“Have you made love to other women?” she asked him.
“Of course, Philippa. No healthy man is celibate at thirty,” he told her.
“Were they whores? Or were they noblewomen?” she pressed.
The question surprised him, but he answered her candidly. “Some were whores, but also noblewomen as well. And in my youth, girls on my estate who were willing. I have never forced a woman.”
“Do you have any bastards, my lord?” Her look was curious.
“Two little girls,” he surprised her by saying. “I give their mothers a yearly stipend, Philippa, and will continue to do so when we are wed.”
“Then you are experienced in the amatory arts, my lord,” she said.
“Aye, I am well skilled,” he told her. “Now, madame, enough of your questions.”
“The boatmen,” she said, pointing to the four stout men before them.
“... do not have eyes in the back of their heads nor can they see through the curtains,” he responded with a chuckle. His arm tightened about her, and he looked down into her face. Her eyes had grown very large as his hand began to smooth itself over her gown. Her clothing was a most distinct barrier to his rising passion, but the barge was not the place to unlace her bodice, he thought. Instead he bent his head and kissed the soft swell of her bosom as it rose above the neckline of her gown. Her scent, lily of the valley, was utterly intoxicating, and his senses spun as the fragrance filled his nostrils.
For a moment as his mouth touched the soft flesh Philippa didn’t think she could breathe. The gentle but firm kisses he pressed onto her unresisting form made her heart beat rapidly and her head spin with excitement. She felt the tips of her breasts harden. She didn’t want him to stop. But she was not certain he should be doing this. Should he? She had seen her stepfather fondle her mother in such a fashion when they were not aware they were being observed, but they had been wed. She had no one to ask about such things. Her mother was far away, and her only friends were not at court any longer.
“Philippa, what is the matter?” the earl asked her. He was cupping one side of her face with his big hand.
“I have been told that a man wishing his own way with a maid will swear that what he is doing is acceptable,” she said. “I have also been told that a man who obtains cream from the cow for naught is less apt to purchase the creature. I have kept my reputation by being chaste, my lord, not by allowing myself to be fondled in a barge.”
“I am relieved to learn it,” he answered her seriously. “It would make me most uncomfortable to learn that you had an unsavory reputation, Philippa. I may assume then that there is nothing in your girlish past that would disturb me should I learn of it.”
“You are making fun of me,” she pouted.
“Nay, I am merely inquiring of you as you have just inquired of me,” he told her, and there was a twinkle in his eye. “Nothing at all?”
“My character cannot be faulted,” she said haughtily. Why did he look as if he wanted to burst out laughing?
“Yet I have heard the tale of the Canted Tower from your own lips,” the earl said mischievously. “Now let me see if I can recall it. Some young ladies and some young gentlemen were caught playing a rather naughty game by the king himself.”
“I had had too much wine to drink!” Philippa protested. “It is not in my nature to overimbibe or be risque, my lord. And most of the court was gone so there was no scandal.”
“Lord Cambridge found it very amusing, as did I.”
“There was nothing funny about it, my lord! My behavior was shameful, and only the timely arrival of the king prevented me from a worse fault,” Philippa cried. “Why do you fling this indiscretion in my face now?”
“Philippa, Philippa! You are an innocent young girl whose heart was broken. You were made the butt of many jests in your plight. Finally you reacted with what for you was inappropriate behavior, but I know that is not your nature. And it was not so dreadful a sin you committed. I tease you because I am shortly to be your husband, and I want to make gentle love to you, but you resist me.” He caressed her face. “Do not resist me, Philippa. I mean you no harm.”
She put her head against his shoulder, and began to weep. “I want to be loved by the man who caresses and kisses me,” she said piteously. “You do not love me. You want Melville.”
“Aye, I do, and you are correct when you say I don’t love you. How can I? I barely know you, Philippa. And you hold me off in your shyness. We are to be married soon, and it would not be honorable to steal the cow’s cream if I didn’t mean to buy the beast.” He held her against him, his hand now stroking her back.
She sniffled softly. The big hand caressing her was very comforting. Even if he didn’t love her he was kind, she thought. “Kissing,” she said. “It is all I know.”
“And you do it very well,” he told her.
“I have heard of touching, but I have not listened closely. And I have never allowed any man to touch me. The incident at the Canted Tower was foolish, but fate prevented anything untoward from happening, my lord.”
“We all have some incident in our youth that we would rather not discuss or recall, Philippa,” he told her. “Now dry your eyes, and we will kiss and make up.”
She pulled a small lace-edged handkerchief from her sleeve, and mopped her face with it before restoring it to its place. “I don’t think I want to kiss you now,” she told him. “You have mocked and teased me, my lord. You must be kinder to me.”
In a single swift move Crispin St. Claire swept Philippa into his arms in a low embrace that left her helpless to his will. “I do not believe for one moment, my dear Philippa, that your feelings are damaged by our conversation. But you are behaving like a silly little court ninny. That is not what I want in a wife. I want the girl you really are. The one with wit and intellect. Now I have given you my word that I should not rush you along passion’s path, but we will be wed in a few weeks’ time, and I will delay no longer than that, Philippa. So if you do not wish to be shocked upon our wedding night, I should suggest you learn to accept my embraces now.” He kissed her, a hard kiss. “You have no idea how delicious, how delightful, passion and lust can be when it is unbridled. I will not allow you to indulge in the queen’s Spanish moral reticence.” He kissed her again. “I will have you warm and naked in our bed, Philippa. I will fondle you at my leisure, and you will not close your eyes and say your rosary when I do, but you will sigh with the pleasure I offer you.” He kissed her again, now a slow, deep kiss that left her breathless. “We will join our bodies as the God who created us intended us to do. You will cry out with the joy our mutual desire gives you, and you will beg for more.” His hand now smoothed over her bodice, fondling her young breasts. “Now say ‘Yes, Crispin,’ ” he commanded her in a low and fierce voice.
“No! I will fight you!” she declared.
“Why?” he demanded.
“Because ... because ...”
“You have no reason, Philippa. You will belong to me, but I will belong to you.”
“I could hate you!” she whispered.
“But you won’t,” he told her, and he kissed her a final time before sitting her up again. “You’re very pretty when you are confused,” he told her.
“You are so arrogant!” she told him half angrily.
“And you are utterly adorable in your confusion,” he assured her, grinning.
The barge bumped the palace quay, and Philippa was aided in disembarking.
“I must rejoin the queen now,” she said, and hurried away from him.
He watched her go, amused by their encounter, but he had meant what he said. She was like a finely bred and unbroken young mare. But he would break her to his bit. He was not in the least sorry that they were to marry. She was going to make a fine countess of Witton. He entered the palace seeking out some gentlemen with whom to play cards, and to his surprise he encountered his eldest sister as he walked through a gallery. “Marjorie!” he said. “What are
you doing here?”
“I am told you are finally to marry, and I must learn it from a friend down from court. I came up to London as soon as I could. Who is she, and why have you kept it a secret from me? Does Susanna know?”
He took his sister’s hands in his and kissed them both. “I have hardly had a moment to myself, Marjorie, since I decided. The betrothal papers will be signed on the twenty-eighth, and we will wed on the thirtieth.”
“Who is she?” his sibling demanded. “I am told she is a maid of honor.”
“Her name is Philippa Meredith,” he began.
“Meredith? Meredith? I do not recognize the name. Who are her people?” his sister wanted to know.
“Come and sit with me,” he invited her, and ushered her into an alcove where two chairs were set. “Her father was Sir Owein Meredith. He served the Tudors from the time he was a small child until the Venerable Margaret herself arranged his marriage with the heiress to Friarsgate, Rosamund Bolton.”
“Bolton? ’Tis a northern name, Crispin. They are absolutely uncivilized, those northerners. Surely you could do better than that?” Lady Marjorie Brent looked askance at her brother. She was an extremely beautiful woman, with light blue eyes and deep brown hair. “Her dower will have to be excellent to overcome her deficiencies.”
He laughed. “You are going to be very surprised when you meet Philippa. Her mother lived at court as a girl. She gained the friendship of both Queen Katherine and Queen Margaret. That is why Philippa was given a position in the queen’s household. Her highness is most fond of Philippa Meredith. And as for her dower, it is rich enough to be almost obscene, and it includes Melville, dear sister.”
“Ahh,” Lady Marjorie Brent said, “so that is the attraction the girl has for you, Crispin. Well, I cannot fault you for wanting Melville, but could you have not purchased it, and married better?”
“I am not a wealthy man, Marjorie,” he reminded her. “And her cousin, who is her guardian here in London, would not sell the property for any price.”
“Oh,” his sister laughed, “you paid his price alright, little brother.”
“It was time for me to wed, and Philippa is lovely. You will like her. She is mannerly, and a consummate courtier, Marjorie,” he told his sister.
“I shall reserve my judgment, Crispin,” she told him. “I have sent for Susanna to come from Wiltshire. You cannot wed until we have both met this girl.”
“I have told you the wedding is set for the thirtieth of the month,” he said.
“Why such unseemly haste? Have you already lain with the wench, and put a child in her belly? Did she entrap you in this way, brother?”
He laughed aloud. “Philippa is almost overly chaste, Marjorie. The marriage is being celebrated quickly because Philippa will go with the queen to France this summer. The only way I could remain with her, for you know that only the highest will be chosen to accompany the summer progress, was to marry her. The queen promised I should go with them then, for her heart is soft and she would not separate a newly married couple.”
“Hmmm,” his sister said.
“With luck she will return enceinte, and I will have an heir by this time next year,” the earl said. “Isn’t that what you and Susanna want to see?”
“Well, I certainly do,” Lady Marjorie said. “As for Susanna, I think she always anticipated you choosing her second son for your heir should you not wed. I believe she has almost counted upon it.”
“And you did not consider my title for your son?” he teased her.
“My lad has his own title. He did not need another,” Lady Marjorie said dryly.
“Can you be certain this girl is fertile and capable of bearing children?”
“Her mother has birthed five sons and three daughters by two of her husbands,” he told his sister. “Only one of the lads died.”
“ ’Tis most promising, Crispin,” his sister said thoughtfully. “I am beginning to feel more reassured by what you have told me.”
“The king will witness the betrothal signing,” he said, knowing this would impress her even more.
“No!” Lady Marjorie exclaimed. “You are telling me the girl is that important?”
“She is not important, but both the king and the queen have known her mother since their shared childhoods, and the friendship has never been broken. Philippa’s uncle asked both the monarch and his wife for their blessing on this union between me and Philippa. It was freely given, sister.”
“Well, perhaps I need not have come up from Devon after all,” Lady Marjorie Brent said, “but since I am here I may as well remain until your union is celebrated.”
“Where are you sheltering?” her brother asked.
“I thought to find a place here in the palace, Crispin.”
“Nay, there is too much going on with preparations for the summer progress to France, and the queen’s nephew, the emperor, arriving at the end of May. You will stay at Bolton House with me. It is owned by Philippa’s cousin, Thomas Bolton, Lord Cambridge. You will find him a most hospitable gentleman, Marjorie, and Susanna will stay as well.”
“There will be room enough?”
“Aye, and knowing how you love your food, sister, I am happy to tell you that Tom Bolton’s cook is a marvel. He travels with his master from Cumbria to London to the Greenwich house,” the earl said.
“The more I learn of this girl’s background the more I am pleased, Crispin. Will her parents be here for the marriage celebration? I am most anxious to meet them.”
“Sir Owein is long dead, I fear, and Philippa’s mother has just recently been delivered of twin sons, Marjorie. But one of her sisters is here at court in service to the queen as well. She will shortly wed a Neville. She is Lord Cambridge’s heiress.”
“Perhaps this is not a bad match after all, Crispin,” his sister opined. “The St. Claire family is an old one, but we have never been particularly distinguished in the history of our country. We are in fact rather dull. We have always obeyed the law of the land, and I believe the only time we took a stand against a ruling monarch was with the other barons against King John. We remained clear of the Lancaster/York squabbles, and supported the Tudors when they took the throne.”
“All of which has allowed us to survive as a family,” he said quietly. “And while we are not rich, neither are we poor.”
“I should have trusted to your judgment, Crispin,” Lady Marjorie Brent said, “but since I am now here I shall make the best of it.”
“The queen has been generous to Philippa, allowing her more time away from her duties recently. You will pay your respects this evening, and meet Philippa then,” he told his sister. “And then I shall bring you back to Bolton House. Lord Cambridge may come to court today, or not.”
Thomas Bolton did come to court that day. He had departed his house and taken the smaller of his barges, the one he had had built for Rosamund long ago, into London, where he had seen his goldsmith first, and then visited his tailor and the tailor’s wife, who was a seamstress of extraordinary talent. It was the tailor’s wife who would be sewing the gowns for Philippa’s betrothal and wedding day, as well as Banon’s new gown. He was then rowed to the palace, and for some reason he did not dismiss the smaller barge and send it home.
In the queen’s antechamber he found the earl of Witton with an older woman, and was introduced. “Madame,” he told Lady Marjorie, “I knew your husband once. I was devastated when he wed, but seeing you I can understand his eagerness to leave the court behind.” He kissed Lady Marjorie’s hand while smiling his most endearing smile.
She was instantly charmed with him. “You are too kind, my lord,” she gushed.
He smiled at her again. “Have you met my cousin Philippa Meredith yet, madame?” he asked her, still holding her hand.
“I am to shortly,” she told him, smiling back, and more than well aware that he had not yet released her hand. What a delightful man he was, she thought.
“She is a dear girl, madame
, and if I may be permitted to say it, she will make your brother a fine countess,” he murmured.
“Everything Crispin has told me reassures me,” Lady Marjorie said.
The door to the queen’s privy chamber opened. Philippa hurried out and over to them. “Is everything alright?” she asked. “One of the pages said you needed to see me, my lord,” she addressed the earl.
“This is my sister, Lady Marjorie Brent,” the earl of Witton said. “She has surprised me by coming up from Devon, where she lives. She had heard of our betrothal through a friend just returned from court.”
“Had you not written to your sisters, my lord? That is most bad of you, and our wedding to be celebrated so soon,” Philippa gently scolded him, curtseying.
“Oh, dear Philippa, that is so typical of my brother, but I can see that you have manners,” Lady Marjorie said. She embraced the girl warmly. “May I welcome you to our family.”
“I thank you, madame,” Philippa replied. “I regret that I have so little time to give you, but alas, my duties must come first.”
“My dear Philippa, I completely understand,” Lady Marjorie said.
“Then you must excuse me,” Philippa replied, curtseying once again, and turning away to hurry back to the queen.
“Wait,” Tom Bolton said to the girl, who turned questioningly. “You must come home tomorrow afternoon, for the seamstress will be there to begin your two gowns. Bring Banon with you, darling girl.”
Philippa nodded, and then was gone.
“You will stay with me, of course,” Lord Cambridge said to Lady Marjorie.
“How kind you are,” she replied, not mentioning that her brother had already asked her, but then it was not his house, was it?
“I cannot imagine being anything but kind to you,” Lord Cambridge murmured, and Lady Marjorie tittered, well pleased. “If your business here is finished, dear lady, then perhaps you will accompany me back to Bolton House in my barge. Crispin, dearest boy, the small barge will be here for you.” He took Lady Marjorie’s arm and led her off.
Philippa Page 19
