‘No,’ she answered, thinking the formal wish must be what all bridegrooms said. ‘I will try to be a good wife.’
‘With keys at your belt and servants to order?’
‘It will be my duty,’ she answered uneasily, ‘and I pray God always that I may do my duty.’
‘Duty? Is that all? Bess!’ His voice sharpened. ‘You sound so cool. Have you given your heart elsewhere?!' He felt a tremor shake her. ‘By God, you shall tell me. Have you a lover?’
For one agonizing moment she hesitated. If Edward Plantagenet once looked at her with desire would she not give him heart and body without one regret? But he had not, would not. ‘No,’ she answered. ‘Never a lover. I have lived quiet at Ashwellthorpe.’ She tried to banish the figure of Edward from her mind as she spoke. Edward had slipped away perhaps by now to Elizabeth 's chamber with no thought but for his wife, and here was she with Humphrey who was her husband, Humphrey who was wooing her, wanting her it seemed, Humphrey whom everyone liked so well, and whom she must learn to love. Here, as he drew her to him, his hands moving over her, was reality in place of an unattainable dream. She could not escape that reality as he laid her back on the pillow and, feeling her tremble, paused a moment above her. ‘Are you afraid of me, wife?’
She tried not to weep again, to still her trembling. ‘No, oh no. But I do not know –’ she broke off and with no idea what to say, murmured, ‘You will always find me obedient, sir.’
To her surprise he shook with sudden mirth. ‘Oh, you are well versed! By whom, I wonder? Are those your mother's instructions? Perhaps she has forgotten what it is to be young.’
‘I'm sure she has told me only what is right.’
‘I mean no offence,’ he broke in. ‘Only that I suppose you have been learning your business as a woman and a wife to be, while I have been learning mine as a knight in the King's service. I've marched half over England with him. I was at Ludlow when his father was slain, I fought at Mortimer's Cross and at Towton, and a bloody shambles that was with the snow driving at us and the fight lasting all a winter's day.’
‘Oh.’ Bess thought it was an odd way to talk on their wedding night. She had a mental picture of white snow coloured red with blood. ‘Men must be about men's work, I suppose,’ she added, foreseeing a lonely life ahead.
‘Yes,’ he agreed and laughed again. ‘But there's more than one side to that. You've grown into a woman to be desired, wife.’
‘Have I?’ she asked, wondering. ‘I did not think –’ and then she remembered Edward's words, Lord Hastings's open admiration.
Misinterpreting her Humphrey said, ‘I am twenty-two, I've had other women and I'll not deny that I've enjoyed them, but I've always thought of you as my wife; who will be the mother, please God, of my children.’
‘You have thought thus of me? Yet you've hardly ever been to Ashwellthorpe, nor –’
‘Are you disappointed because I did not come courting a child?’
‘Oh no. I did not expect that. But I often wished –’
Humphrey gave a low laugh. ‘It need not be a matter of time to know each other. I can take you now as perhaps most men take their wives, without thought, as of right, but I want you to love me. Do you think you can, my Bess?’
He was kissing her again, his body warm and strong sliding above hers. The little she had gathered about marriage had been gleaned mostly from gossiping friends and the talk of serving women, but dimly she realized Humphrey had a rare sensitivity to consider her feelings thus. Another tremor shook her as his hands began to evoke utterly new sensations, her body responding despite the whirling thoughts. Hardly knowing what she was doing she whispered, ‘Show me how to love,’ for only that way, seemingly, could she shut out the other image, shatter that other vision of what it would have been had Edward Plantagenet lain beside her.
In the morning there was a delay and the march was postponed until the following day. Humphrey laughed and said the fates had been kind to them. He took her riding into the pleasant countryside. It was another warm and sunny day and at noon they dismounted to eat the bread and meat and drink the wine Wat Sable had brought in his saddle-bag. Then while Wat took the horses to a stream they sat under a great beech and Humphrey picked a few bluebells for her to tuck into the tight bodice of her gown. There was colour in her sallow cheeks this morning and a new glow in her eyes and she did not guess that last night had changed her, giving her if not beauty at least a new and indefinable appeal. What she did know was that despite her own wild feelings Humphrey had brought her a strange happiness. They held hands under the beech tree and he looked at her as she had seen Edward look at Elizabeth. Ought she not to be grateful for a husband who, inexplicably, seemed to love her so much? And when he took her there on the grass she gave herself willingly. What she felt for Edward must be kept hidden and treasured always, but the rest of her and her body at least belonged to this man who suddenly and astonishingly was demanding a response from her. She thought of some girls she knew and what she had heard of the misery of their lives with careless or even brutal husbands, and with a sigh she settled her head on Humphrey's shoulder.
Early the next day the army marched out and Bess stood with Lady Elizabeth, the Duchess Jaquetta and Lady Ferrers to watch them go. Her eyes went first to Edward, as perhaps they would always do. He was very much the King this morning, a golden coronet encircling his head, a tall figure in a coat of royal purple, his feet long in the stirrups, the royal arms of England on his saddlecloth and his standard. A man for men to follow, she thought. Humphrey was among the knights behind him, the Bourchier knot embroidered in silk on the cloth covering his horse's rump, his greyhound badge fastened on the left shoulder of his mantle, his helm and armour in the charge of his squire Rob Fitchett who rode a few paces behind. Bess had found the parting hard, clinging to Humphrey in their chamber earlier in a manner that surprised herself. ‘Don't be afraid,’ he had said cheerfully. ‘We'll soon despatch Somerset's army, perhaps even take old Henry and shut him up in the Tower, poor mad fellow.’ He had kissed Bess soundly and added, ‘Have I not so much to come back for now?’
Her father rode past and she waved to him. Slowly the army disappeared beyond the gates, down the twisting road. Elizabeth and Bess exchanged glances, but neither spoke, only Bess and the Duchess, of all those left behind, knowing how much this parting meant to Lady Grey.
Edward sat at the head of a long table in the Abbey at Reading and surveyed his Council. Ostensibly they had assembled to discuss the matters to be set before a meeting of Parliament on the morrow.
‘A truce with the Scots,’ he said firmly. ‘Since the Marquess of Montagu despatched Somerset's army so easily, before we even loosened our scabbards, we must see that the border no longer provides a refuge for our enemies.’
'The Lord Henry is still at liberty,’ the young Duke of Norfolk pointed out rather sulkily. He was a mere twenty and though thin and far from robust had wanted to earn his knighthood in the field. ‘Until we take him –’
‘He is useless without an army,’ Edward answered. ‘But if we are at loggerheads with the Scots they may provide him with one. No, we must have a truce and Henry must be found as soon as possible.’
‘My brother Montagu will soon run him to earth,’ the Earl of Warwick said easily. Aware of his popularity, and generous when he chose, his triumph and Edward's – for that was the way he saw the overthrow of King Henry VI and Queen Margaret – was now consolidated, and in his pouch was a flattering letter received from the French King this very morning. He laid it carefully on the table and went on, ‘I believe, your grace, that the most pressing matter now is that of your marriage. Castile is out of the question. Alliance with France is what we need, and King Louis's own sister-in-law, the Lady Bona of Savoy, is by far the most suitable bride.’
‘Is Louis willing?’ the Earl of Essex asked.
‘He wishes it most earnestly,’ Warwick answered. It did not occur to him that he could not manipulate the young n
ephew he had placed on the throne, and Edward's next words, accompanied by a deceptively bland smile, took him utterly by surprise.
‘I fear, cousin,’ the King said, ‘it is too late for that.’
‘Too late? What can you mean?'' Warwick asked sharply and the rest of the Council came to sudden attention, even Archbishop Bourchier who had been trying to ward off sleep induced by an ample dinner.
‘I mean,’ Edward went on, ‘that I am already married.’
Astonishment rippled around the table. The Earl of Essex who was growing a little deaf, said ‘Eh?’ and every eye was fixed on the King as Warwick exclaimed, ‘Married? To whom, in God's name?’
Edward let fly his second bolt. ‘To the Lady Elizabeth Grey.’
For a moment Warwick was too dumbfounded to speak. He was first white and then red as his anger mounted. Richard Neville was not used to having his plans thwarted. ‘God in heaven, nephew, have you lost your wits? How can it be and I – I not know of it? Take her for your whore if you must, but . . .’
In a cold voice Edward said, ‘I have told you, she is my wife, wed to me by a priest before witnesses.’ He looked round at the stunned faces, seeing the incredulity, the struggle between natural reaction, differing in each case, and the need to preserve an expression of loyalty. Only Lord Hastings, already in the secret, was endeavouring to hide an amused smile.
The Earl of Warwick's hand clenched on his jewelled belt, but after one flashing venomous glance at his nephew his hazel eyes half closed and he stared downwards at a large emerald, his quick brain grappling with the situation.
A clamour of voices broke out. ‘Sire, that was done too hastily,’ from Warwick's brother George Neville, Archbishop of York, and ‘Your Council, sire, should have been consulted on something of such importance,’ from Lord Shrewsbury, staunch partisan though he was, while Edward's brother, the fifteen-year-old Duke of Clarence, exclaimed, ‘God's mercy, Edward, how could you ally yourself with such a low-born family?’
Edward's answer was mocking, hiding a deeper annoyance. ‘Yours, George, is the last opinion the Council requires. This is your first attendance here, so listen and be still. Well, my lords, do I have no good wishes? I have married the woman of my choice. Surely that prerogative, allowed to the meanest of my subjects, need not be denied me?’ The Archbishop of Canterbury glanced at his brother Essex and shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his earnest face creased with genuine concern. ‘My dear lord, I wish you well, God knows, and happy too, but as King of England you had not the freedom of lesser men.’
‘And a widow with two sons! Hardly the best choice,’ Norfolk muttered, though unwilling to speak up.
‘But mine!’ Edward heard him and his voice was sharp.
Warwick raised his head. ‘Your duty was to wed for the nation's good. You have made a grave error, sire, and one that we may all live to regret.’
‘My lords,’ Hastings broke in, ‘recriminations are surely out of order. Our sovereign lord can deal with our neighbours overseas without marrying one of their daughters. Ought we not to be glad he has wed for love? And the Lady Elizabeth has beauty and charm and will grace her place beside him.’
The Earl of Essex, the oldest member present, had been pondering the matter in his own deliberate way. ‘Well, I'll not say it was not ill-judged, for it was, but if the thing is done, legally and before God –’
‘It is.’
‘Then we cannot do otherwise than accept. God give you joy, nephew, and the lady too.’
Warwick had, by stern self-control, recovered himself and spoke as if to a tiresome youth. ‘I suppose you have only acted as others have done before you and we'll have to make the best of it,’ he said dourly. ‘But what we shall say to Louis of France, I cannot imagine. The French ambassador awaits me even now and –’
‘Can go empty-handed back to France,’ Edward finished the sentence, yet with so swift a smile that many lords laughed. Edward was beginning to enjoy the stir he had caused, and sensing the change of mood turned the full force of his charm on them all. ‘Gentlemen, the lady is virtuous and gentle. She will make you a good Queen. Her father Lord Rivers has proved himself a faithful servant of the crown and her mother is surely highborn enough to satisfy all of you.’
‘Like mother like daughter?’ The Earl of Oxford threw himself back in his chair. An unruly and jealous young man, John de Vere had not forgotten that Edward had executed his father and brother for rebellion two years ago, and not even marriage to one of Warwick's sisters had appeased his hidden desire for revenge. ‘They seem to make a habit of secret marriages in that family. But if the Duchess lowered herself by wedding a mere squire one might say the Lady Elizabeth has reversed the process.’
‘My lord!’ Archbishop Bourchier protested. ‘Such comments are quite uncalled for. You offend the King.’
Oxford subsided and Edward chose to ignore him, though he was well aware that de Vere would need watching. ‘There is naught for regret in my choice,’ he said, ‘only rejoicing that England has a Queen who will prove worthy of her. She will arrive here tomorrow and I shall present you all to her.’ He looked round the table, a challenge in his expression which no one at that moment wished to take up.
Humphrey had an account of this scene from his uncle Essex and reported it that night to Bess in their lodgings at Caversham.
‘And did my lord of Warwick really accept it?’ Bess asked. ‘He must have been very angry.’
‘He was, for there's no doubt he's been made to look a great fool and all Europe will think so. He's been trying to sell Edward to the highest bidder these last three years and France and Burgundy will laugh behind their hands at this piece of news. I know the new Queen is our friend, my love, but no one can deny that Richard Woodville was nobody until he wed the Duchess Jaquetta.’
‘That was long ago.’
‘But folk have long memories.’
‘Then they will have to forget the past. When is Elizabeth to be crowned?’
Humphrey laughed. ‘The Council is still trying to realize that there is to be a crowning. And as I came through the Abbey guesthouse I saw the Duchess of Exeter and the Duchess of Suffolk looking very black. Though they are Edward's sisters they will now have to give way to a Woodville. The whole place was buzzing with talk, I can tell you, and everyone is wondering what the King's mother will make of it. It will be a long time before all the gossip is stifled.’
Bess turned to look at her husband who was lying on his back, arms behind his head. ‘What sort of gossip?’
‘Oh, mainly curiosity as to how she won him. There are plenty of lovely women at court and Edward has known her since she was a child. They say she aroused his lust by unholy means and then refused him unless he wed her; that he tried to rape her but she held a dagger to her breast to save herself – the sort of talk one would expect. After all, a King does not usually wed in secret and for love, eh?’ He held out his hand and Bess blew out the candle and came to him.
Lying in the circle of his arm she said, ‘Gossip will die; it always does.’
‘Aye, and a few will have to watch their tongues, or face Edward's anger, which I would not care to do.’
Wondering, she asked, ‘Is his anger so terrible?’
‘It can be. He is a true Plantagenet.’
She was silent, trying to visualize Edward enraged, but she could only see him as he had been in the garden at Grafton, and at the supper table for her bridal. ‘Shall we have peace now?’
‘God knows. We have not found the old King, and the Angevin bitch is still in France with her son. She won't give up hope of coming back, though I doubt if her uncle Louis will wish to take on the might of England on her behalf.’
‘Yet some Englishmen cling to her cause. The Duke of Exeter went with Margaret, did he not?’
‘Exeter is a fool and worse – he's overfond of the young lads in his meinie. The Beauforts are all Lancastrians of course. Somerset is dead and his brother won't bend to Edward, tho
ugh the Lady Margaret Beaufort, Tudor's widow, seems to me to be a young woman with too much sense to risk her patrimony. Besides, she's to marry Henry Stafford, young Buckingham's uncle.’
‘Hasn't she a son?’ Bess asked vaguely.
‘Aye, a child named Henry. Lord Herbert has him in his household at Pembroke where his uncle Jasper Tudor can't get hold of him. He is of no account. No, my love, I think we need not fear rebellion now. Edward is master of England and we have a crowning to look forward to.’ His arm tightened about her. ‘As for me, I don't look so far ahead for my pleasuring.’
His teasing voice, his light touch that led to deeper passion were, had he but known it, the only kind of loving that could have won his wife to him. Her love for Edward remained but as a sacred, delicate thing seldom brought into the light.
They had had only one quarrel, when she wanted to return to Ashwellthorpe during the summer and Humphrey had exclaimed, ‘Bury ourselves in Norfolk when there is the court to be enjoyed? I have every hope we shall both find places about the Queen. You must be mad, Bess.’
'My mother is in Boston and my father is alone,’ she had said, and he answered, ‘Then let him join us at Westminster.’
‘He does not like London.’
‘If he wishes to see you that is where he must come.’
‘I would like to visit him at home. And Ashwellthorpe is ours now.’
‘And will still be there at a more convenient time. We go to London.’
Humphrey had refused any further discussion, promising her much enjoyment in the capital. Saddened, Bess wrote to her father, making what excuse she could. The old days of her companionship with him began to fade and when the letter was written she realised that in truth what she wanted more was to live within the reach of the sound of Edward's voice and the sight of him towering above the heads of most of his court. Humphrey did not even consider they had quarrelled and that same evening told her he thought she needed a companion, a girl of modest family but superior to her maidservant. ‘There is just such a girl I know of,’ he said, ‘the daughter of a wine merchant in Canterbury. Her grandfather served my father and uncle and now her father has charge of the business. A bookish man for a merchant, far better educated than one would expect, and he has often dined at our table. He asked me himself to find a place for his daughter – she's an only child and he wants her to learn what she can in a great lady's house.’
The Sun in Splendour (The Plantagenets Book 6) Page 3
