Bess suddenly realized with clarity that after Cavendish she had been afraid to love again, for when love was taken away, it was too painful to bear. That's why she had married Syntlo, to keep her heart from being torn asunder again.
“What are we going to do?” she whispered.
His arm slipped about her and drew her close to his side possessively. “We are going to make plans to be together, of course. Whenever we can, wherever we can. I'm going to Court tomorrow. I'll take care of all the exchequer business and council business in short order, then we'll have the whole summer before us. I'll take you to Wingfield Manor, Rufford Abbey, Buxton Hall, Worksop, Welbeck … all of them. You have a passion for houses, Bess—I want you to get to know mine. Some you'll love, some you'll loathe, like Tutbury Castle. It's so damp, moss grows on the walls.”
“Shrew, you go too fast.”
“You will come?” he demanded intensely.
“Yes,” she said softly, “I'll come, but aren't these places crawling with servants?”
“Each has a staff of caretakers, but nothing like the horde at Sheffield Castle. I'll make sure the servants are discreet. Neither of us wants a scandal that will reach the ears of our children.”
“Nor our queen,” Bess cautioned.
“Spend the afternoon with me. We'll ride up into the Peaks, away from civilization. We won't encounter a soul.” He made the pledge to her as though he could control the universe, and in that moment they both believed he could.
As they galloped together, they laughed as if they were children without a care in the world. Then they climbed their mounts for almost two hours, going ever higher, until they crested the tallest peak. They reined in and sat in their saddles, holding hands, looking down at the rivers and valleys far below.
“Do you realize, my beauty, that between the two of us, we own as far as the eye can see?”
He sounded like a god standing on Olympus. The corners of her mouth lifted with the wonder of it all. “Does it intoxicate you?”
“Not nearly as much as you do, Vixen.”
Two weeks later Bess received another letter from Sir John Thynne in the morning post. He told her he had heard a rumor that her old home, Hardwick Manor, was for sale, and if it were true he was most interested in the property.
Bess flung down the letter and summoned Robert Bestnay. “Find James. I need him immediately.”
James Cromp was not only Chatsworth's steward, he had been a friend to Bess for more than sixteen years, because they kept no secrets from each other. When her secretary returned with Cromp, she questioned them both. “Has either of you heard a rumor about Hardwick being on the market?”
“Hardwick Manor and lands?” James asked in disbelief. “I would have come to you immediately.”
“I've just paid the bills for all the repairs,” Bestnay said. “It can't be true.”
James looked hard at Bess. “I put in the last of the new stock last week.… I wouldn't put it past him.”
“That rotten swine!” Bess cursed. “Robert, I want you to ride into Derby to the chambers of Messrs. Funk and Entwistle and bring one of them to Hardwick.” She glanced at the library clock. “James and I will meet you there around two.”
At precisely one o'clock, Bess, accompanied by Chatsworth's steward, arrived at Hardwick. She held on to her temper as she inspected the repairs on the beloved old manor, then asked her brother, James, to show her the new flocks of sheep and herds of cattle she had purchased. She asked him what crops he planned to sow and gave him every opportunity to confess what he had done. When he was not forthcoming, Bess asked casually, “What income did Hardwick bring in last year?”
James looked affronted at the question. “Nothing. You know I had to put a mortgage on it to get out of debt,” he said defensively.
“With the new livestock, what income do you expect this year?” she asked innocently.
“The first year I'll do well to even make the mortgage payment. This place has never paid for itself, Bess.”
“Then you don't think it's worth much?” she asked lightly.
James changed his tune immediately. “I wouldn't say that. The manor comes with five hundred acres and two tenant farms. It's strange you should ask; I was thinking only yesterday about putting it up for sale.”
“Only yesterday? And what price were you thinking of asking?”
“Five hundred pounds.”
Bess showed surprise. “So much?”
“I have to pay off the mortgage and have enough left to get a house in London.”
“London, is it? That can be very expensive.”
“It's none of your damned business!”
“None of my business?” Bess's voice was deceptively low. “When I've just paid for repairs on the manor and bought you all new livestock?”
“I didn't ask—you offered. Besides, you can afford it, Lady Moneybags.”
“James, I could strike you. Not for the petty names you call me; I have a thick skin. It's your deceit that angers and sickens me! Behind my back you have put Hardwick up for sale with an agent in another county.”
“Hardwick is my birthright—I can sell it if I wish!” he shouted.
“Then you can sell it to me. Ah, we have visitors, I see.” They made their way from the stables back to the manor. “James, I believe you have met Master Entwistle, Attorney at Law? I asked him to meet me here to handle my purchase of Hardwick.”
James was thrown off balance by the unexpected turn of events. He was also wary of his sister's attitude. She had such a temper, he was amazed that she wasn't cursing and shouting. But the presence of her attorney told him that she was serious about buying Hardwick. He knew she had money, so perhaps this was his golden opportunity to unload the place that for years had been a millstone about his neck. “Come in, gentlemen. I think we can do business, if the price is right.”
“You say five hundred pounds is the asking price, James?”
He was prepared for a session of hard bargaining. Five hundred was a steep price for a property like Hardwick, and Bess was an extremely shrewd businesswoman. “Five hundred—worth every penny.”
“What do you think, Cromp?” Bess asked her steward.
“In my opinion the price is too high,” Cromp said flatly.
“Master Entwistle?” Bess asked politely.
The attorney frowned. “One pound an acre in these parts is unheard of. Ten or twelve shillings is the going rate for Derbyshire property. You have to take into account what the income will be, Lady St. Loe.”
“Oh, I believe I can make the property pay, Master Entwistle. My stewards know what they are about. In this case I am prepared to be generous; I have no objection to five hundred pounds.”
“Then it's a deal? Five hundred pounds?” James asked eagerly.
Bess nodded. “It's a deal. Draw up the papers, Master Entwistle; get the deed, James.” Bess turned to her secretary. “Bestnay, you have those bills for the repair work on the manor. What is the final tally?”
“New roof and gutters, replacing the beams throughout, rebuilding a chimney, and repairing two walls and wainscoting comes to a round figure of a hundred pounds. Another fifty pounds was spent on outbuildings for a new cattle barn and sheep pens, making a tally of a hundred fifty pounds, my lady.”
“Cromp, what did you pay for the new livestock?”
“A hundred pounds, my lady.”
James turned purple in the face. “God damn you, Bess, that leaves me with only two hundred fifty pounds!”
“Oh James, didn't I tell you? I purchased your mortgage. Master Entwistle, what is the amount of the mortgage on Hardwick?”
Entwistle cleared his throat. “Two hundred fifty pounds, Lady St. Loe.”
“You bitch! You greedy, grasping jade! You've buried three husbands and taken their land; now you are trying to get mine!”
“Yours? I have the papers to prove that Hardwick is now mine.”
“You clever bitch! You are just la
ughing at me on the inside!”
“No, James, on the inside I am crying.” A great lump welled up in her throat, preventing her from speaking for a moment. She arose from the table and looked through the window at the ancient oak tree. It took only a minute or two to compose herself, then she walked back to the table. “Master Entwistle, be good enough to burn the mortgage on Hardwick and draw up an agreement of sale for five hundred pounds. As my brother said, Hardwick is worth every penny—at least to me.”
The papers were drawn up, signed, and duly witnessed on the spot, and Bess left with the deed to Hardwick in her hand. “Would you register this for me immediately, Master Entwistle?”
“Yes indeed, Lady St. Loe.” He tucked the deed into his leather portfolio. “Such dreadful news about the Countess of Shrewsbury.”
“What news?”
James Cromp broke it to her. “The countess passed away last night. It was the talk of Derby this morning.”
“And Shrewsbury away at Court, poor man. So sudden; it will be such a shock to him.”
“Yes … a shock indeed,” she managed, rendered almost speechless by the unexpected news. Bess rode back to Chatsworth in complete silence. For once she allowed her steward and secretary to take the lead, while she followed at a slower pace, lost in deep thought. The moment she arrived at Chatsworth, she sought out her mother and aunt and blurted, “Gertrude Talbot is dead!”
“When?” Bess's mother asked with disbelief.
“Apparently, it happened last night. Shrewsbury's at Court. It'll take him two or three days to get home. I don't know what to do. Should I go or stay away?”
Her mother looked at her oddly. “Of course you must go.”
Marcella fixed Bess with a knowing look. “As a good neighbor and dear friend, the natural thing for you to do is go immediately. You must take our condolences and see if there is anything you can do to help until Shrewsbury can get home.”
“Yes, of course. I'll ask Francie to ride with me; she's known young Anne Herbert all her life.”
THIRTY-FIVE
Lady St. Loe, accompanied by her daughter, was met by Gertrude Talbot's bereaved ladies-in-waiting. They were red-eyed and in a state of complete agitation. Bess realized they were fearful for their appointments once Shrewsbury returned when one of them blurted in distress, “He hates the very sight of us.”
One of the ladies said, “Would you care to see the countess, my lady? She is lying in the chapel.”
“No, no,” Bess demurred quickly. “We've come to see the children.”
“The wicked young devils are in dire disgrace. They are the cause of this.”
Bess was appalled at what they were saying. She looked about at the army of servants, who were busy draping the windows with black. “I'd like to see them, please.”
“The young ladies have their own governesses, and the gentlemen their tutors. We have nothing to do with the young Talbots.”
Bess put the woman in her place immediately. “That is a blessing for them. Inform whoever is in charge that I am here. Shrewsbury won't take it kindly that I've been kept in the entrance hall.” Bess dealt with a whole battery of Talbot servants before she was taken to an upstairs sitting room and allowed a private conversation with the three young Talbot girls, Catherine, Mary, and Grace.
Twelve-year-old Catherine burst into tears, and Bess gathered her in her arms. “There, there, darling, get it all out.”
“I want Father to come, but I'm afraid what he'll do to us.”
“Catherine, my dear, he won't do anything. He loves you.”
Grace, who was only nine, said, “We killed her; we're all going to burn in hell.”
Bess's heart went out to the child, and she picked her up and sat her on her knee. “Grace, someone has been filling your head with nonsense. You didn't kill your mother. She has been ill for a long time, and God has taken her to heaven to live with the angels.”
Grace looked up at Bess with solemn dark eyes as she digested the words. The door opened and Francis Talbot and his young bride, Anne Herbert, came in. “Oh, I'm so glad you came, Lady St. Loe,” Anne said.
“You may call me Bess now that you're a married woman.”
As Anne and Francie embraced, Grace made an announcement. “Bess says we didn't kill her—God did.”
Young Gilbert Talbot joined them, and when they were all together, they found the courage to tell Bess of the terrible argument Francis had had with his mother and how the rest of them had joined in the shouting match to support their eldest brother. When his mother laid about him with her walking stick, she fell to the floor in a seizure and died.
Bess talked to them for hours, doing her best to take away their guilt and assure them they would not be blamed. She knew they all felt considerably better for talking about it openly. Finally, Grace asked, “Will Father punish us?”
“No, my darling, he will not,” Bess promised. “I shall write him a letter and leave it with your big brother Francis. Your father will likely be home tomorrow. He loves you all very much. Your welfare will be his only concern.”
In the letter Bess told Shrewsbury that his children were blaming themselves for their mother's death. I know you will take away their guilt, as you took away mine. You have an infinite supply of strength and compassion and an amazing ability to comfort. My heart goes out to the children, and to you also, Shrew.
That night, as Bess lay abed, her thoughts were filled with him. Before he left for Court, they had pledged to become discreet lovers with a long, beautiful summer lying before them. Instead, Shrewsbury was returning to a dead wife, a big funeral, and a long, circumspect period of mourning with the eyes of the kingdom upon him. Gertrude's death had changed everything.
In spite of the fact that she felt cold and shivery, Bess finally fell asleep. Gradually, she felt a warmth against her back that slowly seeped into her limbs. She stretched as the delicious heat crept over her entire body. Suddenly, she realized he was there in the bed with her, and she turned eagerly into his arms. “You came,” she whispered in wonder.
He took her whispered words into his mouth, then murmured against her lips, “Of course I came.”
She melted against the molten heat of his body and opened her mouth for his ravishing. Bess moaned with longing. He was easily the most attractive and sexually arousing man she had ever encountered. Her breasts and belly ached with need. She wanted his hands and his mouth on her body, she wanted his long, thick, marble-hard manroot filling her emptiness, but above all, above everything else in the world, she wanted to be Elizabeth, Countess of Shrewsbury.
“Are you mad?” He pulled away from her and quit the bed. “You're only a servant.”
Bess sprang from the bed to confront him, uncaring that she was naked with her disheveled hair tumbling about her shoulders. “I am Bess of Hardwick—just as good, if not better, than any in the land!”
“Well, at least your name is apt,” Lord Talbot drawled. “You certainly make my wick hard.”
She flew at him and raked his dark, arrogant face. “Bastard! Whoreson! Ravisher!”
He began to laugh. “You openly invited me, Vixen.”
“I've changed my mind; I won't fuck with you, Shrew. I won't be your mistress. No bedding without a wedding!”
“You set too high a price on yourself! You will never become Countess of Shrewsbury.”
“I shall, I shall!” she vowed.
Bess awoke with a start and sat up in bed. She was covered with a fine sheen of perspiration and didn't know where she was for a moment. She lit a bedside candle and saw with relief that she was at Chatsworth in her own beautiful bedchamber. The dream came flooding back to her. She realized it was made up of memories from the past. Shrewsbury had always desired her, but only as his mistress; it went without saying that she could never be anything more. She had deliberately suppressed her deep feelings for him for years, but now that he was a free man, she could deny them no longer. Her heart told her that she loved him. The
n, as clearly as if he was in the room with her, Bess heard the man she loved say: You will never become Countess of Shrewsbury.
Bess drew up her knees and wrapped her arms about them. She sat hugging herself for an hour, deep in thought, then slowly the corners of her mouth lifted and she whispered into the flickering candlelight, “I shall, I shall!”
Two weeks had passed since Gertrude Talbot's large funeral, which all the northern nobility, except for Bess, had attended. Her married daughter, Frances, and husband, Henry Pierrepont, had represented her. Bess and Shrewsbury had not seen each other since the afternoon they had ridden alone in Derbyshire's magnificent peaks.
It was the last day of May, and twilight descended in the gardens of Chatsworth. When Bess heard the dinner bell clang, she sent her daughters inside for their evening meal. She lingered in the rose garden, breathing in the heady fragrance produced by a warm afternoon followed by a cool evening. When she glanced up from admiring a full-blown bloom, Shrewsbury was coming toward her.
“How I've missed you,” he said simply.
“How are the children?”
That they were her first concern told him exactly why they spoke of her on a daily basis. The older ones had such deep admiration for her, while little Grace was besotted with her, demanding to know why Bess couldn't be her mother. “They will be all right, I think. We've become closer. Thank you for talking to them. Your understanding words comforted them.”
“I didn't attend the funeral; I couldn't bring myself to play the hypocrite.”
“I understand that, but why are you avoiding me, Bess?”
“Everything has changed.”
“Nothing has changed,” he contradicted flatly.
“Will you take dinner with me?”
“Can we be private?”
“Of course.”
Bess had been waiting for him to come. She had planned exactly what she would say, what she would do. Since she was a young girl she had been taught how to catch a husband, and the lessons she had learned would stand her in good stead now.
A Woman of Passion Page 39
