Courtly Pleasures

by Erin Kane Spock

  Oh, yes—things would definitely be different. She would have to make a point of that. She didn’t know if Henry planned to return to the way things had been or not. Even though she knew that she had fallen in love with him, she couldn’t trust he would feel the same once they returned to their country routine. She owed their marriage effort. She now knew she could not blame him entirely for the loveless first ten years. Where they went from here, well that was up to both of them.

  She had to know if what they shared was real or all mixed in with an ill-placed wager and courtly conspiracies. He was too much of a gentleman not to come with her if she’d asked, so she didn’t ask and left the choice to him. No duty or obligation, just him choosing what he wanted.

  I must be sanguine about the possibility that he may not choose me.

  Of course, sneaking out of their chamber at the palace and running home was not necessarily a show of good faith. She was a coward—she was aware of that.

  Jane cleared her throat abruptly. “Mistress, if you’ll pardon my saying so . . . You are a coward.”

  Apparently, Jane was aware of the fact as well.

  Frances leaned across the center of the coach to press Jane’s hand. “You are completely right.” Jane lifted one eyebrow in surprise. “I just needed time to acclimate to my home, my position . . . I needed space to think.”

  Jane considered Frances’s words. “Aye. It would be a hard task indeed to stay levelheaded with a man like Master LeSieur in your bed.” Jane paused a moment as if to say more, then, as she realized what she had said, blushed furiously and began to stammer, “Oh mistress! I didn’t mean . . . ”

  Frances opened her mouth to speak and stopped herself. Of course, what Jane said was true. It was hard enough to know her own mind without it being clouded by her husband’s hard body cradling hers intimately. Blinking away the memory and the yearning, Frances nodded with a smile to her companion, “Jane, you are quite right.” Frances had become closer to Mary during their stay at the palace, but only Jane had elected to return to the Holme. Frances ached for the pain that still lingered behind Jane’s smile. This time at court had changed her, brought her back to the timid young woman who’d joined her service years ago. In those years, Frances had seen Jane gain a spark and, in the space of mere months, lose it once more. Fear shadowed her decisions and was probably the only reason Jane chose service in a boring country house over the palace’s Christmastide revelries and the company of her best friend. Frances could recognize a woman in need of escape when she saw one. Perhaps Jane would open up to her in time . . . and maybe Frances could help Jane along by being forthcoming herself.

  “I had to leave. I did not want Henry to have to share my bed out of obligation or convenience. He can come to me when he is ready, if he really wants to. In the meantime, I will have some time to myself to sort through all that has happened.”

  All awkwardness out of the way, the mood in the carriage lightened, and the two women began to talk about how they would set up Holme LeSieur for Christ’s Mass and the following twelve days.

  • • •

  Henry woke that morning to an empty bed and a scribbled note. He had stayed by his wife’s side throughout her recovery. The poison that Baroness Ludlow had given Frances had taken some time to work through her system. Each day had shown improvement, and she had finally held down a solid meal two days past. Henry’s relief was almost tangible.

  The whole week following Baroness Ludlow’s capture had been difficult. Frances, while on the mend, drifted in and out of consciousness for the first several days. She would wake up and seem almost normal for short periods, then start to ramble and eventually close her eyes in a restless sleep. Mistress Parry told her this was all part of her body’s natural reaction. As Frances fought hard to expel the poison, Henry had helped regulate her fever with his own body heat, dripped honeyed tea into her mouth, and stroked her back to lull her into a more comfortable sleep than the fever and poison driven delirium. It was a shame to have had to miss the trial and sentencing of Baroness Ludlow, but he was needed by his wife’s side. At last he knew where he belonged.

  If Henry had forgotten how loved his wife was, the steady stream of visitors and gifts would have been a constant reminder of the fact. Even Lord and Lady Howard of Effingham had spent a lot of time keeping Henry company in Frances’s sickroom. Mary had stayed with Henry and Frances during the day, helping in any way she could. With so many prominent courtiers paying their respect, Master Hatton had been conspicuous in his absence. Henry assumed he was making himself scarce for a while to allow the Queen’s temper to cool over the matter of the wager.

  And then he woke to an empty chamber and all sense of balance in his world crashed and burned.

  Frances’s missive explained that she wanted to head home ahead of him in order to give herself time to collect her muddled thoughts. She said she couldn’t think when he was around, and she was not sure what direction her marriage was heading. What direction? Hadn’t he made it clear to her that he desired her above any other? Didn’t she know that he was turning his back on his perceived “duty” to the Crown in order to be a real part of his family? Didn’t she know that he loved her?

  It took Henry less than an hour to ready himself for the journey.

  • • •

  As the landscape became more familiar, the knot in Frances’s chest tightened. Had she done the right thing leaving Henry, forcing him to choose? Frances wanted to believe him when he told her their passion had been real—but believing that would awaken a hope that best lay dormant. She had some serious thinking to do before she ever let herself hope that he loved her as much as she loved him. She had been nothing but one of his duties for the past ten years—their courtship was so fresh that she did not want to taint it by forcing him to accompany her home simply because it was his job. She wanted him to want to be there. She refused to simply be one more responsibility in his life.

  Frances took a deep breath to steady herself as the wheels rattled against the familiar cobble drive to the house. This was the start of her new life, and she would take joy in it.

  Frances sat with Jane in silence until the carriage rolled to a halt. Frances accepted the aid of her coachman and stepped into the courtyard. Raising her head, she surveyed the red brick symmetry of the modern home. She would be happy here.

  “Welcome home, Mistress LeSieur.” Mistress Cooley dropped into a squat reverance as she neared the entrance. Frances raised her up and, on impulse, embraced the matronly housekeeper in a warm hug.

  “I am glad to be home.” Releasing her, Frances quickly wiped happy tears from her eyes. “I would like to see the children immediately, Mistress Cooley.”

  • • •

  “Mama!” A squealing bundle of a warm and snuggly almost-seven-year-old hurled herself across the room and into Frances waiting arms. Cheek to cheek, Frances inhaled the scent of lavender soap and sweetmeats that clung to her daughter and murmured, “Mama’s home, Moppet.”

  Frances could not have detached Elizabeth’s vice-like hug if she had wanted to. Settling herself onto the floor of the nursery, Frances welcomed Elizabeth as she crawled into her lap and more firmly ensconced herself in her mother’s arms.

  “I missed you so, Mama.” Elizabeth muttered her words into Frances’s shoulder, the sounds muffled by her ornate shoulder role. Elizabeth pulled back to look at the bejeweled puff, then moved further to take a better look at her mother.

  “Oh, Mama! Did the Queen turn you into a princess?”

  Frances laughed, crying happy tears, as Elizabeth offered her hands and gave her best effort to help her mother rise from the floor. Frances twirled, her lavender velvet skirts making a soft whooshing sound as they flew out about her. Elizabeth clapped in delight. “Mama! Such a pretty dress. Oh! You look so . . . ” Elizabeth’s eyes widened as she tried to select the right word. “ . . . exquisite.” Her small mouth cinched in a pout. Apparently “exquisite” wasn’t exactly the word she w
as looking for, but was the best she could do. Frances knelt down once more to scoop her daughter into her arms.

  “Where is the baby?” Frances loved the feel of her big girl but longed to reacquaint herself with baby Grace. There was a lot of lost time to make up for.

  “Gracie is with Papa in his chambers.” Elizabeth spoke as if this was the natural occurrence in the world.

  Frances was dumbfounded. “Papa?” Surely Elizabeth was confused . . . but then, how could she be confused about something like that? Frances removed Elizabeth from her lap and gave her kiss on the forehead. “I shall be back in just a moment.”

  Frances made a slight note of Elizabeth’s perfect reverance as Frances rose to leave. Her baby was turning into a little lady. Smiling to herself at the recent memory of Elizabeth’s soft cheek pressed against hers, she prepared herself for whatever she would find in the master’s chambers.

  So Henry had followed her . . . Her heart skipped beneath the confines of her corset. What was his motivation? Why? Pride or desire? Duty or love? The time she had given herself to sort out her muddled thoughts had run out and she had to face him—ready or not. The main question had been what she wanted. Now she knew that she wanted him to be a part of her home. All she had to do was tell him.

  Frances descended the grand staircase, taking time to look around for the first time since her return. The balustrade was wound with vines of ivy, every finial capped with wreaths of holly. The scent of the evergreens mingled with a perfume of cloves and citrus . . . The retainers at the Holme had certainly been hard at work to make the manor house ready for Christmastide festivities. The Holme glowed with the cozy warmth of the season. To think she had dreaded winter here.

  This is no longer a cage. I am home.

  Frances alighted on the first-floor landing and opened the door to her chambers. The last time she had seen her room, she had just finished packing and was starting on her grand adventure. She laughed to herself as she realized that this moment was perhaps the grandest adventure of all. She had served the Queen and Her glittering court. She had been accepted and admired . . . yet all she really wanted from life was here at the Holme. Knowing that the fulfillment of all her hopes and dreams hinged on this moment made it even more intimidating. All she had to do was have the courage to open the door to the adjoining chamber . . .

  Never a timid woman, Frances gripped the handle and opened the door.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Rule Eighteen: Good character is the one real requirement for worthiness of love.

  Henry had ridden directly from London, stopping only to change the horses. He knew Frances was traveling by coach and with a baggage train, so she would take at least four days to travel, weather permitting.

  Henry made the journey in two.

  He arrived exhausted and unexpected at his ancestral estate. Too tired to do much, he satisfied himself with giving Mistress Cooley leeway to prepare the Holme for Christmastide in Mistress LeSieur’s absence. He dispatched a courier to his sister-in-law’s home in Spencer, requesting that they send young Robert home as soon as may be so he could spend time with his family. Then he pulled off his boots, leaned back in his chair, and fell asleep.

  He awoke some time later to find himself eye to eye with a tiny female. He moved to sit up but was encumbered by quilts.

  “Well met, my lord father. I have tucked you in.” Little Mistress Elizabeth dropped her father a sweet reverance and continued, “I did not mean to disturb you . . . but you were snoring quite ferociously . . . ”

  Henry blinked the sleep out of his eyes as he followed her words. “Ferociously? That is a big word for a little girl.”

  “Mama knows so many words. Nurse does too.” Elizabeth sat at her father’s feet and pulled a carved wooden ship out of his boot. She must have been here for some time.

  She played happily with the boat and the boot while Henry silently observed the little human that he had helped create. What an amazing creature. His duty had been to breed an heir . . . He’d no use for daughters and had never paid much attention. What sort of man had he been to be so detached? What sort of father would not delight in watching his child grow? He had a lot of lost time to catch up on.

  “Elizabeth, where can I find your sister?” For the life of him, Henry could not remember the baby’s name.

  “Gracie’s up with nurse. Baby Frances and Maria are outside the chapel. They died.” Elizabeth gave a very straightforward, if morbid, answer.

  “I think it would be best for me to see Gracie first.” With that, Henry stood in his stockinged feet and offered his hand to his daughter.

  If Elizabeth felt intimidated by her stranger of a father, she never showed it. Her small, warm hand slipped into his, gripping his first three fingers. Henry slowed his pace to allow Elizabeth to walk comfortably as they ascended the main stair toward the third-floor nursery.

  By the time Henry left baby Grace sleeping and went into the main house, Yule decorations were well underway. At this rate, the Holme would be completely decked by the time Frances arrived. He must not forget to speak to his steward about issuing an invitation to the villagers for the feasting and revelry. What else did Frances usually do for Christ’s Mass? Of course, there was the actual three Masses themselves, but those were the responsibility of the Holme’s priest. This would be exciting—sharing the twelve days of revelry with his family. He hadn’t celebrated the season at the Holme since he had become lord of the manor. Duty had always kept him elsewhere.

  Lost in his thoughts, Henry was surprised to find himself at his destination already. Before him lay the little gate into the consecrated ground behind Holme LeSieur’s chapel. Beyond that lay generations of LeSieurs, all enshrouded with the dignity and honor of their station. Swallowing the lump in his throat, Henry picked his way between grave markers, looking for the more recent additions—two very small graves belonging to the daughters he would never know.

  • • •

  Frances stepped through the door to her husband’s adjoining chamber and was immediately embraced by the warmth of the room. She was not expecting the vision of her husband in his shirtsleeves, lounging on the bed. In the center, cradled in the crook of his shoulder, baby Gracie slept contentedly, still gripping Henry’s thumb. With a slight nod and a sleepy smile on his lips, he wordlessly welcomed her home and invited her to join him and the baby. After a moment of uncertainty, Frances crawled up onto the massive bed. She lay on her side, her head propped up by one arm, and delicately traced the curve of the baby’s cheek with a finger. Leaning forward she placed a soft kiss on the downy crown, closed her eyes, and inhaled the sweet baby scent. Oh, she had missed her baby. What a beautiful girl. She almost wanted to wake her to see if her eyes had changed color in her absence, but this scene was too touching to disturb. She could never have pictured this in her wildest dreams. The image of her husband cradling their sleeping babe, the love that radiated from him . . . Her heart felt like it would burst. Blinking the mist from her eyes, Frances moved her hand from Grace’s cheek and laid it over her husband’s.

  “Did you have the time you needed to sort through your thoughts? I could not stay away from you any longer.” His husky whisper brought back memories of stolen moments on the barge.

  “I did.” She could feel the heat of his gaze, and her anxiety lessoned as she met at her husband’s heavy-lidded stare. He wanted her. He wanted to be with her. “I am glad you followed me.”

  Henry smiled and removed himself from Grace’s grasp and interlaced his fingers with Frances’s. “I am glad to be home.” Lifting his head gently, he bridged the gap between them brushed his lips tenderly against her forehead.

  Frances spoke first. “I never expected to find such joy, such contentment, at the Holme.”

  “I never expected to find such love.” Henry pulled away to look Frances in the eye. “I love you. You do know that, don’t you?”

  Frances smiled as her misty eyes gave way to true tears. Leaning f
orward again, she brushed her lips over his as she whispered. “Yes. I know that now.”

  Henry’s lips engulfed hers in a kiss she would never forget. More than words, it promised her a lifetime of love, of honest friendship.

  Baby Grace made a soft cooing sound in her sleep and nestled deeper against her father’s chest, inadvertently reminding her parents that this was not the time for an amorous encounter. With a sigh of resignation, Henry laid his forehead against his wife’s.

  Frances knew she was complete now—she had found the missing part of who she was. She was a woman who was loved, and she was so happy, she didn’t know if she should laugh or cry. She felt Henry’s hand brush away an errant tear . . . It appeared she was crying. The realization made laughter bubble past the knot in her throat.

  Still cradling her cheek with his hand, Henry asked, “What is so funny?”

  Still laughing, Frances answered with a random thought, “Did you know that I’ve never been in your bed before?”

  Henry barked a short laugh and then stopped her with a quick kiss before he smoothly rolled out of bed, taking Grace with him.

  “Where are you going?”

  Henry padded on soft feet across the room to summon the nurse. “I just thought perhaps I should remove Grace to her own cradle for a while.” His voice was a whisper for the baby’s sake.

  “But this was so sweet . . . ” Frances felt his absence like a missing part of her.

  “Yes, but I would rather introduce you to the comforts of my bed without the company of our baby.” Henry handed the baby out the door to the waiting nursemaid. “You’d best get used to the bed since you won’t be leaving it for some time.”