The Widow's Kiss

by Jane Feather

  “Of course.” He bowed. “We’ll dine at two o’clock. A little late, I know, but if we’re to sit to something rather more elaborate than usual, we should allow the kitchen time to prepare.”

  Guinevere nodded agreeably, then turned from him. “Tilly, Magister, perhaps you would accompany me.”

  “Oh, one other thing.” Hugh arrested her as she reached the stair. She turned, her hand on the newel post.

  “I would appreciate it if you and Magister Howard could draw up a complete list of your holdings before our meeting tomorrow. I have some idea of their extent, but I’m sure there's much of which I’m not aware.” He smiled blandly as if his request had no significance.

  “The estates I own are a matter of public record,” she said distantly.

  “Ah, but I would have to journey back to Derbyshire to avail myself of such records,” he returned with the same bland smile. “A tedious journey. I’m certain you could save me the trouble. The king is anxious for the wedding ceremony to take place in two days’ time, and we must have the marriage contracts signed and sealed by then. I doubt the king would tolerate a delay. He is a man of changeable humor.”

  There was no mistaking the threat. Guinevere knew he spoke only the truth, but he was also reminding her of how tenuous her reprieve was until the marriage had been celebrated. As if she needed such reminder. She contented herself with a curt nod and resumed her ascent of the stairs, Tilly and the magister in her wake.

  “So ’tis to be another wedding,” Tilly said again as they entered Guinevere's chamber. She shook her head. “ ’Tis to be hoped this one will turn out better than the others. But,” she added with cheerful bluntness, “since you’re no stranger to Lord Hugh's bed, you know what you’re doing, I’ll be bound.”

  The magister fiddled awkwardly with the ribbons of his cap at this indiscreet statement. It was one thing for Tilly to share such confidences in private, quite another for her to speak thus to their lady in his presence.

  “ ’Tis a very sudden decision, this, my lady,” he said with a dry cough.

  “Aye,” agreed Guinevere, drawing off her gloves. “A decision that circumstances forced upon me, as I expect you can imagine. Lord Hugh is going to extract a heavy price for saving me from the executioner.” She gave a short laugh. “Can one blame him? I would probably do the same if the shoe was on the other foot.”

  The magister sucked in his cheeks. “ ’Tis for that reason that he wishes to review your holdings?”

  Guinevere nodded. “But what you and I can do this afternoon, perhaps, is to see how much if anything we can put beyond his reach. Land that is entailed for instance, or mine only during my lifetime and therefore not at my disposal.”

  “And Lady Pen and Lady Pippa's own holdings, left them by Lord Hadlow,” the magister said, warming to the theme. “We could mayhap extend those to include some of the land around Ilkeston. It's not specifically mentioned in Lord Hadlow's will, but we could make a case for it, I believe, since the lands abut.”

  He stroked his chin even as he continued to suck in his cheeks. “Lord Hugh would not interfere with your daughters’ inheritances?” He looked at her interrogatively.

  Guinevere shook her head. “Lord Hugh would do nothing to harm my daughters,” she said definitely.

  And he would not harm her either, except for her pride.

  He had come after her initially to claim some of her land. Now he had the chance to claim much more than the land he had wanted for Robin. He would simply see such claims as payment for services rendered she supposed. She would have to swallow her pride. In her present position pride was not a luxury she could afford. But it would hurt. To be obliged to give up what she had worked so hard first to gain and then to maintain and improve. Simply to hand it over to someone who’d done nothing for it. Who simply claimed it as a husband's due.

  Oh, yes, it would hurt. But not as much as the headsman's axe. A grim smile touched her mouth.

  20

  Master Newberry was long and thin. His brown furred gown hung from his shoulders as if on a coat hanger. His black flapped hat was securely buttoned beneath his pointed chin and one pale eye wandered at will while the other remained disconcertingly steady. He looked as if he had not eaten a square meal in many a month.

  He bowed low as Guinevere entered the hall the following morning, accompanied by the magister.

  “My lady, may I offer my congratulations.”

  “Why, certainly you may, Master …” she hesitated, “Master Newberry, I believe.”

  “Just so, my lady.”

  “Allow me to present Magister Howard. He's long been my advisor.”

  The two men acknowledged each other with brief nods that did nothing to conceal their mutual suspicion.

  Hugh entered the hall from the back regions of the house. He’d been riding and he carried the fresh morning air on his skin. He was bareheaded and his cropped iron-gray hair was slightly ruffled by the wind.

  He pulled off his gloves and tossed them onto a bench beside the kitchen door as he greeted the three occupants of the hall pleasantly. “I give you good morning … Lady Guinevere, Magister, Master Newberry.” He cast an appraising glance at Guinevere. All night he had been hoping that she would come to him as she had done before, but he had slept alone … alone except for his dreams.

  After tomorrow though … ah, after tomorrow, she would share his bed as his wife.

  She was looking cool and composed in a gown of pale gray figured silk; the fall of her dark blue hood was pinned up, revealing the slender white length of her neck around which nestled a collar of magnificent pearls. So tall and willowy, with her porcelain complexion, she looked as if nothing could ever disturb her composure, cause her to make a misstep, say something out of place. If he hadn’t known better, he would have said ice water ran in her veins. There was no hint of warm red blood flowing beneath that pale skin.

  His fingers twitched to loosen her hood, take down her hair, run his fingers through the silvery silken tresses as they flowed down her back. The longing was so intense he thought he must be able to project it into her own mind. But Guinevere gave no hint of such a trespass. She merely gave him a cool enigmatic half smile.

  He was not to know that she had lain awake through most of the night in a fever of longing, forcing herself to stay in her own bed, knowing as always that while she still had to fight him she could not afford to be weakened by passion. And she had decided that she was going to fight him over the marriage settlements. If he intended to rob her, he would not find her a lamb to the slaughter.

  “Let's sit at the table.” Hugh gestured to the long dining table. He walked over and took a seat at the head. Guinevere and the magister sat to his right, Master Newberry to his left.

  “You have compiled a list of your holdings?” Hugh inquired of Guinevere.

  She gestured to the magister who laid a closely written parchment on the table. Hugh picked it up and looked down it. In fact it held no surprises for him. Privy Seal had his own records of the widow's wealth and the estates on which it was based. Hugh had familiarized himself with it before making his first approach to Lady Mallory. Now he was interested to see if they had doctored the list in any way, attempted to shelter any of her holdings from him.

  “This land ceded to the girls on their father's death?” he murmured, glancing towards Guinevere. “I don’t recall all this land around Ilkeston being a part of it.”

  “Don’t you?” she said blandly. And was once again silent.

  He couldn’t help admiring the brazen nerve of the woman. He noted that the lead mines at Brassington appeared to be held by Guinevere only in her lifetime. They were rich mines and he certainly hadn’t seen any such proviso on Privy Seal's records. He had no way of proving the truth of her statement without access to the public records in Derbyshire. If it was true then the property could not form part of the marriage settlements since it did not actually belong to her. This, of course, had been his original arg
ument in his claim on Roger Needham's land. If it was untrue and he believed or accepted the lie, she could dispose of the land without his knowledge or interference.

  He glanced up at her again as he tapped the edge of his quill against the offending item. It would be typical of Guinevere, he thought, to turn his own arguments against him. She showed not a sign of discomfort, merely regarded him with an air of serene indifference. He looked at the magister. Magister Howard was staring into space, sucking in his cheeks.

  What a clever pair they were. They’d been collaborating for so long over Guinevere's affairs it was no wonder they should be so cool.

  “Here is what I propose,” he said, suddenly brisk.

  “Robin will receive outright the lands between Great Longstone and Wardlow that had been in our own family.”

  Guinevere had expected nothing less so she merely nodded. Master Newberry began to write. Magister Howard made a small note.

  “Your daughters will continue to hold the property ceded to them by their father to furnish their dowries, including the land around Ilkeston that did not appear in the original documents.” He shrugged; in the sum of things, that little deviation was hardly important. “Then, with the exception of Mallory Hall and the mines at Brassington, the remainder of your lands will be ceded to me, your husband, as is customary.”

  He continued swiftly, ignoring Guinevere's sharp intake of breath. “On your death, your daughters will receive half of those holdings. On my death …” His eyes flicked over her stunned countenance and he continued with deliberate emphasis, “Should I predecease you, on my death, my son will receive the other half. Should there be children of our marriage, then a just proportion of all the holdings will be made over accordingly at the time of their births.”

  Guinevere had told herself to expect the worst, but in the back of her mind had been the hope that while Hugh would take something from her for his own payment, his feelings for her would place a rein on his demands. He knew how vital her independence was to her.

  In her more sanguine moments she had painted a rosy picture, seeing them living together and sharing what she had in comfortable amity. Maybe he would share the estate work and administration with her. She could become accustomed to such a partnership.

  But he had let her down, fulfilled her most gloomy predictions. He would take every last vestige of independence from her. And she found she could not bear it. All platitudes about swallowing her pride flew to the four winds. She could not endure such daylight robbery.

  “Everything!” she exclaimed, her face whiter than ever, her purple eyes blazing. “You are calmly suggesting that you would rob me of all my lands?”

  A flash of anger crossed his eyes. “Hardly robbery, madam. I am to be your husband. A settlement such as this is entirely legal and customary. I realize you’ve arranged matters differently in past unions, but I am not going to yield my rights just because other men have done so. You will go short of nothing, I assure you, and your daughters are more than well provided for. I take nothing from them and I leave you as the sole possessor of Mallory Hall. In the circumstances, I’m being very reasonable, I believe.”

  “You have done nothing to merit such a settlement,” she declared. “The estates and holdings are richer now than they were when I came into them because I have worked on them. I’ve administered them, spent much money on improvements. And now you think you can just take them from me.”

  “It is a customary marriage settlement, my lady.” Master Newberry put in his twopennorth.

  “I know what is customary and what is not,” Guinevere said curtly. She turned to Hugh. “It's not seemly to brawl like this in public. I insist we discuss this privately.” She stood up from the table.

  “There is nothing to discuss,” Hugh said in level tones. “These terms are nonnegotiable.”

  “I do not have to agree to this marriage,” she stated, her mouth taut.

  “There's some truth in that.” Hugh rose from the table. “So it seems we do have something to discuss. It is after all a woman's prerogative to change her mind. The morning's pleasant. Do you wish to walk in the orchard?”

  “A companionable stroll is not what I have in mind,” she retorted.

  “My chamber then.” He strode ahead of her to the stairs.

  “I should wait here, Lord Hugh?” inquired Master Newberry.

  “Yes. In our absence, you and Magister Howard may go through the settlement point by point. The magister needs to be satisfied of its legality before Lady Mallory signs it.”

  Guinevere closed her lips tightly and brushed past him as he stood aside to let her precede him up the stairs. She had so wanted to maintain her calm, to hold on to what dignity and pride she possessed, to accede with gracious generosity to his demands, but he had cut the ground from beneath her feet.

  Hugh leaned over her shoulder to lift the latch on his chamber door. He placed a hand in the small of her back, easing her into the room. She sprang forward away from his touch and went to stand beside the window.

  “This was why you lied to save me,” she accused bitterly. “So that you could become a wealthy man. I had thought better of you. I had not thought you so greedy and grasping. Of course I expected you to want some payment, but that you would rob me of everything I possess! I had not believed you capable of that!”

  Hugh frowned suddenly. Was he robbing her? Of course he wasn’t. Her life would be the same as it always had been. She would lose nothing. She was overdramatizing.

  Lose nothing but her independence.

  Oh, but that was nonsense. Her independence was a mere perception. She would have a husband, a lover. In those ways only would her life change. And when she was prepared to put aside her pride, she would see that. She would see that the changes would only be for the better. That she was gaining not losing.

  He said in level tones, “Guinevere, you make too much of this. I have no idea why your previous husbands allowed you to dictate the terms that you did, but I am not of their ilk. I am not in thrall to you and I will not be managed by you. We will marry under the customary terms. Your children will have half of your estates. I and my son the other half. And Mallory Hall will be yours to do with as you please.”

  Guinevere crossed her arms over her breast and stared at him in silence. She could say she would not marry him under such conditions. She could say that, if she were inclined to commit suicide.

  She felt so helpless, so vulnerable. Until Hugh of Beaucaire had ridden into her courtyard, she had known little of such weakness. But ever since that day such frailty had been her near constant companion. And now the sense of powerlessness, of desperation, was overwhelming.

  Hugh took another tack, his voice moderate and reasonable. “Just think for a minute, Guinevere. If I allowed you to dictate the terms of this contract, as you have done in the past, Bishop Gardiner's charges of witchcraft would have some resonance. I can promise you that these settlements will be scrutinized by Privy Seal if not by the king himself. If they detect anything amiss, anything out of the ordinary, there's no telling what construction they’ll choose to put upon it.”

  “You’re telling me that that's the real reason for this rape?” she demanded derisively. “It's not just your greed?”

  Hugh kept a tight rein on his temper. “It is a fact, as you would see for yourself if you would just think about it. And don’t accuse me of greed again. My patience won’t stand it.”

  Guinevere said nothing, merely continued to stare at him. He had a point, she had to admit … but only to herself.

  After a minute he continued, “It strikes me as entirely reasonable that I should benefit in some material fashion from this marriage. I had not intended to wed again … after Sarah.”

  He paused before confiding with difficulty, “I swore I would protect myself from the hurt of another such loss.” He turned away from her intent and angry gaze, his expression somber.

  “Should I die prematurely, I doubt you’ll suffer much
heartbreak,” Guinevere said coldly. “A woman you married purely for material gain can hold little place in your soul.”

  He spun back to her and she saw with some satisfaction that she’d finally ruptured his composure as surely as he’d ruptured hers. “Don’t be foolish!” he said harshly. “You know full well that I love you. Money alone wouldn’t compel me to perjure myself in the Star Chamber.”

  They stood in silence, staring at each other, wary, assessing, angry, neither willing to back down, but neither willing to make an irrevocable move.

  “But you intend to become rich at my expense,” she said finally.

  His response was blunt. “Hardly at your expense. You will live as well as I. I would ensure Robin's future first, then I fail to see why I should eke out my life in my present less-than-comfortable fashion when the law, my dear Guinevere, entitles me to live in the manner to which you, my wife, are accustomed.”

  “And when it comes to dividing the land among our children, just how do you intend to apportion it?” she asked bitterly. “Some properties, as I’m sure you’re aware, are of considerably greater value than others.”

  “We’ll examine each property and divide them on merit as evenly as possible,” he replied readily. “I assume your accounts will reflect the value of each.”

  “Of course,” she said with undisguised scorn at such a question.

  “And I assume you’ll not attempt to distort the value of those assets in any way?” He regarded her through narrowed eyes.

  “If you’re not astute enough to detect any tampering with the figures, my lord, you’re not astute enough to manage a fortune as considerable as the one you’re taking from me,” she retorted. “You will, I imagine, manage my estates yourself?”

  “Unless it would please you to continue doing that.”

  “Oh, I see. That's a neat arrangement. The money goes to you, the labor to me. Quite a partnership that. I congratulate you, Lord Hugh.”

  He laughed suddenly. The speed and sharpness of Guinevere's wit could always be relied upon even in extremis.