A Woman of Passion

by Virginia Henley

  When Bess was questioned by the privy council, they took their findings and their recommendations to Principal Secretary Cecil, who was aghast to learn that Lady St. Loe was still in the Tower. Cecil advised the queen to release her friend immediately, and on March 25, a fortnight after Shrewsbury's initial visit, the door of her cell was unlocked.

  Bess stepped across the threshold, vowing never to become a victim again. In the past, whenever a supplicant had come to her, she had put herself in their shoes, enabling her to empathize with them. Bess decided never to do that again. From now on she would steadfastly maintain her own point of view, self-serving though that might be.

  Her reunion with her husband was touchingly affectionate. His genuine tears of relief made her overlook his shortcomings. She told herself that if she had wanted a hard-as-nails man who threw his weight about and dominated all in his path, she should not have wed William St. Loe, who was a gentle man to the bone.

  He presented her with a velvet-covered casket, which took her breath away when she opened it. He had bought her a pendant and earrings of deep blue Persian sapphires to welcome her home and help erase the deep guilt he felt over not visiting her in the Tower. “Will, these are finer than any of the jewels you have given Elizabeth. I thank you from the bottom of my heart.”

  “Elizabeth needs jewels to make her look radiant— you do not, Bess.”

  She kissed him. “That's the loveliest thing you've ever said to me, my dear.”

  Not until May did the council declare that no marriage had ever taken place between Lady Catherine Grey and young Hertford. Any children of their union were therefore bastards, and the pair was confined indefinitely to the Tower for “unlawful carnal copulation.”

  Now that Lady St. Loe was free, all her fair-weather friends at Court flocked back to her. She was invited to every social function, and Bess attended, delighting in showing off her fashionable wardrobe and growing collection of jewels. Because of her forced absence she was more gay and witty than ever, fending off Shrewsbury's secret overtures and enjoying Queen Elizabeth's favors as if nothing had ever happened.

  But as spring gamboled toward summer, Bess knew she must have a serious talk with her husband about her future. “Will, I want to leave early for Chatsworth this year.”

  “I think that is a splendid idea, Bess. It will give you more time to spend with the children.”

  Bess took a deep breath. “Will, I shan't be returning to Court in the autumn. I plan to take up permanent residence at Chatsworth.”

  “But what about Elizabeth, my dear?”

  “What about her? She proved that she can manage very well without my services.”

  “You haven't forgiven her!” he said with amazement.

  “Of course I've forgiven her; forgiving comes easily to me. Forgetting, however, is something I shall never do.”

  “Bess, I love you so much. I shall miss you dreadfully.”

  “Will, I want you to think seriously about retiring from Court and coming with me. Cavendish died from the stress of overwork; don't delude yourself that it cannot happen to you.”

  “Bess, the queen needs me.” St. Loe's words were so sincere, they almost brought tears to her eyes. Within the hour of your death, a dozen others will rise up to replace you. Elizabeth will give you a state funeral if she's feeling generous that day, and that will be that. Bess could not bring herself to destroy his ideals. “The decision is yours, Will, but promise me you'll think about it?”

  Bess, along with her two sons who were on summer holiday from Eton College, departed for Chatsworth. When they arrived at Nottingham, she put them up at the best inn, along with their body servants, and proceeded to Holme Pierrepont with her maid Cecily. Her fears about Sir George and Lady Pierrepont shunning her because of her arrest were groundless. Up here in Nottingham they did not concern themselves with the Court affairs of London and knew very little of the sad business of Lady Catherine Grey.

  Lady St. Loe and Sir George dealt very well together. After she regaled him with horror stories of what the Court of Wards could do to his heir unless young Henry was wed, she told him the generous amount of her daughter Frances's dowry and that the young couple would receive the deed to one of Bess's manor houses once the marriage was solemnized. The betrothal documents were signed, and Lady Pierrepont invited Frances Cavendish to stay with them for the summer so the espoused couple could get to know each other better. By the time she left, Bess congratulated herself on a clever piece of business.

  When Bess arrived at Chatsworth, she was greeted with open arms, not only by her children, but by her mother, Elizabeth, and her aunt Marcy. Bess kissed Francie, then scooped up young Elizabeth and Mary and swung them about, trying to listen to them all at once.

  “How dare that wicked bitch imprison you for thirty weeks?” Marcella demanded, her jowls quivering in outrage.

  “Thirty-one weeks,” Bess corrected her, then laughed. “Queens have to be wicked or they would soon lose their thrones. At any rate I am out of my cage now and intend to exercise my freedom like never before!”

  Bess's mother kissed her. “It's good to have you home, darling.”

  “I hope you mean that, Mother, for I'm here to stay. Have you selected a new husband yet?” Bess teased.

  “Speaking of freedom, I've decided not to saddle myself with anyone as burdensome as a husband. Not that Ralph and I weren't devoted, but there is definitely something to recommend widowhood.”

  Bess stared at her mother in disbelief. Her own widowhood had been the nadir of her life, and she still did not know how she had survived it.

  “Oh, darling, I could bite my tongue!”

  Bess embraced her mother. “I'm never going to live in the past again—carpe diem.”

  Marcella made a moue with her lips. “All these fancy French phrases—you cannot deny Court gave you a sophisticated polish.”

  Bess wrinkled her nose. “I think that one is Latin, but I'm not sure. I might have a bit of polish, but I'll never be an intellectual, thank God!” She surveyed her daughters with pride. Elizabeth, now seven, was definitely the beauty of the family. She loved pretty dresses and had a sweet, obedient nature. Little Mary, on the other hand, looked exactly what she was: a red-haired imp of Satan with a stubborn mind of her own.

  “Your brothers are no doubt at the stables reacquainting themselves with their horses and dogs. I want you to join them for a little while, because I have something very important to discuss with your sister Frances.”

  Hand in hand, mother and daughter strolled out into the vast garden and sat down beside a lily pond. As Bess gazed fondly at her daughter Frances, she couldn't get over how like her father she was. Dark, with laughing eyes, Frances was a Cavendish down to her fingertips.

  “Francie, I've finalized the espousal between you and Henry Pierrepont. You haven't changed your mind about Harry, have you?” Bess watched her daughter's face carefully to see her true reaction and saw a smile of pure delight suffuse it.

  “I think he's in love with me,” Frances confided.

  “But what about you, Francie? I've been in love, and I've been in like, and believe me, love is better.”

  “Well, I think I might be in love, but I have more good sense than to let Harry know,” Frances said with a wink.

  “Lady Pierrepont has invited you to stay with them for the summer so that you can get to know them and they you. But you must promise me that if you have doubts about spending the rest of your life with Harry, you will come to me immediately. Years ago I made a promise to your father that I would see you made a good marriage. Henry is heir to the Pierrepont estate, and you will never want for anything, but as well as material wealth I want your happiness above everything else.”

  “I promise. Thank you for being the best mother in the entire world. May I have some new clothes?”

  “We will dazzle them with your wardrobe, Francie. A woman cannot have too many gowns, or riding habits.”

  “Hunting c
lothes!” Frances giggled, as her mother laughed at the pun she made.

  Bess could hardly believe her daughter was fourteen. A lump came into her throat as she remembered how afraid she had been when she first found out Cavendish had made a baby in her. Thank God and all his Apostles that I did nothing foolish to rid myself of this precious child, whom I love and adore!

  THIRTY-ONE

  With renewed vigor Bess rode over her lands daily. Sometimes her children rode with her, but her sons, now twelve, eleven, and ten, were more interested in their own pursuits, and Bess was often free to roam far afield with the summer wind whipping her red tresses into a tangle. She loved to ride in Sherwood Forest, which was alive with birds and other game.

  She ordered a thousand billets of wood to be cut and stacked ready at all times to fill Chatsworth's great fire-places whenever the day was cool and damp. Chatsworth's mill was repaired, and Bess made improvements at Ashford Manor, Lark Meadow, and Doveridge. The Chatsworth acreage alone covered over ten miles, Ashford had eight thousand acres, and Doveridge another five hundred, so Lady St. Loe was the greatest landowner in Derbyshire, after Shrewsbury.

  The livestock on her landholdings was considerable. She had forty oxen for drawing heavy carts, and five hundred ewes, most of which had just lambed. She had an equal number of rams and ordered that most of them be castrated so they could be fattened for market and sold as wethers, since she needed fewer than a score of rams for breeding purposes. Her tenant farmers also bred milky herds of Charolais cattle and, of course, some huge Yorkshire pigs and boars. All were fed by crops grown on her own acres, and there were still enough fields left to grow wheat for Chatsworth's bread and barley for its ale.

  The late mornings and afternoons were given over to finishing the building of Chatsworth. Bess wanted a porch across the entire front face of Chatsworth and battlements built on the roof in the same matching stone. Whenever she heard of a religious order falling on hard times or the estate sale of a nobleman, Bess was there to buy up their treasures for Chatsworth. She acquired more tapestries than her magnificent house could display but squirreled them away for future use, for once Bess acquired an objet d'art, she vowed never to part with it.

  Bess arose at dawn, and when she saw that the sunrise turned the sky red, she knew there would be a summer thunderstorm before the day was over. Deciding to take her ride early today, she headed into Sherwood Forest, where deer could be spotted at dawn or sunset. She was delighted to see a hare dash across her path, and shortly after she watched a gray fox pursue it. She paused beside a stream and watched a couple of otters swimming together. She realized by their antics that they were a mated pair.

  In the distance Bess heard a hunting horn and was surprised as the high notes traveled closer, now accompanied by the baying of hounds. She rode through the green canopy of trees toward the racket and suddenly found herself face to face with a dozen huntsmen. All wore the white-hound badge of the Talbots, and then she saw Shrewsbury himself with a dead stag thrown across the broad rump of his great black hunter.

  He flung himself from the saddle the moment he saw her and issued an order for his men to fall back. They obeyed immediately, taking the dogs with them.

  Bess's pulse quickened the moment she saw him. Why does he have the power to make me feel alive? The corners of her mouth lifted only slightly as she looked down at him from her saddle. “You are poaching on my territory— but, then, it wouldn't be the first time, would it?”

  “If you are speaking of the Tower, I was openly invited, Vixen.”

  Bess hid her amusement. “I didn't write to thank you for my release, because I paid you in advance.”

  “You have a cruel tongue.”

  “Not always. It can be teasing, playful even.”

  “I am well aware and can think of other uses.”

  “All wickedly intimate, no doubt.”

  As they dueled with words, the sexual tension between them coiled ever tighter. Shrewsbury shortened the distance that separated them and placed a possessive hand on her velvet-covered knee.

  “You are a bold devil, when I have the whip hand,” she teased, rolling the handle of her quirt between her palms suggestively.

  “If you don't cease making that provocative gesture with your whip, I'll show you just how wickedly intimate I can be.”

  “I believe you already did that—twice. Surely at your age you have learned control?”

  “Bess, you haven't the faintest idea just how much control I'm exercising at this moment. I want to pull you down in my arms and tear that black riding habit to ribbons . What outrageous color are your undergarments today, Vixen?”

  “Crimson. You shouldn't be touching me at all with the blood of the stag on your hands.”

  “If you're really wearing crimson, it won't show.”

  “You'll never know, will you?” She tossed back her hair in a challenging gesture.

  His eyes flashed a warning she should have recognized. His bold hand went up inside her riding skirt and she heard material tear as he ripped a handful of petticoat and flourished the brilliant silk victoriously, then shoved it inside his leather jack.

  “You black devil,” she hissed, raising her riding crop.

  “Lash me with it, and see what happens,” he goaded.

  Bess licked her lips and laughed at him. “You'd like that, wouldn't you, Lucifer, but I shall be the picture of decorum.”

  Talbot searched her face, then his banter dropped away and he became earnest. “Bess, will you ride with me sometime?”

  She looked directly into his piercing blue eyes. “Of course, since you covet this part of Sherwood Forest that I own. I will ride with you, hunt with you, converse with you, even dine with you, but I won't fuck with you, Shrew, so don't ask.”

  You shall, my beauty, you shall!

  “Since you are amenable to dining with me, I invite you to Sheffield to celebrate the wedding of my son and heir next month.”

  Bess caught her breath. Shrewsbury's heir would be the greatest catch in England, and she wondered what blue-blooded heiress Talbot would accept as his daughter-in-law. “And who is the lucky bride?” she asked lightly.

  “Anne Herbert, the Earl of Pembroke's daughter.”

  Bess almost choked with chagrin that William Herbert and his gossipy countess had struck such a profitable alliance for their daughter. Until this moment Bess thought she had done exceedingly well for her daughter Frances, but young Harry Pierrepont's fortune paled into insignificance beside young Francis Talbot's. With an effort Bess restrained her tongue. “How lovely. I shall look forward to receiving the invitation.”

  His eyes never left her face. “You haven't said you'll accept.”

  Bess smiled. “I accept your invitation; it's your proposition I decline.”

  “We'll see,” he replied with generations of inbred arrogance.

  Bess wheeled her mount and galloped off, but the ache in the pit of her belly was a direct result of the close proximity of the dark devil she left behind, as was the hardening of her nipples against her crimson silk undergarment.

  “Peste take it! That wretched Anne Herbert has pulled off the match of the decade for her daughter. She has espoused the girl to Shrewsbury's heir!”

  Marcella raised bristly brows. “I warrant it was Talbot and William Herbert who did the deal. The Countess of Pembroke likely had naught to do with it.”

  “The mere fact that she's a countess had everything to do with it. Nothing less than an earl's daughter would do for blood-proud George Talbot!”

  Bess's secretary, Robert Bestnay, brought her the post, mentioning that there was an unusual amount today.

  “Well, speak of the devil,” Bess said, as she sorted through the envelopes and found one decorated with the crest of the Earl and Countess of Pembroke. She tore it open and scanned the contents. A small shriek escaped her lips. “God damn and blast it! Not only is their porridge-faced daughter marrying Francis Talbot, their snot-nosed son, Henry He
rbert, is to marry Catherine Talbot, Shrewsbury's eldest daughter, on the same day.”

  “Well, well, there's nothing like keeping their fortunes in the family,” Marcella observed shrewdly.

  “Shrew never mentioned a bloody word to me!”

  “Shrew?” Marcella's eyebrows twitched upward.

  Bess tossed her head as her cheeks flushed. “ 'Tis the name I call Shrewsbury, among others. Gertrude Talbot must be a coldhearted bitch. Her daughter Catherine cannot be much more than ten. I think it's shameful!”

  “When the fortunes involved are as large as Shrews-bury's, they must be protected by early espousals. You have a hard head for business, Bess; I'm surprised at your attitude.”

  Bess wrinkled her nose as her innate honesty came to the fore. “I'm just pea-green with envy that it's not my children who are marrying into the Talbot family.” As Bess finished reading the letter, another small shriek erupted. “Anne Herbert says she's looking forward to staying at Chatsworth for a few days. Ohmigod, everyone who is anyone will be coming!”

  She flung down the letter, and slowly a look of radiance transformed her face. “They'll all die with envy when they see my house. Robert, get James Cromp for me—Francis Whitfield and Timothy Pusey as well. The battlements must be finished before next month and all the excess stone carted away from the grounds.”

  There were letters from Nan Dudley and William Parr, Marquess of Northampton, informing her they were attending the wedding and hinting for an invitation to Chatsworth. Bess saved Syntlo's letter until last, yet it brought the most startling news of all. Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth would be traveling north to attend the double wedding and would be staying at Haddon Hall, which was only a couple of miles away. “I can't believe it —I'm about to entertain the queen and the entire Court at Chatsworth!”

  Bess spoke with the gardeners and the entire inside staff—now considerable—and told them what to expect. She consulted with the gamekeeper to make sure there was a good supply of both red and gray partridge. She inspected the blue livery of her footmen, as well as the bed linen, silver, plate, and china. She took stock of the wine cellar, then sat down at her desk to make a long list of supplies and spices for Syntlo to purchase in London and ship up to Derbyshire. She told her musicians and harpist to learn some new dances and songs, since the queen's courtiers loved music only second to gambling.