Letter Of Love

by Virginia Henley

  Chapter Four

  The next morning as the wardrobe mistress fitted her with a gown for her wedding, the tale was still with Burgundy. It had caught her imagination, filled her senses, and touched her heart.

  Womanlike, she stroked the heavy satin of the dress, delighting in the crystals scattered across the square-necked bodice. It was such a beautiful wedding gown, she decided not to waste it, but would wear it when she wed Anthony. Of course no one would see it save the bridegroom, but that would be enough. Burgundy hugged her secret to herself, silently counting the days that remained until Saturday.

  Phrases from the ancient book floated through her mind as she went about her daily routine, and she found she had memorized the letter. On her deathbed, her mother had written to the queen, begging her to educate Burgundy. And Elizabeth had given her the finest education in the world. For the first time she appreciated the queen's generosity. Without it, her life would have been unendurable.

  A page brought Burgundy a note from Nicholas Mountjoy, asking her to ride out with him in the afternoon. She sent a gracious reply, accepting the invitation.

  The first frost made the ground hard beneath her palfrey's hooves as she trotted from the stables beside the earl. Her habit was peacock velvet; her gloves and feathered hat matched perfectly. She realized they had been presents from the queen.

  Mountjoy's dark eyes licked over her like a candle flame. He was in a black doublet and high black boots today, and his short black cape, lined with crimson, made him look as dangerous as Lucifer.

  "The ceremony is arranged for Sunday in the chapel, an' it please you, Burgundy." His voice was as smooth as the black velvet he wore.

  "Is that as close as you can come to a proposal, my lord?" she asked, playing a game of cat and mouse.

  "You want a proposal? Then how's this? I propose you deal honestly with me. I propose you play me no tricks. I propose you make me a dutiful wife, and in return I promise to make you the best damned husband in the realm!"

  Burgundy's guilt made her blush. He spoke as if he knew her secret, but that was impossible, unless he were in league with the Devil. She cast him a pretty, sideways glance to divert him. "What do you mean by dutiful, my lord?"

  "The qualities I demand in a wife are chastity, loyalty, honor... I would add obedience, but I fear that is asking the impossible of you," he said with a wicked glint in his eye.

  "You are most perceptive, Lord Mountjoy."

  "Call me Nicholas." It sounded like an order. An order she would ignore.

  "What else do you deem dutiful?"

  "You will have to leave Court. I must return to Ireland almost immediately. The day after the wedding, we leave for Dunster Castle."

  "Dunster is in Devon," she said, startled.

  "Certes it is. I am the Earl of Devon."

  "As if you'd let me forget," she mocked. Silently she thought, The damned knave would pack me off to Dunster, alone all winter, while he's off playing war! "Surely you would allow your wife to stay at Court for the Christmas festivities?"

  "Absolutely not. The Court's festivities are designed for flirtation and intrigue. You will await my return at Dunster. Your grandparents are less than twenty miles away in Lynton."

  She almost gasped. He expected her to visit her grandparents. "They want naught to do with me."

  "Strange, then, that they entrusted me with this letter." He took the sealed packet from his doublet and handed it to her.

  Burgundy drew rein while she broke the seal and scanned the lines:

  Dearest Burgundy,

  We are so proud and happy that you are about to become the Countess of Devon. I am sending this letter by Nicholas Mountjoy so that you will receive it. I suspect all the letters I sent through your father never reached you.

  I beg you will come to see me when you arrive in Devon, if you can spare the time. Having you back will ease our heartbreaking loss of Jane.

  Sarah Lynton

  Burgundy tucked the letter in her bosom, her thoughts in disarray. "I'm freezing! I'll race you to yon copse," she challenged, digging in her heels, leaving him standing.

  Nicholas took off after her, determined to win. He knew she would lead him a merry chase if he allowed it, but he made up his mind that he would not. In this marriage, he would lead and she would follow. And by God's wounds, she would learn to love it!

  When a triumphant Nicholas looked over his shoulder to see by how much he had won, he discovered she had cheated him of his victory. She had turned her mount the moment he passed her and headed for the stables.

  "Devious little bitch!" he swore. Then he decided to go about the business as he would a military campaign. Since he had no time to lay siege, he would have to storm her walls. Nicholas Mountjoy was determined to win this battle. She would go down in defeat. He would accept nothing less than unconditional surrender!

  He was after her in a flash. He overtook and captured her in minutes, dismounted and lifted her down in a heartbeat. Then in full view of the leaded windows of Hampton Court Palace, he mastered her with his mouth. When he let her go, she was panting. Fascinated, he watched her breath float from her lips and turn frosty in the freezing air.

  Violet eyes blazing, she lifted her hand to strike him. He seized her hand before it made contact and gave her a small foretaste of his physical strength. When she stilled, fear threatening to replace her anger, Nicholas Mountjoy deliberately stripped the glove from her hand and lifted her palm to his lips. When he traced a pattern upon her flesh with the tip of his tongue, the gesture was so intimate and erotic, Burgundy blushed hotly.

  "Four more days," he murmured.

  Three, she thought silently, wishing Saturday were already here.

  Before he released her captive hand, he said, "Go and pack for Dunster."

  "Yes, I shall pack today," she said breathlessly, then added silently, But I shall pack for Surrey, not Dunster, you arrogant swine!

  And Burgundy did begin to pack.

  "Nan, I should have told you sooner, but you have probably guessed, I don't intend to marry the man Elizabeth has chosen for me, any more than my mother did. Anthony Russell and I are being wed on Saturday."

  Nan did not scold her, but Burgundy could tell that the news saddened her. All she said was, "Jane came to regret her decision deeply."

  "Nan, I'm in love! We're going to live in the country, in Surrey. You will come with me, won't you?"

  "Of course I will, my lamb."

  When Burgundy undressed, the letter from her grandmother fell to the carpet. She called to Nan, "I forgot to tell you; I received a letter from Sarah Lynton today."

  Nan asked stiffly, "After all this time, what did she have to say?"

  "She said she had written before, but suspected my father destroyed her letters."

  Nan sagged visibly. "Ah, God, I wondered why she never tried to contact Jane. Sarah Lynton was a good woman. Perhaps she did write, but your mother never received the letters."

  "Why would my father destroy them?" Burgundy demanded.

  "Ah, child, you have no idea the bitterness that dishonorable union caused."

  There it was again. It seemed everyone spoke of honor and dishonor. Burgundy retired, but when she was in bed, she took up the book once more. Its lure was irresistible. Now that she examined it more closely, she saw that most of the women whose hands it had passed through had added inscriptions to the book. Some had lost love, but those who had striven against all odds with honor had found their soul mates. Some of the descriptions of love were rapturous. The last words she read before she slept were, "With Honor Comes Glory."

  The next two days were reflective ones for Burgundy, as she considered carefully the step she was about to take. When finally she examined her conscience, she was troubled to realize it was not clear. Again and again she went over the reasons for making the choice she had, until it came to her that the sticking point was the word "honor." She wavered, first leaning one way and then the other. When Saturday d
awned, she decided she would compromise her honor for love's sake.

  She donned the lovely wedding gown, then carefully concealed it beneath her best velvet cloak. Resolutely, the faithful Nan wrapped herself up warmly and followed her charge down to the water-stairs. Each carried a small trunk with the personal belongings she would need until the rest of their luggage could be sent for.

  When they arrived at the London townhouse, Anthony Russell was there before her. His face looked pinched; Burgundy had no idea how long he had waited in the freezing cold.

  "Oh, Anthony, come upstairs and get warm. My own hands are like ice."

  "Just for a minute then. It won't matter if we are a bit late. I'll just slip the priest an extra five pounds."

  His words jarred Burgundy's nerves. It secretly appalled her that a man of God could be bribed.

  Nan bustled off to see to some hot tea, leaving the young couple so they could be private.

  Burgundy turned from the fire to face Anthony and said the strangest thing. "I cannot marry you."

  "What did you say?"

  "I'm sorry if I hurt you, Anthony, but I cannot marry you."

  "Why not?" he demanded.

  "I don't know. I only know I cannot do this thing," she said wretchedly.

  Russell laughed cynically. "Shall I tell you why? You have decided to go to the highest bidder! A title and a castle are too tempting to refuse."

  "My God, that's not the reason!" she cried out, appalled at his accusation.

  "Then answer me this: Are you in love with Nicholas Mountjoy?"

  "No! I don't even like him!"

  "Then if you are not marrying for love, it must be for money."

  "That's not true, Tony. I'm doing it for honor's sake."

  He laughed. The sound wasn't pleasant. "If this is some misguided attempt to right the wrong your mother committed, you are sacrificing yourself for a hopeless cause. Grow up, Burgundy. There is no such thing as honor!"