“I'm having a baby,” she whispered.
His powerful arms tightened around her. “Oh, my precious love, no wonder you feel abandoned.” He rocked her gently and stroked her hair. He always thought of her as so self-assured, yet beneath her confident facade she was a mass of insecurities. He drew aside the covers. “Come on, get dressed.”
“Why?” She pulled away.
“We're going to get married.”
“I wouldn't marry you, Rogue Cavendish, if you were the last man breathing!” Bess said stubbornly.
“You will do as I bid!”
“It's the middle of the night!” she protested.
“What in the world of God does that have to do with anything? We'll rouse the bloody priest out of his bed and give Frances something to talk about. Now, are you going to get dressed or will I carry you down in your shift?”
Rogue's eyes were filled with such a teasing light, Bess knew he was capable of doing such a thing. She padded to the wardrobe. “Whatever shall I wear? I want to look beautiful.”
“You always look beautiful.” He had more good sense than to suggest what a woman should wear. “Hurry, I'll be back for you very shortly,” he warned.
Bess chose a cream silk gown whose sleeves were slashed with jade. She pulled on stockings and fastened them with jade garters. Gone was her lethargy; suddenly, she was bursting with energy and her heart was singing. When Frances arrived Bess apologized for the late hour.
“It's only two o'clock; I hadn't gone to bed yet. I've brought Cecily to do your hair. Everyone in London will be foaming at the mouth to have missed this. Cavendish is a madman; what on earth is his hurry?”
“I'll tell you what's the hurry,” William said from the doorway. Bess threw him such a desperate glance, his heart went out to her. “She's refused me again. No bedding without a wedding—what's a lusty man to do?”
Bess suddenly realized that it was August 20, the same date she had been evicted from Hardwick. A lump came into her throat. This was her fateful day, when either bad or good things could happen—things that would alter her life. She smiled through her tears and gave William her hand.
By the time they made their way to the chapel, Henry and the priest were awaiting them. Bess was surprised to find the seats filled with the Grey's noble guests. Sir John Port, who had recently been knighted at the young king's coronation, and his wife, Lady Port, were there, along with her family, the Fitzherberts. Also present was Sir John's daughter and her husband, the Earl of Hunting-don, and their friends the Earl and Countess of West-morland. Bess was amazed that William was on intimate terms with so many noble families and shrewdly guessed that it must be because of his position in the treasury.
As Bess stood beside William to exchange their vows, she felt that her heart might burst with joy. When William slipped a diamond wedding ring onto her third finger, all her doubts about his wanting to make her his wife disappeared forever. When they were pronounced man and wife, and Bess realized that at last she was Lady Cavendish, she was giddy with happiness.
The company hurried back to the hall, showering the newlyweds with rose petals that some enterprising guest had plucked from the gardens. When they arrived, the musicians were already playing their instruments and Bradgate's liveried servants were rushing about, providing food and wine for the celebration.
They danced until the sun came up, then William picked up his bride and carried her off to a hastily prepared bridal suite, where William firmly closed and locked the door, depriving the avid guests of the bedding they had been anticipating.
“My darling, when I told you to get dressed, I didn't mean for you to put on so many layers.”
“Did you expect to find me naked beneath my gown?”
“That's how I pictured you,” he said thickly, trying to undo the fastenings of her petticoat.
“In the chapel?” She pretended to be shocked.
“I would have laid you naked on the altar if we'd been alone. I've been starving for you.”
She brushed her breasts against him and decided to tease him. “But it's been only seven weeks; you told me yourself the days had flown past.” She danced away from him and left him holding her petticoat.
“The nights were sheer torture!” He came after her.
“Torture? You don't know the meaning of the word. Shall I teach you?” She inched up her shift, giving him a tantalizing glimpse of red-gold curls, then let it fall again.
“Cockteaser!”
The corners of her mouth went up. “I'm going to tease your cock until you beg.”
He threw her a wicked grin and began to fling off his clothes. He stood naked before her in rampant splendor.
“I suspect you are hot for me.” He lunged toward her and caught her. His hand dipped beneath the hem of her shift and a finger deftly stroked her cleft. “Scalding-hot and wet”—he licked his finger—“my little honeypot.”
She eluded him, but instead of running away, she walked a direct path to the big bed, while he watched her from beneath lids heavy with desire. Bess reclined against the pillows. “Do you like honey?” Her voice was sultry. She dipped her finger into her own honeypot and touched her nipples with the sweetness.
She was so splendidly uninhibited, William found her allure impossible to resist; it was impossible for him to leave her untasted. He came to the bed and rose above her, hungrily feasting his eyes where his mouth would follow. He knew he would love her all his days. He could hardly believe that at last the prize was his. Not only was Bess beautiful, sensual, and passionate, she was also clever, witty, and shrewd. He vowed that he would devote himself to her and love her enough to banish her insecurities and turn her into the confident woman she pretended to be. They remained in seclusion for two whole days and nights before Rogue Cavendish could bear to share her with anyone else.
Bess couldn't wait to take William to Derbyshire and show him off to her family.
“Why don't we surprise them?” William suggested.
“I wouldn't dare descend upon them with anyone as grand as Sir William Cavendish without giving them fair warning.”
“Me, grand?” he teased. “You are the grand lady.”
“Oh, I know,” Bess said happily.
Since William loved hunting and the game was plentiful in Leicestershire, the Greys arranged a hunt for their guests. Bess accompanied William for the first couple of hours, then retired back to Bradgate to write a letter to her mother. With a flourish, she signed Lady Elizabeth Cavendish, flushing with pride as she gazed down at her new signature for the first time.
They traveled to Derbyshire in William's big black carriage with the Cavendish stags emblazoned upon it. William insisted she couldn't go home empty-handed, so they made their first stop in the city of Leicester, where Bess indulged her love of shopping and bought presents for everyone in her family.
William had never in his life seen a family so excited as Bess's when the newlyweds arrived at Hardwick Manor. He soon realized that Bess was as special to them as she was to him. To his great consternation they were deeply in awe of him, and he had to set about making them feel at ease in his company.
Aunt Marcella Linaker was the exception, of course. She had never been in awe of any man breathing, and William won her over immediately. Soon his laughter echoed through the lovely but shabby manor house, and his easygoing ways encouraged Bess's family to seek out and enjoy his company.
William's manservant, James Cromp, had to share a bedroom with the coach driver, and the only one available was next to Bess and William's chamber. When they retired Bess put her finger to her lips and pointed to the wall. “I know James is privy to some of our secrets, but I don't want your servants to hear every shocking detail of our lovemaking. You'll have to behave yourself.”
“Me?” he teased. “My lovemaking is always circumspect. You're the one who will have to behave, Lady Cavendish.”
She went into his arms and bit his earlobe. “Well, I won't behave; I'll just
go about the whole thing silently.” She was a constant source of delight and amusement to her new husband, and he adored her.
The Hardwick farm covered five hundred acres, and as they rode about it, William pointed out to her many improvements that could be made and various ways of making extra money, such as enclosing some of the moors for sheep runs. Bess hung on her husband's every word, for no man in England knew more about land and property and few had his eye for money-making opportunities. That night she passed the advice on to her brother, James, hoping against hope he would become a better businessman and make Hardwick start to pay.
The following day they planned a visit to the Leches. Bess's sister Alice, married to Francis Leche and living at Chatsworth, was expecting her first child. Bess told her family they could use the Cavendish coach, because she and William were going to ride to Chatsworth.
She had told William long ago about her favorite place in the world, and when they drew rein at the top of the fell and looked down on Chatsworth, William understood why she was so enamored of it. It was truly a spectacular piece of land, encircled by the gentle River Derwent, a small, fertile Eden set down amidst the high peaks and wild moors of Derbyshire countryside. It was the perfect, ideal landscape seen in classical paintings.
William watched her face as she gazed down, enraptured. He recognized the hungry look; she got it when she looked at him sometimes. “The house is in the wrong place.” He pointed his riding crop. “It should be over there.”
Bess looked at him in wonder. “That's exactly right! Oh, William, we are so alike in our thinking. This piece of land deserves a magnificent palace-of-a-house. The outer park should stretch all the way into Sherwood Forest and be filled with deer and pheasant. The inner gardens should be formal and stately, with waterways and fountains. Such grandeur and order set in the midst of this howling wilderness would stagger the senses!”
The rapt look of longing on her face staggered William's senses. He dismounted and held up his arms to her. “I want to make love to you.”
Bess asked no questions. She knew he felt the passion she experienced over Chatsworth and that he wanted to be a part of it. She came down to him in a flurry of petticoats. “How fortunate I'm wearing green, and the best part is we don't have to behave ourselves out here. We can cry our pleasure to the highest peaks.”
Bess couldn't wait to return to London and begin her new life. She made her mother, aunt, and sisters promise to visit her. Cavendish helped James Cromp load their luggage so that Bess could say her good-byes in private. Her mother embraced her. “Bess, you have so much courage. Marcella was right when she insisted you were the one who must go to London.”
Bess wiped away a tear. Courage? If only they knew how terrified she had been just a short time ago. “William is my strength.”
Marcella shook her head. “No, Bess, the strength and the courage are yours. You knew what you wanted, and you went after it. You set your goal so high, and now you have achieved it.”
Bess embraced her aunt Marcy. “Nay, I've only just begun.”
* * *
The London house that Cavendish bought from William Parr was in Newgate Street, not far from St. Paul's Cathedral. When they arrived and William took her on a tour, Bess was surprised to find many of the rooms empty.
“I want you to start fresh. This is your house, Bess, and I want you to furnish it with things that will please you. You'll have to start by hiring your own staff. You are completely in charge here. You will also have to keep your own accounts; I'm far too busy with the accounts of the treasury.”
She flung her arms about his neck and went up on tiptoe to kiss him. “Thank you, William; I swear I won't disappoint you.”
Bess immediately threw herself into making her new household a rival of those of the Greys and the Dudleys. The seaport of London had the treasures of the world to choose from, and Cavendish gave her carte blanche to purchase whatever she fancied. She began interviewing servants the first day and decided to keep on two men who already worked for her husband, Francis Whitfield and Timothy Pusey. She hired a cook and a cook's assistant, as well as housemaids and footmen. She decided she needed a full-time seamstress to fashion her clothes and was lucky enough to find a woman who also did exquisite embroidery. Bess sketched out the scenes she wanted for a pair of wall hangings and set the woman to work immediately.
By the end of the first week, Bess had a staff of twelve servants. This was in addition to James Cromp, William's valet, and his secretary, Robert Bestnay, whom Bess kept close beside her all week to record every expenditure. Bestnay showed her how to prepare a set of household account books, which she kept meticulously, and at the end of each day she signed Elizabeth Cavendish with a great flourish.
They went to Northaw for the autumn hunting and stayed until Christmas, entertaining all their friends. Bess took great delight in her role as hostess and, after a full day's hunt, presided over the gaming room, where they played cards and gambled into the night. But Bess also took a great interest in the estate's administration.
It had languished in Church hands and had not kept pace with current methods of management. William showed her how to increase the rents and revenues by enclosing commons and wasteland on which their tenant farmers could now graze extra herds of cattle and flocks of sheep.
William also put the Northaw property in both their names and taught Bess how to convey property to trustees and back again to them jointly to establish indisputable title to their lands. “I am much older than you, Bess, so if we hold our property jointly, it will be yours when I die, and there will be no question of wardship for our children. And speaking of children, my darling, when are you going to divulge your deep, dark secret to our friends?”
He was sitting before the roaring fire, and she climbed into his lap. “William, don't you dare to breathe a word of it!”
His hand slipped to her belly, which was hardly mounded in spite of her being in her sixth month. “But I'm so damned proud of it. I want to exercise my bragging rights.”
“I'll tell them at New Year's,” she said loftily.
But when New Year's came, Bess changed her mind. They had been invited to spend the revels at Chelsea, where Thomas Seymour was determined to entertain the king and Court with a lavish celebration, complete with the traditional masked costume ball. When the crowds were at their greatest, the admiral announced that his new wife, Dowager Queen Catherine, was with child.
Princess Elizabeth, standing next to Bess, clenched her fists so tightly, her nails cut into her palms. “That's disgusting! Men love nothing better than to shout their virility to the world. Strutting about, displaying their codpieces like cocksure, cock-proud boys!”
Her words wrung Bess's heart. Elizabeth had idolized and loved Tom Seymour since she was a little girl and would no doubt have given her soul to be wed to him.
Elizabeth's envious eyes swept over Bess's costumed figure. “Next it will be you who is swollen with child, displaying your belly like a symbol of womanhood.”
Bess knew she could not tell her. She would not add to her friend's misery for all the Crown jewels.
Finally, in mid-February, when she and William were dining at Suffolk House, Bess took great delight in telling Frances and Henry that she was going to have a baby.
Frances raised her glass to William. “Well, that didn't take long, you randy devil.”
William's eyes danced with amusement. Frances had no idea.
“How far along are you?” Frances inquired, her speculative eyes roaming over Bess's expanding midsection.
“I'm not really sure,” Bess said vaguely. “Perhaps five months.”
William choked on his wine. The little minx had conceived seven and a half months ago. Henry clapped him on the back and offered his heartiest congratulations.
“You wretch, why didn't you tell me sooner?” Frances demanded.
“Well, I was going to tell you at New Year's, but when the admiral made his grandiose annou
ncement, I found it rather vulgar and William thought we should be more discreet.”
Cavendish choked once more.
“You look absolutely blooming.”
“I've never felt better.” It was the first truthful statement she'd uttered since she sat down to dinner.
“From what her sister tells me, Catherine Parr is suffering for her sins. She's sick every day; in fact she's been ill since the moment of conception.”
Bess had such a tender heart when someone was ill. She invariably felt guilty because she enjoyed robust health. “Poor lady. Having a baby should be a happy time.”
“The woman is crowding forty; she's far too old to be having her first child.”
Henry changed the subject. He knew Frances would never utter a kind word for the woman who had usurped Chelsea. “Would you like a girl or a boy?”
“A girl,” William said without hesitation, “a little redhead exactly like Bess.”
“Whoever would have thought the dissolute Rogue Cavendish would turn into a fatuous fool?” Frances drawled.
The corners of Bess's mouth went up. “If it's a girl we shall call her Frances, and if it's a boy we'll name him Henry.”
“You don't have to do that,” Henry protested, though he was highly flattered.
“Speak for yourself, Henry. My goddaughter should certainly be called Frances,” his wife hinted broadly.
“Now who's being a fatuous fool?” her husband teased.
* * *
That night William sat on the edge of the ornate bed and undressed Bess. He stood her between his thighs and caressed her belly. Her skin was so taut and smooth it looked like ivory satin, and her breasts were lush and full. “You are so beautiful.” The light from the fire played across her flesh, turning her skin to glowing amber. He traced kisses across the lovely outward curve of her belly.
“Do you really want a girl, William?”
“Yes, a beautiful little liar like her mother.” His hands slipped around her and cupped her buttocks. “Bess, you are always honest to a fault. Why the devil did you lie to Frances?”
A Woman of Passion Page 22
