The Sun in Splendour (The Plantagenets Book 6)

by Juliet Dymoke

  ‘No.’ Bess straightened her back. ‘He did not mean to be unkind. And I have been weak. I was so unnerved by the suggestion that I said too little. I will appeal to him again.’ He was fond of her, would remember her part in his own wedding, and then surely she could make him listen. She bent to kiss Elysia, saw the large grey eyes looking up at her and suddenly knew where she had seen that likeness a few days ago. It was to the portrait in the King's apartment. For a moment she was so surprised that she forgot her own trouble. Could Elysia be a by-blow of the late Duke? No, for she was far too young. Bess hardly remembered Master Hay when he had brought her to London, a stooping man with grey hair whose face she could not conjure up. She must be imagining the similarity, and yet she had always thought there was quality in the girl.

  But when Elysia had finished undressing her and left the room, her own problem seized her mind again and she determined to speak to the King at the first opportunity. It came sooner than she expected.

  Two days later he took a small party hawking and Bess was one of the number. To her relief Thomas Howard was not among them and loving the sport she gave herself up to the enjoyment of it. She had her little merlin that Humphrey had given her on her wrist and she knew that she rode well. The day was wild and windy, the first signs of spring still far off though a few yellow aconites had pushed their way through the dead leaves. Her merlin brought down a pigeon and Wat Sable slung it from his pole. Then, suddenly, a partridge rose from almost beneath the hooves of Bess's little mare. It scared the beast so much that she took off at a gallop, plunging deeper into the woodland, twisting among the yews and beeches. Wat Sable, busy with the other huntsmen, had not seen and for a moment Bess was alone. She caught at the reins to steady the mare, but not too fiercely lest she should be thrown, at the same time trying to avoid low-hanging branches. They pelted on for what seemed endless frightening minutes, the wind blowing her hood from her face, and then behind her she heard thundering hooves. Sable, thank God, she thought. A strong hand reached out and caught at her reins, bringing the mare to a halt, and she saw that it was not Sable but the King himself.

  ‘Bess!’ He steadied both horses. ‘Are you all right? I saw what happened.’

  ‘She was scared,’ Bess answered, ‘and I could not stop her.’

  ‘You'd best dismount,’ he said, ‘let her quieten down.’

  He lifted her from the saddle and tied the mare's reins to a nearby alder bush where the animal stood with trembling legs and distended nostrils. ‘There,’ he smoothed the soft nose. ‘Gently, girl, gently.’

  Breathless, Bess said,’ ‘My groom told me she was not ready to hunt but I wanted to try her out.’

  Edward turned to her. ‘You are shaken yourself, and no wonder. Come, sit down on my cloak. See, the yew trees here will make a shelter for you out of the wind.’

  She obeyed him, trying to tidy her wild hair, and he sank down easily by her side, his long legs stretched.

  ‘Another time listen to your groom. If it was that fellow Sable, he knows horseflesh.’

  She nodded, a rueful smile on her face. ‘I will, sire.’ And then, as the realization dawned on her that they were quite alone, that no one had followed, the opportunity seemed too good to miss.

  ‘Are you cold?’ he was asking. ‘We need not stay long, but I think you must rest that mare for a while. I called to the others that I would see you safe. 'Tis a pity we have no wine to warm us, but –’

  ‘Sire,’ she broke in, ‘may I speak? I must say something to you.’

  ‘Dear Bess,’ he laughed, ‘there is no one here to hinder you.’

  ‘It is about Master Howard,’ she said. ‘I beg you, I implore you not to make me marry him. He – he is repugnant to me.’

  ‘Poor Tom! He is not so ill a fellow and you may learn to like him very well. He is determined to have you.’

  ‘And I am equally determined not to have him.’ She did not know how she could so defy Edward but despair drove her. ‘You are a man, sire, you do not understand, but I can't – I can't.’

  ‘Why not? Why should he be so – repugnant, I think you said?’ His smile faded. ‘Is it Humphrey's memory or,’ as a thought struck him, ‘do you love elsewhere? Bess – tell me the truth.’ Her teeth were chattering now and he came closer, putting his arms about her and rubbing her back, her shoulders. ‘There, let me warm you. Now tell me, is there a man you love? You know I'd not be cruel if there is.’

  ‘Yes, there is, there is,’ she gasped. There was no dissembling left in her, the moment of solitude, his arms about her albeit not in love, robbing her of all defence. ‘Oh, yes, even before I wed Humphrey.’

  She had really surprised him now. ‘Before then? But you told me you were happy with Humphrey.’

  ‘I was, because he was so good, so kind, and in time I would have –’ her voice trailed away. ‘But he is dead and my love is alive and warm and so close that I cannot put my thoughts from him.’

  There was something in her face, even more than the flood of revealing words, that made him sit very still, his arm about her. There was a long silence. Bess had laid her head against his chest. Now she had betrayed herself, she abandoned the last shred of pretence.

  At last he said, ‘I did not know. You have hidden it well.’

  ‘Forgive me – forgive me.’ He could barely hear the words and bent his head above hers. ‘It was always you, from that day at Grafton. I tried not to and I did love Humphrey – only differently. Oh, don't be angry with me.’

  ‘Angry?’ he echoed. ‘What man could be angry with a woman for loving him?’ He made her lift her face so that he could look down into it, seeing her with different eyes himself. ‘You have grown lovely with the years, Bess.’

  ‘It was you who first said – I remember the very words – that I was not so ill-looking to a man as I thought.’

  ‘Did I say that? I have been proved right then and you shall have one lover's kiss to show I meant what I said.’

  He bent his mouth to hers. And to Bess it was as if time had rolled back and it was May again and she sixteen, that they were not in this little arbour with the chilly March wind tossing the branches above them. She surrendered herself to his embrace, not only her mouth but all her body responding, the love repressed for so long freed at last.

  ‘Why have I not looked so at you before?’ he said and put a hand to her loosened hair, letting it wander down her cheek and neck to one breast, releasing the ribbon of her bodice. ‘You are warm now, Bess, and love is in every inch of you. I feel it, you are trembling with it.’

  ‘How could I not?’ she murmured. ‘To be in your arms is all I've ever wanted.’

  He was kissing her again, harder this time, pressing her down on the spread cloak. Then he lifted his head for a moment. ‘I'll not raise a scandal about you, Bess. I care too much for you to make you my mistress, though I'd like to. But we'll have these moments so fortunately given to us. Will that suffice you, I wonder? I need not ask if you wish it.

  She shook her head, no longer capable of thought, only of Edward, his large body, his warmth, his growing desire – for her, for her! ‘My lord, my love, take me. Afterwards I'll do anything you ask of me.’

  He gave a low laugh. ‘Do you think I drive a bargain?’ His mouth came down on hers again and with it ecstasy, the fulfilment beyond her wildest dreaming, the surrender of mind and body such as she had never dared even to contemplate.

  The mare was quiet now, and the wind had dropped. At last Edward, who seemed half asleep, roused himself and rose. ‘We must go back,’ he said, ‘we shall be missed.’

  Passively she straightened her gown, let him tie her cloak, pull her hood about her face. But he was speaking in his familiar way, his voice the same, though she was no longer the woman who had ridden out to hawk this morning. The moment was unreal, their bushy shelter unreal, none of it truly happening, yet here the dream had become reality and her love for him cried out that this could not be the end between them. Only he m
eant it to be so, for as he lifted her into the saddle once more he went on, though looking up at her with a smile full of warmth. ‘I'll not forget you have once been mine, my Bess, but you will do as I wish? You will marry Tom Howard?’

  And now the cold was more than that of a spring afternoon, the wonder shattered like a broken glass. The King had swung himself into his own saddle. She could see he saw nothing strange, only perhaps amusing, in the incident. He took mistresses, gave or withheld his consent to marriages, ordered all things, took obedience for granted. He was the King.

  She gathered up the reins and said dully, ‘I will wed Master Howard.’

  The marriage was arranged for the last day of April and by the time the betrothal took place and her delighted parents had written their approval Bess was composed again. After a night of weeping alternating with a joy that she would not have exchanged for anything, she had indeed been unwell with a slight fever. She welcomed the few days in bed, nursed by Elysia and Annette who both fussed over her affectionately. It gave her time to face the knowledge of what she had done.

  Guilt and remorse tormented her. She had been wicked, led into sin by her love, yielding where she should have resisted. That Edward with no such qualms had taken her and was equally if not more to blame she did not consider. If a woman threw herself at a man, above all a King, in such a situation what could she expect? She had had no thought for Elizabeth, nor for her mourning, nor her children, naught for anyone but Edward, and even as guilt drove her to anguish, the memory of that time of ecstasy still flooded her, made all else worth while. She lay passive in bed, sneezing and hot, and no one guessed how much of the fever was in her mind.

  Slowly she looked the truth in the face. Edward would never make love to her again. They had sealed an agreement and because she loved him she must obey, and when she rose from her bed it was with a new courage dredged from a reserve she did not know she possessed. She had had her hour, far beyond even her wildest longing, and if it must be all it was better to have been loved by Edward for one hour out of a lifetime than never to have known it at all.

  And now the future must be faced. Lord Howard came to her with his son, took her hand and then kissed her cheek.

  ‘My dear Lady Bourchier, we will welcome you into our family. Nothing could delight me more.’

  Nor benefit you more, she thought cynically, and accepted Thomas's salutation by proffering a cool cheek instead of her mouth. She had wine served and with Elysia standing behind her chair and Sir Robert attending to her guests, entertained them as best she could. But she was aware that she answered their questions in a withdrawn way, agreeing to their plans for the wedding, not responding to any of Thomas's rather heavy-handed overtures. At her summons Annette brought the younger children in and she presented them.

  John stared at Lord Howard. ‘Are you to be my new father?'

  He laughed loudly. ‘Not I – my son here. Will you not be glad to have a father again?’

  ‘I suppose I may.’ John turned to look at the man who would fill that place. ‘Will you buy me a horse, sir? It is time I had my own but Mother says –’

  ‘John,’ Bess interrupted sharply, ‘you do not ask for gifts.’

  ‘Why, of course I will buy him a horse,’ Thomas said. ‘The boy will be the better for a man to guide him, my lady.’

  She could see he meant it well but she flushed with annoyance. ‘I have not been so long widowed that he has forgotten his own father,’ she retorted and then, aware that John was about to make the oft-repeated remark that he had seen little of his father, she sent the children away.

  ‘I can see we shall all do very well together,’ Lord Howard remarked smoothly and she repressed the desire to retort that hope was a transient thing.

  ‘When John is older he shall come to sea with me,’ he went on. ‘There's nothing like the sea for the making of men.’ And the assumption that he and his son would now order her life increased her irritation. They are my children, she thought, and it is I who will decide what shall be done for them.

  To her relief the Howards rose to go. Thomas held her hand, not letting her withdraw it. ‘I am much honoured,’ he said. ‘You will not regret it, I promise you.’

  ‘Shall I not?’ she queried. ‘You cannot but be aware, sir, that this marriage is the King's choice, not mine.’

  ‘Of course.’ He did not seem in the least put out but added practically, ‘but it is what I wanted and will be to our mutual advantage.’ He did not have to bend to kiss her for he was little taller than she. His kiss was hard, possessive, and when he had gone she went upstairs. Her mouth felt bruised as it had not done when Edward's whole strength was given to possessing her. Sweet Jesu, she thought, how can I bear this?

  ‘My dearest, I am so pleased for you,’ was the Queen's greeting. ‘An excellent match. You shall be married at court and I shall attend you myself. We both know why, don't we? I pray you will be as happy as I was that May Day.’

  ‘Thank you, your grace,’ Bess said bleakly. Though she was certain Elizabeth knew nothing of the incident in the wood, nor ever would know, she wondered if the Queen was aware of the numerous mistresses in Edward's life. Need she be so ashamed for letting him love her for one hour? Elizabeth was Queen, she bore the King's children and could look with tolerance on his foibles for he was a fond husband and devoted father. She was seven months pregnant again now, and more complacent. Her little son Edward grew strong and she hoped the new baby would be a boy.

  ‘I would like to see another wedding as well as yours,’ Elizabeth was saying. ‘We came here to Sheen to mend matters, but George and Richard are as far apart as ever. In fact they are like two hounds circling each other with their teeth bared. I wish Edward would settle the matter.’

  It seemed that the King too had had enough of the haggling over the Warwick fortune, for his patience finally ran out and he summoned his brothers to his presence. He sat facing them, his eyes passing from one to the other.

  ‘Enough is enough,’ he said sternly. ‘I appeal to you, George, once more for your brother. Warwick's estate will be settled by law, but for God's sake accept the marriage. I have said Dickon is to have Anne and I do not wish bad blood between you.’

  Clarence glared at Edward and then at Richard, but thus finally confronted, his self-obsessed mind saw only one way out. ‘Let Dickon have her then and be damned to them both,’ he said as if he cared not one jot for either. ‘He's welcome to the silly milk-and-water wench.’

  ‘Be careful,’ Richard said. ‘You will not speak so of the Lady Anne.’

  Clarence laughed harshly. ‘Crow on your own dungheap, little brother. You think yourself so clever but,’ he made Edward an exaggerated bow and lounged to the door, ‘do not imagine I will part with one penny of Warwick's money, for I will not. I'll have the lawyers arguing until we are both in our graves, and knowing the law that will not be difficult.’

  ‘You will obey it, and me,’ Edward said.

  ‘Or find myself in the Tower?’ Clarence mocked. ‘I think not.’

  He went out and for a moment the two left behind were silent. Then Edward said, ‘You will have to get a dispensation, as George did. You are too close in affinity.’

  ‘In time.’ Richard too went to the door. ‘But I'll not wait for it. If you will permit me to go to her – she has waited long enough.’

  An appeal to the warmer emotions seldom failed to stir Edward. ‘Yes, go. Fetch that poor girl, Dickon, and you shall be wed at once.’

  Richard bowed and a flicker of a smile lifted the gravity of his face. ‘At least, whatever is decided afterwards,’ he said, ‘no one will ever be able to claim that I took the Lady Anne for her wealth – for at this moment she has none!’

  He sent for Bess to accompany him to St Martin-le-Grand and it was she who attended the ecstatic girl to Windsor and to her nuptials. Afterwards the bridal couple left almost at once for Middleham, the Neville stronghold that Edward had given to Richard. ‘Promise me you will
come to visit us,’ were Anne's parting words to Bess. ‘You will, won't you?’

  Bess gave her promise, but after they had gone she felt doubly lonely. Wearily she set about making the preparations for her own wedding. It was too late now to draw back, her word was given. She spent some time with Lord Berners who was only concerned with safeguarding John's interests. That unpredictable boy had developed an odd devotion to his silent grandfather, and Bess sent him with Fitchett to stay at Lord Berners' home in Kent, feeling he was best out of the way for a while. Fitchett obeyed reluctantly. ‘I hope you know what you are doing, my lady,’ was his parting remark. ‘I wish you happy, but –’ and he went shaking his head.

  Elysia on the other hand was much excited by the choice of wedding gown and she and Annette spent blissful hours looking at head-dresses, mantles, gloves and shoes. One afternoon, however, when Elysia was alone with her mistress she looked up, suddenly anxious, and said, ‘My lady, I never asked. Will you – will you still need my services when you are wed to Master Howard?’

  Bess was sitting by the fire embroidering a kerchief. ‘Why, what a question! You have become my friend, my companion, how could I do without you?’ She saw Elysia flush and added, ‘You will stay with me until you wed, and if it should be to Sir Robert, you will both still, I trust, be part of my household.’

  Elysia's colour deepened. ‘I am not of fit birth for a knight of his standing, my lady.’

  ‘Are you not?’ Bess thought suddenly of the portrait in the King's apartment and her own wonderings. ‘What do you know of your family? I have never asked.’

  Elysia sat back on her heels. ‘My mother died when I was born – I believe she was much younger than my father, you remember you asked me once about my name and I said it came from her father whose name was Elys.’

  ‘Yes, I do remember that. And your father's parents? Who were they?’

  ‘They were dead before I was born, my lady, and my father never speaks of them, except to say he loved his father dearly. He keeps a month-mind for him every February. It was my great-grandfather who began our wine business.’ She laughed and added, ‘I often think my father more scholar than merchant. He went to Oxford, you know, to study there.’