He gathered his cloak about his shoulders, picked up his gloves and left the house. He did not stop for more clothing; there was still clothing in Surrey if he needed it, if she allowed him to stay that long.
The journey was not a long one and he stopped for nothing, but the whole time he rode he could not get the memory of little Alicia Summerville’s funeral out of his thoughts. He could not stop thinking how his friend had reconciled with his wife over his daughter’s deathbed.
Was that the sacrifice they would have to make? Was it going to take the death of his own child before his wife would turn to him again, before he held her in his arms? He shook his head and muttered a silent prayer.
***
The sky was darkening when he arrived at Kennington House, the window flickering with candles and Adrian could make out the glow of the fire in the great hall and the sitting room. There was a chill in the air which promised snow and he was thankful he had made the journey before it began.
He dismounted and tossed the reins to a stable hand, then ran into the house. At first there seemed to be no one about, then he heard his name and turned to see Frances standing in the entrance to the great hall.
She ran to him, gave him a quick hug and they heard a gasp. He looked up to face his mother’s disapproving scowl.
“My son,” he said hurriedly. “My wife, where are they?”
“Elizabeth has not left the boy’s side since he fell ill,” Frances replied. “They are upstairs in the nursery.”
He took the stairs three at a time, opened the heavy oak door to the nursery, unfastening his cloak as he went. He stood in the doorway for a moment and Elizabeth turned to look at him, those sad eyes even sadder and his heart jumped.
“Adrian,” she cried and she ran to him, her arms wrapping themselves around him, her face buried against his chest for the first time since the day he had betrayed her. He held her close, kissed her face.
“How is he? Is he any better?”
He asked the question while the face of Lady Alicia Summerville hovered before his eyes, the portrait of the child which hung in Richard’s apartments in the palace. Suddenly, he was afraid of the answer.
“Is it the smallpox?” He asked fearfully.
Elizabeth pulled away slightly and her eyes met his.
“No,” she said. “What makes you think so?”
“Richard’s daughter died of it recently.”
“That is tragic, but no. The physician does not know what it is, but the fever broke this afternoon and now he thinks he will recover.”
Adrian was so relieved he forgot she told him to stay away, that she never wanted to see him again. Impulsively, he pulled her into his arms and kissed her lips and felt a thrill of delight when she returned his kiss.
His arm about her shoulders, they moved to the bed where the little boy lie sleeping, his fever gone, his breathing even.
“You need not have come,” she said. “But I did need you when I sent the nurse with Elise.”
She needed him then, but not now?
“And you no longer need me?” He asked.
“I thought you might want to return to London, to her.”
Adrian made sure the child was sleeping soundly, then he led Elizabeth out of the nursery and along the gallery to her own bedchamber.
“Something has puzzled me,” Adrian said. “Why did you accept Frances being here so easily, but would not believe me about Marianne?”
“Frances was never a secret,” she answered. “That is what hurt most, that you had all those love letters from someone I knew nothing about.”
“Forgive me. I should have realised; I will destroy them.”
“You are too late,” she said. “I burnt them myself, fed them to the flames and pretended I was feeding her as well. I felt ashamed of that, because of all those poor martyrs going to the flames, but I could not help it.”
“I have missed you so much,” he asked. “Have you missed me at all?”
“What would you have me say? Am I to beg your attention when you would prefer to bestow it elsewhere?”
“Elizabeth, I will say it again. I made a mistake; I allowed myself to be tempted and I betrayed you because of it. It has been torture living without you, wondering how to make you forgive me.”
“Is that true?” She asked. “Do you swear to me it was but once, that you have been faithful to me since?”
“I do. I love you so much; Queen Mary drove us apart and my own weakness kept us that way. Both are gone now. Can we please put it behind us?”
“It is still your house,” she said. “If you want to live in it, I cannot stop you.”
He sensed she had more to say, but pride was getting in her way. He could hardly blame her for that.
“Will you stop me if I want to return to your bed as well?”
“Do you?”
“If you want me to. Not otherwise.”
She took his hand and led him to the bed where she turned her back and he unlaced her bodice, slipped the cloth from her shoulders and allowed it to drop to the floor. He turned her to face him, kissed her deeply as he untied her kirtle and petticoat and held her close to him.
“Do you still love me?” He asked.
“I never stopped loving you. I am sorry I was so frightened when you went to work for the Queen; I drove you into that woman’s arms and I shall always regret it.”
He pushed her down onto the bed and lie beside her.
“We have a future to rebuild,” he said softly. “We have each other again and that is the only thing that matters.”
THE END
THE HERETICS
HOLY POISON
Book Five
THE HERETICS
By
Margaret Brazear
Copyright © Margaret Brazear 2015
The Final Confession of Lord Richard Summerville is not available to the general public. Find out how you can have access to this hidden document
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CHAPTER ONE
Julia sat in the bed, her pale blonde hair newly brushed and shining, her blue silk shift unfastened at the breast, her flesh smelling sweetly of the rose petals the maids had soaked into her bath. The fine, pale skin on her arms was marred with goosebumps although it was not cold. It was nervousness making the flesh stand up in tiny pimples, making her stomach quiver. This was her wedding night and she sat alone awaiting the bridegroom with whom she had exchanged not a word outside the marriage ceremony through which they had stood that afternoon.
They had danced to the minstrels’ music after the wedding feast but that was all the contact they had shared. Sir Geoffrey’s countenance was stern and he had not given her a smile of welcome; the one person who was smiling and congratulating himself was her father. He was delighted that one of his daughters was now entitled to be called ‘My Lady’.
It seemed like hours since the maids left. Obviously her new husband was in no hurry to make her his wife; perhaps he was having too much fun with his friends in the great hall. She could still hear the music and laughter coming from the ground floor and she wondered how long it would continue before he grew bored and came to her bedchamber.
She was Lady Winterton now, just as her father wanted. He had searched for many months for an impoverished nobleman who would make her a lady in exchange for a generous dowry. Julia had no say in the chosen one, what manner of man he would be or whether she would even like him. That was the way of things and Sir Geoffrey Winterton had been the highest title to which her father could aspire. Just a man who had been knighted by the late King Henry for his service in battle, along with many others. Still it made her a lady and gave her access to the court, if her husband so desired.
Julia herself thought nothing of titles, or even much of wealth. She had never been without wealth, so she could hardly speak on that score, but the title was of no importance whatsoever. She was not like her younger sister in that respect; Bethany wanted a title and
wealth, but she also wanted a man she could look up to and respect, just as Julia did. That was not too much to ask, was it? She hoped she could find those qualities in her husband.
She sighed heavily. Where was he? Why did he keep her waiting so long? It was insulting. She lie down and thought about the events of the day. First there had been the wedding service, a beautiful service written by Archbishop Thomas Cranmer himself. She had taken vows, so had Sir Geoffrey, and those vows had been dear to her. Her sister had come and wished her well, but Julia sensed she had her misgivings. Julia also had those misgivings, but she hoped she was wrong. Like most young maidens, she had read the romances and dreamed of a husband who would love her.
Eventually she fell asleep, still waiting for her bridegroom to join her, to complete the marriage. She awoke some hours later to feel hands, wet with sweat, touching her thighs, pushing up her shift, and she gasped in shock. In her deep slumber, she forgot for a moment that she was not at home in her own maidenly bedchamber, but was married now. Her eyes opened to nothing but darkness and the smell of wine on a man’s breath.
She could see nothing, but she felt his hands pushing her legs apart, felt him roughly enter her body, felt the sharp pain and the movements of him, then the rapid end to his passion. She felt violated.
This was not what she had expected at all. She could not say what she had expected, as her mother told her nothing except that it would hurt and she told no lie. When he moved away from her, she watched as he swung his legs to the floor and stood up. He left the chamber without saying a word and her eyes filled with tears. Was this how it would be every night? She wondered. If he were going to be tender at all, this would surely be the night to be so; obviously this was indeed how it would be and she had no choice other than to endure such treatment.
She caught back a sob and buried her head in the pillow to weep away the humiliation and disappointment.
She had heard of some men having a ‘reputation with the ladies’ and wondered now what that reputation could be. Surely no woman would willingly give herself up to this unless she absolutely had to.
***
Julia’s wedding night was likely the worst night of her life, but it seemed she was not to suffer such humiliation again. After a week of waiting for her husband to come once more to her bed, she gave up and thanked God for the respite.
She saw him at breakfast every morning, but he said nothing to her except a murmured greeting and a quick bow of his head. Eventually she began to get angry about that. She may not have a title of her own, she may be but a merchant’s daughter, but she was well educated and had been treated with as much respect as a woman could expect before this. She saw no reason why that should end just because she had married this cold man.
She sat at the table, having finished her breakfast and waited for him to finish his before she spoke.
“Sir Geoffrey,” she said. “I am unfamiliar with the customs of married people, but I thought you might have had a little more interest in your wife.”
He was not a particularly attractive man but not hideous either. His skin was clear of blemishes, his hair an indiscriminate brownish colour, his beard the same. He was tall and very thin, which did not seem to be caused by lack of nourishment judging by the amount he ate, and since he had acquired his wife’s fortune his clothing was rich and proved he had good taste in that regard.
Now he raised an eyebrow and his mouth turned down in distaste.
“I am sorry, My Lady,” he answered with a heavy sigh. “I think perhaps we had better understand each other a little better and I have not been kind in keeping my thoughts to myself. I married you for your fortune; you know that so please do not look aghast and hurt.”
His words angered her further, made her feel the need to retaliate.
“Yes, I know that,” she said. “And I was made to marry you for your title, nothing more.”
“Good. Then we have each gained what we wanted.”
“What my father wanted.”
“Ah, yes. You are a mere female and have no opinion.” He sighed heavily. “The fact is, my dear, I have no interest in you or any woman. It was not only your fortune for which I married you, but for appearances also; people were beginning to talk. Now I have a wife, they will hopefully find someone else to gossip about.”
Julia had no idea what he was talking about. Why should people talk? Why should they gossip about him, just because he lived alone and was unmarried? Many men lived in similar circumstances; but perhaps it was different for titled people.
Still, she did not understand why he said he had no interest in her.
“But you came to my bed,” she said.
Again his mouth turned down in distaste.
“I did, although it was not the easiest thing I have ever had to do.”
“Do you think that was enough to get you a son?” She demanded, hoping his answer would be in the affirmative. She did not want to experience that again. “I have been told a virgin cannot conceive the first time.”
“That is of no importance to me,” he answered harshly. “My brother is my heir and he satisfies me on that score.”
“Then why did you make me suffer your disgusting attempt in the marriage bed?”
She could feel her voice rising but could do nothing about it and she saw his face flush with anger.
“Why?” He replied. “Because I did not want you running to the village priest with tales of non-consummation and divorcing me. I did not want you taking back your dowry.”
Julia had nothing to say to that. She had no idea she could divorce him for that; she had no idea she could divorce him at all.
“You should have saved yourself the effort, Sir,” she said bitterly. “My father would have been far more concerned with losing your title than in having to retrieve my dowry. That would be far more important to him than his daughter’s happiness.”
He looked at her and raised an eyebrow.
“You are likely right. He is an obsequious little man, a sycophant of the highest order.”
Julia felt no offence at the slight to her father. In fact she rather agreed with him, but as he said, she was a mere female and had no opinion.
“So that is it?” She finally spoke. “That is our marriage, two separate people living separate lives under the same roof?”
He nodded.
“My Lady, you should be grateful. Your experience should have told you I can never make you happy and you can never give me what I need. I disgust you, I know it. I am used to that. I will give you enough respect, I will keep my friends away from your presence. All you need do is play the loving wife in public and you can live in this house, which is rather lovely I think, and call yourself Lady Winterton.” He got to his feet before he added: “I think that is a fair exchange.”
“Did my mother lie then? When she told me I was beautiful, did she lie?”
He watched her thoughtfully for a moment then gave her a half smile.
“You are very beautiful and I am sure very desirable,” he answered. “But not to me. I regret that, do not think otherwise, but I can do nothing about it.”
“I do not understand.”
He pursed his lips thoughtfully then gave her a wistful smile.
“No, you really do not, do you? Perhaps you would be better remaining in ignorance. Suffice it to say, I will leave you in peace. You can close your pretty eyes and dream of whatever handsome man you want, as long as your dreams take no substance in reality. You can buy beautiful clothes, wear beautiful jewels and ride a beautiful horse. But you will be my wife in name only. I am sorry; that is the way it is.”
“But I am not to take a lover?” She demanded as he turned to go. “If you do not want me, why should you care?”
He turned back and stood beside the table, close to her so she had to bend her head back to see his face.
“I married you to still gossiping tongues. Your loyalty is required to maintain that image and I will have that loyalty, mak
e no mistake.”
He turned back to the door and strode away, while she watched him go and swallowed back yet another tear. As she thought about it, she wondered if she would be better off. She would never know love, but she would have her life to herself. It was the best of a bad bargain, but how could she live with a man who had no interest in her? And why did he have no interest in her? He was right – she did not understand and was not sure she ever wanted to.
CHAPTER TWO
Winterton House was, as its owner had said, beautiful. It was by no means the largest house she had lived in, certainly not as large as her father’s country manor or even his London residence, but it was a reasonable size and since there would be only the two of them, it would suit. There would be no need to add extra rooms for a nursery, extra apartments for nurses and nursery maids. No need for a ballroom to provide a court when the children grew up and marriages needed to be arranged.
Perhaps that was for the best. Julia wondered how she would feel about that, if she should ever have a daughter, considering her present unhappy state. Still, she had always wanted to have children. She believed she would make a good mother.
She gathered her cloak about her as she looked up at the house. Autumn was coming; she wondered what sort of Christmas Sir Geoffrey would keep at his manor house; would that be one of the occasions she was to play the loving wife? How would that play out? With guests staying they might expect Sir Geoffrey and Lady Winterton to share a bedchamber. The notion brought with it a shudder of distaste.
The chill in the air made Julia want to make the most of these last summer days and explore the grounds and surrounding areas. She had little else to do.
The house stood alone in the centre of formal gardens with flowers and shrubs, yew hedges and cut grass. It would be lovely in the summer, a lovely place to sit and read or merely to think.
HOLY POISON: Boxed Set: The Complete Series 1-6 Page 64
