how much of it he meant. There were so many people around them that she was unable to talk to him further. For many years, ever since her child-wedding, she had been aware of him in the background as someone with whom she must one day live her life, yet she did not know him. She cast a covert look at him now. He was of average height, with nothing remarkable about his face which was more pleasant than handsome. His light brown hair seemed unruly though his clothes were costly and worn with casual ease. Bess felt that the six years between them had given him a self- confidence she utterly lacked. Even if there had been an opportunity she did not know what she would have said to him, and at supper was relieved to find that the King himself was to sit between bride and groom.
As the courses were served, roast meat and pastries, freshwater fish in rich sauces, fowl of all sorts, subtleties of jelly and marzipan, almonds and raisins, she was conscious only of Edward's large presence beside her. The King talked to her throughout most of the meal with such charm and gallantry that she found unaccountable tears stinging her lids. There was something so poignant in the shared knowledge of his secret wedding, in his gracing of her own bedding only the next day, that she found herself in a daze, unable to eat more than a few morsels of the rich food placed before her. Edward plied her encouragingly with tit-bits as he talked, but afterwards she could never recall much of what he said, only that once he had turned completely towards her and in a low voice told her, ‘Love is a great joy, Bess. Treasure it, as I do.’
‘Oh yes, yes,’ she whispered, ‘but I am not like –’ She broke off. ‘I have no beauty and I don't know if –‘
He gave a sudden laugh. ‘You may not have such beauty as some ladies we know, but you have a gentle heart that shows in your eyes and, as I know, a man might trust you well. Sir Humphrey would be, what I am sure he is not, a great fool if he did not appreciate that.’
Startled, she glanced up and saw his gaze sweep over her. ‘As for the rest,’ he added, ‘you are not so ill to a man's eyes as you may think.’
A flush crept into her cheeks. ‘Thank you, oh thank you, sire.’ He was surely, she thought, the kindest man alive. He made her feel a woman, and perhaps even desirable, and that very intention brought about a result he never envisaged. His kindness, his involuntary charm reached out to Bess as nothing in her life had done before, and she turned suddenly giddy, her heart pounding in a manner that made her feel slightly sick. Sweet Jesu, but she loved him! How could she? But it was true – true! On her own bridal day she had fallen in love with another man and that man the King of England, so recently wed himself and to her friend.
He danced with her, the warmth of his hand sending sensations through her body. I mustn't cry, she thought. Holy Virgin, don't let me cry.
She danced too with her husband and could not look up into his face though he teased her to do so. Then came Earl Rivers, and she wondered what he would think of her if he knew her turmoil of spirit. The genial and handsome Lord Hastings partnered her next, openly squeezing one breast. He told her she was a plum ripe for the picking and was so affable that she could only whisper ‘Please, my lord, don't!’ without taking offence, but afterwards she went to her father and held his arm tightly.
‘What is it?’ he asked. ‘Bess, my child, you must be happy tonight.’
'I wish we were at home,’ the words came out in a rush. ‘I don't want to leave you.’
‘It is in the nature of things that you should,’ he answered gently, ‘though I like the parting as little as you. But you and Humphrey will give me grandchildren, I hope, and that is something I shall like a great deal.’
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br /> When several ladies led Bess away to the bridal chamber Lady Hastings said drily, ‘My dear, if my lord thinks you well enough to flirt with you may take it that you have what a man requires,’ which did not lessen the tumult that seemed to be threatening to overcome her. She burst into tears and wept uncontrollably for a few moments while Lady Hastings, Lady Ferrers and Elizabeth fussed over her, assuring her that brides often wept but that her tears must be dried before her bridegroom came. They bathed her face in cool water, brushed her hair, and by the time the gentlemen arrived to knock at the door she was quiet again, the outburst seemingly having relieved the pent-up emotion. How foolish she was, how childish to think herself in love with the King! And when Humphrey came to take his place beside her in the bed she sat there meekly, though her hands were clenched tightly together beneath the covers.
Archbishop Neville said the prayers and the blessing. Posies of spring flowers were laid at their feet and cups of hot spiced wine passed around. The King called out, ‘A health to bride and groom. I will not wish them a quiet night but a merry one, and God's gift of children to come.’
The toast was drunk amid laughter and a few jokes that caused some of the older ladies to frown. Bess's father kissed her and whispered a private blessing. Lord Berners saluted her once more in silence, and lastly came the King. He bent and his lips seemed to burn her forehead. Again she wanted to cry. She swallowed hard, forced back the tears. The wine had restored her a little but when the door was shut and Edward gone from the room she felt stifled, and frightened. Humphrey put out one hand to take hers.
‘Bess,’ he said, and she thought his voice sounded strange. She wondered if he had drunk too much at the supper though she had not noticed it. ‘Bess,’ he said again. ‘I have wanted this night to come. We little thought it would be in the midst of the drums beating to war, did we?’
The Sun in Splendour (The Plantagenets Book 6) Page 2
