“You make it sound all so inconsequential, Tony,” the duc grumbled as he downed his first goblet of wine and then held out the goblet for more.
“It is all inconsequential, Adrian,” Lord Varden replied, “and by your casual attitude you will make this seem nothing more than a trifle, an amusement. Remember, you have your children to think about, Adrian, particularly your two sons. You do want them to have the king’s favor, do you not? Think of them first and foremost. Not of yourself and your personal disappointment.” He refilled the duc’s goblet and beckoned Arabella, who seated herself at their table. “Why don’t you tell the duc the Duchesse de St. Astier’s history, Arabella?” Lord Varden suggested. “Before he is too drunk to absorb it all, for we are both going to get quite drunk tonight, Adrian, aren’t we? For old time’s sake, eh?”
A small smile touched the duc’s lips. “Oui, mon ami, we are going to get very drunk,” he agreed, and Arabella began her tale of Sorcha Morton.
When she had finished, the duc was already beginning to be in his cups, and at a little nod from Lord Varden, she arose and slipped from the room. In the night she heard them singing bawdy songs in the room below her chamber, and she giggled to herself in the darkness. Tony was going to have a terrible head in the morning, bless him.
Lona woke her before dawn. “His lordship says we’re to hurry, my lady. The tide turns in less than an hour.”
Arabella rose and began to quickly dress. “How is Lord Varden?” she inquired anxiously.
“Perky as a courting wren,” Lona replied.
“But how could he spend the night drinking with the duc and not be ill?” Arabella wondered aloud.
Lona chuckled. “I asked him the same thing, my lady, for I heard them singing too. Do you know what he told me? That after the first gobletful of wine, he kept refilling his cup with well-watered wine. He drank one goblet to the duc’s three. By the way, he and me da put the duc to bed in Lord Varden’s room. The innkeeper has instructions to treat the poor man with tender loving care when he awakens, for he’ll have a sore head to be sure. Lord Varden has paid the bill for all, including the duc’s men who are lodged in the stables with our own fellows.”
Arabella could not help but smile at Lona’s explanation. Tony really was a wonder, considering the circumstances. “Get me some bread and cheese,” she said to Lona, “and some fruit as well, and we’ll need some for the voyage too! I’m starving! It must be the sea air.”
They sailed from Calais before the sun had risen, and with the sun came a brisk breeze from the southeast that sent their ship scudding across the English Channel to land them at Dover before the sunset. Arabella wept unashamedly to be back in England, and even Lord Varden’s eyes were suspiciously moist with emotion, for he had not been in England in almost ten years.
“We’ll overnight in Dover,” Tony told her and sent his men to find a respectable inn for Arabella.
“And tomorrow?” she asked him.
“We’ll depart for Sheen, for the king will certainly be there and no other place at this time of year. He always spends Midsummer’s Eve at Sheen. At least he has in the years since he has been king.”
“Can we start early?” Arabella asked him.
“Before dawn, if you wish, my dear,” Lord Varden told her, and they did. He had already dispatched a rider ahead, that King Henry know of their coming and be prepared to see them. He could see that Arabella had but two thoughts in her head. To be reunited with her little daughter, and to return north to Greyfaire as quickly as possible. Anthony Varden could not blame her for wanting to put the past year behind her. He would have told her of the deep admiration he felt for her had he not been afraid of her scorn. She was, he believed, a very brave woman. Her bitterness was but a defense behind which she hid the heart she claimed to be missing.
They arrived at Sheen, putting up at a nearby inn and finding that one of the king’s servants was already awaiting them.
“His majesty will see you at ten o’clock tomorrow morning,” they were told. “His majesty wishes Lady Grey to know that her daughter is in excellent health and spirits, and most anxious to be reunited with her mother.” The king’s servant bowed, and without another word, departed.
“Where will you go, Tony, now that your service to Henry Tudor in France is over?” Arabella asked her friend. They sat together in a private dining room eating a wonderful meal of good English beef, English cheddar, and October ale. Upon the sideboard was a basket of strawberries and a bowl of clotted Devon cream.
“Hal always promised me my own estate, my dear. Hopefully it will be somewhere near York, where my family comes from originally,” Lord Varden told her.
“Have you any family left?”
“My elder brother, Simon, who will undoubtedly be relieved to learn that I am not the rebel he was at first so pleased to believe I was. Simon is slow of wit, you see. He was delighted to see me discredited before our father, whose favorite I was. Only when it dawned upon him that my ill fortune might reflect on him did he fret. It will also be a relief to him to learn I have my own properties.” Lord Varden chuckled. “I shall also ask the king for a wife, that I may forestall any matchmaking on my brother’s and his wife’s part. They are singularly sour people and would undoubtedly choose for me a pious female with neither beauty, intellect, nor humor about her. I do not know if I can ever love another woman as I did my first wife, but I would hope to enjoy her company at least. Particularly as she will be the mother of my children.”
Arabella nodded. “It seems as good a basis as any to make a marriage on, Tony.”
“And you, my dear? What of you?”
“It is as I told Adrian yesterday, Tony. I have given up everything for Greyfaire and for my wee Margaret. I have accepted that and will build my life around those two.”
“What of the Earl of Dunmor, my dear? Do you not think he could find it in his heart to forgive you? Could you not make a new beginning with him?” Lord Varden said hopefully.
“Nay, Tavis does not want me back, and why should he, Tony? ‘Twas I who divorced him, after all. When he came to France, we fought almost immediately, and then he did not even bid me farewell when he departed for Scotland. Nay, he considers himself well rid of me and who knows, perhaps he is right. My own Lona once accused me of being a bad wife to Tavis Stewart. It was a courageous judgment for a maidservant to make against her mistress, but she was correct, I fear, and though she not be my equal in rank, we are friends. I cannot fault her. Besides,” and here Arabella smiled almost mischievously, “I do not think I have done anything Tavis Stewart need forgive me for, Tony.”
It was a pointedly honest assessment of the situation, and Anthony Varden was once more impressed with Arabella Grey’s grasp of the state of her circumstances. He did not know another woman who would have been so direct, so honest, and he wasn’t certain that he was comfortable with her bluntness. Women, he believed, should be a bit softer, a bit more dependent upon a man than Arabella Grey was. Still, he liked her.
Early the following morning Anthony Varden and Arabella Grey appeared before King Henry at Sheen. The sun was barely up, and the king had come directly from Mass. Henry Tudor wanted as little fuss as possible regarding the restoration to his good graces of Lord Varden and Lady Grey. A careful man, he wanted no probing questions asked concerning his decision to return these two to his favor. His advantage over France was in keeping secret his knowledge regarding King Charles’ marriage plans. How he would use the information obtained by Arabella Grey he did not know yet, but use it he eventually would. He chuckled aloud to himself. The little French king was more dangerous than he had thought, for like most, he assumed the young man a dullard, but Charles was not a dullard at all. He was the Spider’s son, and blood would always tell. Maximilian of Hapsburg was a damned fool to believe he might snatch Brittany away from French domination. Aye, this information that Arabella Grey had brought to him was most valuable indeed.
“Tony!” The king clasp
ed his old friend in a royal embrace, and stepping back, smiled, his little blue eyes bright with friendliness. It was the first real smile Arabella could ever remember seeing Henry Tudor smile. “It is good to have you back with me again, my old friend,” the king said warmly.
“Sire,” Lord Varden said, his voice thick with emotion and near tears at the gracious welcome.
“What, Tony? Not Hal? Whatever we may be to each other in public, we are still Hal and Tony in private,” the king reassured his old friend.
“Thank you, my lord,” Lord Varden told the king. “It is good to be in England after so long a time away. Riding up from Dover, I realized that I had almost forgotten how fair a place England is.”
“You have been a great help to us, Tony, and we are grateful,” the king said with sincerity. He put a friendly arm about Lord Varden. “You will remember I once promised you that when you returned home, I would see you suitably rewarded for your valiant service to the crown.” The king lifted a sheaf of papers from his desk. Arabella could see the royal seal upon them. He held them out to Lord Varden. “These papers grant you a barony and make you the owner of Whitebridge, an estate north and west of York. It consists of some several hundred acres of land, both pasture, fields, and woods, as well as a fine little castle. By royal decree it will descend through your family in perpetuity. Take it with our grateful thanks, Tony.”
Lord Varden accepted the packet, bowing low to the king as he did so, and then he said, “I would have one additional boon of you, Hal. ‘Tis bold of me to ask it after your great generosity, but frankly, I need a wife. Do you think the queen might know of a lady whom she would like to favor and who would make me a good wife? I have been away from England so long that I know of no young ladies I might consider. I must throw myself at your mercy, Hal.”
The king nodded thoughtfully. “You would want a young woman, one who could have children, of course, Tony. The queen has a young maid of honor, an orphan, Lady Anne Millerton, for whom I know she would like a husband. Mind you, the girl’s dowry is modest, which has, of course, made it difficult to find a suitable match, but she is a pretty and obedient wench and has, I am told, a most merry disposition. I cannot, however, give her to you without the queen’s permission, for my Beth does dote on the girl. She is just fifteen and reminds the queen of her younger sister. Still, as I do not wish a great deal of emphasis put upon your return…” Henry Tudor considered a moment and then called loudly, “Peter, my lad, to me!”
Almost immediately an apple-cheeked young boy ran into the king’s chamber and bowed. “My lord?”
“Go to the queen and tell her that I would have her and Lady Anne Millerton wait upon me immediately.”
The lad, who was the king’s personal page, bowed again and ran from the room.
Henry Tudor now turned his glance upon Arabella. “Welcome home, Lady Grey. Tony tells me that this vital piece of information regarding King Charles’ marriage plans is due to your cleverness, madame. Is this so?”
“Aye, my liege, it is so,” Arabella replied simply.
“Then you have certainly earned your right to Greyfaire, madame, though I am as yet concerned with the thought of a woman holding that particular keep. Still, there is no war between Scotland and ourselves, and there will be none in the future, God willing. It is a poor place, your Greyfaire, so I am told by the clerk who visited there. Are you certain that you would not accept from us a more prosperous estate for yourself and your child? I would not be mean with a woman who has given so much of herself for England.”
“No, my liege, but I thank you for the offer,” Arabella said. “‘Twas Greyfaire for which I fought, and ‘tis Greyfaire only that I want and will accept from you.”
“The Percys will not have your lass for their bastard slip, madame,” the king said quietly. “They think your lands valueless and not worth having. Lord Percy would seek higher for his brat.” He looked at her to see what effect his words would have.
“Lord Percy is a pompous, hotheaded fool, my liege. I would not trust him if I were you,” Arabella replied. “Margaret is too young for me to worry that I have not yet found a husband for her. There will be someone in time, Sire, and you will approve of him, I know.”
The king nodded. “Very well, then, Lady Grey.” He handed her a sheaf of papers similar to those he had handed Lord Varden. “These are yours, madame. Greyfaire belongs to you once more, and it may descend through either the male or the female line of your family in perpetuity.”
“Thank you, my liege,” Arabella said gratefully, and she curtsied low to the king.
At that moment the queen hurried through the door into the king’s chamber, a young girl in her wake. Both Lord Varden and Lady Grey made their obeisance.
“My dear lord,” the queen said anxiously, “what is it that you would send for me so precipitously?” Her pretty face was livid with distress.
“Calm yourself, Beth. This is Lord Anthony Varden, my old and dear friend of whom you have heard me speak. He has been in France these many years, and he has rendered us many a valuable service,” the king told his wife meaningfully. “He has returned now with Lady Grey. You do remember Lady Grey, madame? She will be leaving today for her home at Greyfaire, and has come for her daughter. Tony will also be going north to his estate, Whitebridge. He has asked me if I would make a suitable match for him so that he might take a wife with him.” The light of understanding dawned instantly in the queen’s eyes, and she looked to young Lady Millerton, who, not being a dense girl, also understood where this was leading. Glancing quickly in Anthony Varden’s direction, Lady Millerton blushed. She was a pretty girl with brown-gold hair and soft gray-blue eyes. Lord Varden suddenly looked shy and stared down at his feet.
The queen’s eyes twinkled at this silent exchange. She liked Anthony Varden’s appearance, and he had the look of a good man. “Am I to understand, my dear lord, that you would like to marry my little Anne to Lord Varden?”
“If the lady has no strong objections, madame,” the king replied.
The queen turned to her maid of honor. “Anne, what say you? It is an honorable offer, and Whitebridge is a pretty estate. I know it well, for it once belonged to my uncle George, and later to my uncle Richard. I know that my dear lord, the king, would not offer you to just any man, for he is well aware of how I dote upon you, and of the fact that you will always have my friendship.”
Anne Millerton stood perhaps two inches taller than Anthony Varden. She walked across the room to where he stood, and looking into his face, said in a gentle voice, “What say you, my lord? Do you find me pleasing despite my great height? I have heard from his majesty, the king, and I have heard from my lady, the queen, but I have heard nothing from you. I know ‘tis most bold of me, and I am not bold by nature, I assure you, but what say you to this match, my lord?”
He was entranced by her, and it was written all over Anthony Varden’s face. She was nothing in face or form like his dead wife, but there was a sweetness about Anne Millerton that caught at his heart.
“I say, Mistress Anne,” he told her, “that I had forgotten how pretty English girls were, and that if you would consent to be my wife, you would make me the happiest of men. I am a good man, I promise you, and go to Mass regularly.” He stopped, not knowing what else to say.
“Why then, sir, if you will so generously have me to wife, I will be right glad to have you as my husband,” Lady Anne Millerton said, curtsying to him.
“Good,” the king said brusquely. “Then that is settled! Send for my confessor, Peter, my boy, and we will celebrate this marriage at once.”
“My lord!” The queen was shocked. “There are the banns to be read, and Anne’s trousseau must be made ready, and I would fete her even as her own dear parents would were they yet living. This will be no hole-in-the-wall affair if I have anything to say about it!”
“Lord Varden must go north as quickly as possible,” the king said firmly.
“I do not mind a quick
wedding,” Lady Anne interjected. “The king has been so generous in choosing me a good husband, madame, that if I must give up the frivolity that usually surrounds a marriage celebration, I will gladly do so and make no complaint afterward.”
“You see, Tony? You are a fortunate man, indeed. She is a most sensible girl!” the king said, pleased. “Fetch the priest, Peter. We will meet him in my private chapel.”
“May I go and fetch my daughter now, my liege?” Arabella asked.
“No!” the king replied. “You will witness Lord Varden’s marriage to Lady Millerton, for Tony would not have it any other way, would you, my friend?”
“But a few minutes more, Arabella,” Lord Varden begged her. “I have not a doubt that Hal will send us all packing before the morning is out.”
“Indeed I will,” the king said. “In time, Tony, you may return to court, but for now you must go home to Whitebridge.”
The king’s confessor came and protested volubly at the king’s wishes, but Henry Tudor overcame the cleric’s objections so that he waived the reading of the banns and performed the marriage ceremony without further delay, uniting Lord Anthony Varden to Lady Anne Millerton in holy wedlock. The queen, and the king, and the king’s page, Peter, and Lady Arabella Grey witnessed the sacrament, and afterward toasted the somewhat dazed couple with a goblet of wine.
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