HOLY POISON: Boxed Set: The Complete Series 1-6

by Margaret Brazear

  She wanted so much to do this right, she did not want to let Richard down and this meant so much to him; she hoped she was not losing the struggle to hide her distaste.

  When the Queen held out her hand to be kissed, Bethany hesitated, looking at the wrinkled fingers with their gemstone rings before she finally complied. It was a difficult thing to do and she could feel Richard’s eyes upon her, watching her, scrutinising her every move. She glanced at him and saw that his jaw was clenched, his hands bunched into fists and knew she was seeing a glimpse of that temper he had warned her about.

  There were hints of a permanent position at court but she did not think she could be near this woman every day of her life without displaying her dislike. And that would be the end; Richard was already angry with her. He would tolerate no more.

  Bethany believed this frail looking woman would be the cause of reviving the barbarous punishment of burning people alive for heresy. She could be the death of her entire family and could never be made to see another’s viewpoint on the subject of religion. She had heard that Mary refused to even read a letter from a Protestant, lest the very words taint her. And the worst thing was knowing that her husband would be helping the Queen to bring back those barbaric laws. And yet she loved him, she loved him more than anything in the world.

  Her family had disowned her on learning of her husband’s religious leanings, but they were still her kin and she felt a deep hatred for this little woman which she found almost impossible to conceal. How was she expected to be close to her on a daily basis without that hatred revealing itself? Once again she was betraying her promises to Richard. He had assured her that Mary would be Queen, he had been very certain, but she had not listened. She had not believed him, had thought it was just wishful thinking on his part and now she was forced to face her.

  It would have made no difference if she had accepted his word; she had no idea then what it would mean to her because she had no idea how the nobility lived. He had failed to tell her that he would be living in the palace and giving his advice to the Catholic Queen.

  Bethany had not so far enjoyed her time in London and could only hope it may soon be over, that Richard would agree to return to Suffolk. The coronation was but a few days away.

  The image of Rosemary still hovered at the back of her mind, but she felt she should wait until they were home again to ask about her. Here he had too much to do, he was different and after witnessing his anger when she met the Queen, she felt it would take more courage than at home in familiar surroundings. Had he wanted to talk about her, he would surely have mentioned her, not ignored her existence and hidden her portrait away where no one could see it.

  Although Mary had been given the support she needed to reclaim her throne, Bethany was still not convinced she was a popular choice. It seemed the people wanted a daughter of bluff King Hal on the throne, not a distant cousin with little claim, but she did not expect the celebrations which took place. There was cheering and waving from all the people, everyone was dancing with joy. Everyone, it seemed, except the new Lady Summerville.

  Bethany was exhausted at the end of the day. She rode with other ladies behind the royal entourage and Richard rode in front with other courtiers and close to the Queen. Behind her, in their own carriage, rode her sister, Elizabeth, with Anne of Cleves, the woman who was too ugly for King Henry to bed. Considering his subsequent acts, she had indeed had a lucky escape.

  Bethany was still not much of a horsewoman and the muscles in her back were unused to so many hours in the saddle, but she had refused to share a carriage. She did not want to have to pretend joy at this occasion; she was better on horseback where she would need to talk to no one. By the time they were able to retire to bed that night, her back was stiff and sore.

  Richard lay beside her and massaged her back until it felt a little better, the feel of his strong fingers as they soothed her muscles, arousing her. On several nights since her arrival in London she had been asleep when he retired for the night and she felt he was trying to avoid her. She told herself it was her imagination; she had missed her nights with him so much, she could not bear the idea that he did not share her feelings.

  She turned over and looked up at him nervously. He was still the same man who had ridden off to fight his cause. Why then did she suddenly fear him?

  He kissed her, then slipped his hand inside her shift to gently hold her breast. Did he know he had only to touch her to drive all other thoughts racing from her mind? But his lovemaking that night was different, subdued and distant somehow, as though he was trying to spare himself some private pain.

  ***

  Richard knew it would be a disaster as soon he saw his wife’s first reaction to the Queen. She tried hard to hide it, but the dislike was there. He could see it because he knew her so well; he could only hope others would not see it.

  Even his attempt to make her think less of him had ended in a jolt of pain he had not expected. Why was that? He thought to embarrass her, to make her feel inadequate and perhaps blame him for that.

  But she fought back with words which stung. Why did her mention of his mistresses hurt him? Was it because he could not bear to have her think ill of him? But that had been his intention all along. Once he knew how it would really feel for her to think badly of him, he decided it was not such a good idea after all.

  But he was only trying to push her away so she did not get hurt. He had never really expected the meeting with the Queen to work out well, and now Mary wanted his wife as a Lady in waiting and he would have to find some way to refuse her. Bethany would have to be sent home while he stayed here in London, and that was going to cause her pain because he had allowed her to fall in love with him.

  He blamed himself for that. He had been too kind to her, that was the problem. He could easily have been dispassionate, given her no consideration and shown her no affection, but it had never occurred to him; he was enjoying her company too much. Now it was too late.

  The first night she arrived he could not wait to undress her and feel that gorgeous body next to his again, to bury himself inside her and love her once more. His plan to push her away would never work if he could not keep his own emotions under control.

  He had been so angry at the meeting between the Queen and his countess, and Bethany had noticed that. He was not angry with her, he was angry with himself for not realising this would never work. But he would let her go on thinking she had enraged him; it might make things easier for them both.

  ***

  The processions went on for two days with the coronation at the end. Once more he massaged her back, once more he made love to her.

  “Can we return to Summerville now?” She asked.

  He shook his head.

  “No, Bethany. I already told you; the Queen needs me here.”

  She was silent for a few seconds, then she moved across the bed and put her arms around his waist, his flesh warm against hers.

  “Very well,” she murmured. “How long will we have to stay?”

  He hugged her against him and kissed the top of her head before he answered and his words cut through her like a sharp blade.

  “I think I shall escort you home to Summerville tomorrow,” he said quietly. “But I cannot stay. You will be better off at home.”

  She swallowed hard to trap an escaping sob.

  “Why would you send me away? Do you not want me here?”

  “No.” His expression had not changed, his tone was still gentle, but there was no doubt that he meant it. “You are not safe here, Bethany. I saw how you greeted the Queen; one day she will see it too. This is a dangerous place for you.”

  “Please,” she argued. “I can do better, really I can.”

  “I am sorry. I will not take the chance, not with your life.”

  She lay awake that night feeling that her world had ended, that the few months of bliss were over and that bliss would never return. He was right about it not being safe, he was right that she foun
d it hard to conceal her feelings toward the Queen, but she felt sure that was only an excuse to send her home. She had let him down; she had not given him the son for which he had married and she could not even pretend to be a good Catholic. They were the two most important things he had wanted from her, and she had failed in them both. Any idea she might have nourished that he felt the same for her as she did for him, faded away with the realisation that she was nothing more than a breeding vessel.

  He would stay at court, she would not see him and he would have his mistresses. All she would have would be memories of a passion so intense she would have killed for one more night with him.

  ***

  Bethany concentrated her thoughts on the scenery as they rode home in the carriage. She had nothing to say to Richard, nothing that would change his mind and make him stay, and there was an awkwardness between them that had never been there before, not even at the very beginning when they were strangers. She did not know where this awkwardness had come from or when it had begun; nothing had been said, but there was a distance now which she knew would be difficult to cross.

  Halfway there, he stopped the coach and got out, finishing the journey on horseback.

  She had forgotten the painting of her predecessor which still leaned against the wall in her bedchamber. It was too late to have it taken away; he had got there first and she entered the chamber to see him staring down at it, as though it were some strange animal which had crept into the house.

  “Well,” he said. “You will want to ask me about her, no doubt.”

  “Yes,” she replied. “She was your wife before me. I do not understand why you told me nothing about her, not even that she ever existed.”

  He turned and looked at her earnestly, as though wondering whether to answer.

  “Because I would rather not have to think about her,” he replied quietly.

  Her heart went out to him. Her guess had been right; he had put her portrait away in the attic because he did not want to be reminded of her.

  “Because you loved her so much?”

  He frowned, then a little mocking grin appeared on his lips.

  “No, my love, because I could not stand the sight of her.” He lay down on the bed and stared up at the ceiling, then held out his hand to her and pulled her down with him. “I was not immune to the schemes of my parents. I was young, the marriage had been arranged since we were children. I don’t think I had met her more than once, but my father assured me she was a good match. I expect her father told her the same thing.”

  She put her hand on his chest to comfort him and he gripped it tightly.

  “You asked me why I applied to you for your hand and not your father,” he went on. “She was the reason. All I wanted was a companion, hopefully a son, but she was terrified of me. If I spoke to her she jumped. Sometimes I would catch sight of her quickly hiding when she saw me coming. There was no talking to her, no finding out what troubled her. I did try, but she refused to speak to me, just sat rigid as though I might do her some harm.”

  He sounded angry as he spoke and she felt his body tensing, wished she had never ventured into the attics.

  “I could not make love to her; she spent the time weeping. I felt rejected, I admit it. It was my first time, or should have been and I thought perhaps it would always be like that.”

  “Should have been?” She asked hesitantly.

  “Yes. It never happened; the marriage was never consummated. She was so frightened I thought she might die of shock and that made me feel inadequate. Another man might have forced her, but I could not do that.” He paused, his mouth turned down in a grimace. “Instead I went and found myself a woman for hire. She was but the first of many, until I realised it was not my fault.”

  “That is why you asked if I knew…”

  “Yes. And I swore if I ever had the chance to marry again, it would be to a woman who wanted me. Rosemary was a child; she should never have married anyone.”

  So this was the reason he had not tried to bed her on their wedding night, that he could not make love to a woman who was crying.

  “Anthony said she died of plague.”

  “She did and it was my fault. I could not stand to have her near me any longer, so I sent her to London to live with my aunt and uncle. Anthony was coming here to learn how a nobleman should live; it seemed a fair exchange. But plague struck and they all died.”

  “Do you feel guilty about that? Is that why you buried her picture beneath a pile of landscapes?”

  He looked puzzled as though he had never considered the matter before.

  “No, sweetheart. I am sorry to disappoint you, but I have never felt guilty. What I felt was that the hand of God played a part in her going there at that time. I felt relieved and I thank Him every day for freeing me from such a burden.”

  She sat up and looked down at him, shocked and not really sure whether this was some new scheme to drive her away. That was certainly what he had seemed to be doing since she had joined him in London.

  “Are you shocked?” He asked. “Well do not be. You want the truth, do you not?”

  “I pity her,” she said softly.

  “So did I. That was one of the reasons I could not bear to be near her. How can you have respect for someone whom you pity?”

  They lay quietly for a long time while she wondered what to say to him. There seemed to be nothing.

  “So you will return to London?” She asked at last. He nodded. “When will I see you again?”

  “I shall be back from time to time. Right now, Mary is still deciding how best to bring England back to the church. She is not keen on taking things slowly, as her advisors would have her do. But she knows that she must be strong and execute Jane Grey and Guildford Dudley, although she is reluctant. There will be plots to put them back on the throne. The Duke’s fate is already sealed.”

  “But Jane Grey is little more than a child. She can have had no real say in what went on.”

  “That is true.” He turned his head to look down at her. “I am not concerned with her fate, but I am concerned with yours. I want you to stay here, at Summerville, no matter what the Queen might want. I do not want to risk your safety by having you at court.” He kissed the top of her head affectionately, as though she were a sister instead of a wife. “I have enemies, Bethany, and they are always looking for an opportunity to bring me down. It is always the way when someone is in favour with the monarch. You cannot pretend; I saw it the first time I met you and I saw it when you met the Queen. God knows, it was one of the things which attracted me to you in the first place. Having you there will destroy me, and ultimately destroy you, too.”

  Did he mean to protect her, she wondered? Or only to protect himself?

  “The Queen has requested that you serve her as a lady in waiting,” he said suddenly. “I cannot allow that.”

  Her heart sank even deeper in the depression she had been feeling. She could not be that close to Mary and he knew it, but would he ever forgive her for that?

  “What will you tell her?” She asked.

  “For now, I shall tell her you are ill. But that cannot suffice indefinitely.”

  She looked up at him, at the worried frown he wore, then she caressed his cheek.

  “She will not expect me at Court if you tell her I am with child,” she said carefully, watching for his reaction. She had not wanted to tell him under these circumstances, but it seemed the only thing she could do to forestall his resentment. His eyes searched hers, as though looking for some sign of deception.

  “Are you? Really?”

  “I think so. I wanted to be sure before I said anything. I did not want to disappoint you.”

  She had expected him to kiss her, to show his joy at this news, but instead he got up from the bed and turned to look down at her suspiciously.

  “I shall be back as soon as I can,” he murmured thoughtfully.

  Her heart hurt with those words, that he was going anyway. She had hoped he
r news might make him stay with her, if only for a few days. She was not sure she would be able to bear it, but she refused to show him how weak and helpless she felt. He had despised Rosemary because she aroused pity in him; she would not have the same felt for her.

  But that closeness between them had vanished and she could not let him go without at least trying to recover it.

  “Will you do something for me before you go?”

  “Of course. Anything.”

  “Will you make love to me? Give me something to live on until I see you again.”

  He sat down beside her on the bed, then took her into his arms.

  “Is it quite safe?” He asked.

  She nodded, not really sure whether it was or not. She had heard it was a sure way to bring on a miscarriage, but she believed that to be a rumour started by the church, who preached that intimacy in marriage was there for the procreation of children and nothing else.

  He started to unfasten her clothing, while his lips travelled down her neck and over her breasts. Then he held her face between his hands and forced her to look up at him. He sighed wistfully.

  “Why did you have to fall in love with me?” He whispered. “I did not want that. Now I fear you will be badly hurt and that was not my plan, not at all.”

  “I will not be hurt if you stay with me, Richard. If you give me a chance to make you love me back.”

  He gently stroked her cheek with his thumb and gave her a warm smile. Then he shook his head slowly; he did not want her to know he already did love her, did not want to return to London without her. She would be far better off not knowing

  CHAPTER FIVE

  It was Christmas before she saw him again and by that time she was getting big with child and felt very unattractive. She had received only a few letters from him but none had spoken of his business in London. There was little to say and it was never wise to put one’s thoughts into writing, lest they fall into the wrong hands.