What a circumstance under which to meet one’s father for the very first time!
Chapter Thirty-Five
“You, sir. Unhand my daughter!”
Robert refused to move. “Calm yourself, Sir Mortimer. This is no place for a skirmish.”
“Indeed, Mortimer. I brought you here to meet Chloe, not to meddle in her affairs or insult her suitor. What right have you to be angry, in any case? You have never publicly acknowledged her. Fie! You’ve become even more of a hypocrite in your old age.”
Robert allowed his shoulders to relax a little. It looked as if he might have an ally in Mistress Dela Riviere. And, by the rood, he needed one!
“God give you good day, sir.” Chloe stepped out from behind Robert’s back and made Sir Mortimer Fowler a formal curtsey. “I see you’ve finally sought me out. My apologies—I had meant it to be the other way around.”
Robert could see the slight tremble in Chloe’s fingers and loved her for her courage. Sir Mortimer wasn’t an easy man to stand up to.
“Saucy wench. You meant to seek me out, against the wishes of your aunt and uncle?”
“I did, sir. The plain fact of the matter is that Uncle Matthew tried to arrange a match for me that I simply couldn’t accept.”
Sir Mortimer turned an inimical eye on her. Robert put his arm around her waist and stared the man down. He was uncomfortably aware he’d left his sword belt in the hall below—also that Chloe’s father still carried his own weapon. What was Whiteley thinking of, letting an armed man come up here? Wasn’t he supposed to have been guarding the stairs against all invaders?
Sir Mortimer’s face reddened. “Ah, yes. Indeed. Matthew and I were in error there, confound it. Lord Brooke had us all fooled.”
“Not me,” Chloe stated.
“Nor me,” echoed her mother.
Robert fought the urge to smile. Neither of these women was afraid of the blustering gentleman. Nor, he discovered, was he. He knew he had Chloe’s heart, and that knowledge buoyed him up more than anything else could have done. He’d face a fire-breathing dragon if it meant he could have her.
“And thanks in part to Sir Robert, Lord Brooke has been brought down.” Chloe’s mother looked smug.
“What do you know of this, Woman? Are all the nation’s affairs laid bare? I shall have to speak to Walsingham about this.”
“Sir Francis sent me a note to say they’d captured their man, partly thanks to Sir Robert. I was going to tell everyone about it when we arrived, but nay—you had no patience. No sooner did you recognize the gentleman at the foot of the stairs, than you must go off like a powder keg.”
For a moment, the man looked nonplussed. Then the frown returned. “I knew that if that miscreant Whiteley was lurking here, Sir Robert wouldn’t be far away. Rascals and rakes, the pair of them.”
There was a movement beyond the doorway. Whiteley stood behind Sir Mortimer’s back, Robert’s sword in his hand and his eyebrows raised in question.
Robert gave a subtle shake of his head. It wouldn’t do to fight Chloe’s father. He needed the man on his side.
“Sir, may I remind you of our agreement?”
“Which one? The one where I beat you fair and square at the gaming table and generously allowed you to pay what you owed in installments?”
Robert felt his face heat. “Nay. The one where you said you’d cancel all debt if I delivered Lord Brooke to Sir Francis. It would seem I’ve fulfilled my part of the bargain.”
“Aye.” Dela nodded gleefully. “Walsingham’s note said the man Sir Robert captured yesterday, the one with the torn ear, was happy to reveal all he knew about Lord Brooke. Give Sir Robert his due, sir—he’s been heroic and courageous. And saved your own daughter’s life. ’Tis time you did the honorable thing for a change. You preferred to let your child be born a bastard all those years ago. Now you are old enough to know better.”
Robert cleared his throat. “Your support is most welcome, Mistress Riviere, but I fear you are embarrassing your daughter.”
Dela held his gaze. “Sir—you’ve been to my establishment in Southampton and know what I am. I have given up all falsehood and shame, and speak as I find. Chloe, I’m sure, understands that.”
Before Robert could respond, Sir Mortimer took a menacing step closer. “There are too many women involved in this discussion. Let us leave them to it, sir, and take this battle below.”
“I have no wish to fight with you, Sir Mortimer, as I have every intention of wedding Chloe. If you choose to recognize her as your daughter, you will become as my father, so it wouldn’t be fitting.”
“Not fitting? What about honor, sir? Should not that be satisfied?”
Dela laid a hand on her former lover’s arm. “You speak of honor again, yet where was honor when you left me with child? For Chloe’s sake, I’ve kept quiet all these years, but I may choose to hold my tongue no longer. Whether or not you’re aware of it, I have many important gentlemen passing through my doors on their way to or from the town quay at Southampton. Some of them are as interested in the gossip as they are in the women. Some, in fact, like Robert here, come only to collect tittle-tattle and play at cards or dice. Your name, Mortimer, would be blackened in less time than it takes to peel an onion. I would, of course, embroider the tale to make sure of it.”
“Blackmail, is it?” Sir Mortimer turned his attention to Dela. “So, this is how you exact your revenge.”
Robert gave Chloe’s waist a squeeze. She glanced up at him, and there was a light in her eyes that told him she was thoroughly enjoying the exchange between her estranged parents. As an introduction to the father she’d never met, though, it somewhat lacked affection. He gave his beloved his best smile and enjoyed the way her cheeks flushed in response.
Dela had placed her hands on her hips. “This is not revenge, Mortimer. I, too, bear the guilt of not having done enough for Chloe, but—”
“I’ve played my part, Woman!” Sir Mortimer seemed to have lost all interest in his daughter and Robert and was fully engaged in battling Dela. “Haven’t I been sending money for her keep to Matthew Emmerson? Aye, you may well look astounded. Your precious sister won’t have told you that, will she?”
Chloe gasped. Robert decided she’d had one too many revelations.
“Enough!” His command silenced the combatants. “You’re achieving nothing here. If you have old scores to settle, pray, do so in private. Sir Mortimer—the field is ranged against you. I shall, in due course, wed Chloe. I doubt you can stop this without drawing attention to your own base behavior.”
He took Chloe by the elbow. “Come, my love—let us release the patient Master Whiteley from his duties, then take a stroll around the garden while we make our plans. You and I will speak later, Sir Mortimer, in private. I’ll send you a messenger to inform you when I’m available.”
He gave a sign to Whiteley, who immediately stepped between Chloe’s father and Dela to hand him his blade and sword belt. He buckled them on, then stared at his future father-in-law.
After the briefest of pauses, during which Sir Mortimer appeared to be taking his measure, the man stepped aside, and Robert led Chloe from the room. As they descended the stairs in Whiteley’s wake, the door of Chloe’s bedchamber slammed shut on the sound of a renewed argument.
Whiteley took his leave, and stepped onto the street just as Master and Mistress Emmerson arrived at the front door. They nodded at him, surprised, then stepped into the passageway and spotted Chloe and Robert. Robert bowed politely, then smiled to himself as both newcomers looked upward. The noise of the battle royal being fought between Chloe’s parents could be heard issuing through the oak floorboards.
Robert turned to Master Emmerson. “Your visitor is Sir Mortimer Fowler. He’s currently in dispute with Mistress Riviere. With your permission, your ward and I will take a little walk in your garden.”
“I wouldn’t go up until things have quietened down,” Chloe advised, taking Robert’s arm and leading him
toward the back of the house.
Her aunt gaped at Chloe. “Have we missed something?”
Robert fought the urge to smirk. They’d missed more than he would ever be prepared to tell them. The memory of what had passed between him and Chloe in that bedchamber made him incandescent with joy. He was going to marry her, and no power on earth would stop him from having her and loving her.
She took him past the kitchen and pantry to the rear door, which opened onto the Emmersons’ neat alignment of flower beds and vegetable plots. The air was chill, but the morning’s frost had melted, bedecking the leaves with diamond drops that reflected the crisp autumn sunlight. He took Chloe in his arms and gazed down at her beloved, beautiful face.
“Who do you think will win that battle, my love?”
She dimpled up at him. “I rather think my mother will. She has had a far harder life than Sir Mortimer and has fought every step of the way. She won’t give up easily.”
“And nor shall we, my darling—nor shall we.”
He opened his heart fully then and made Mistress Chloe Emmerson the gift of it, determined never to doubt her again. She was his angel, his goddess, his queen—a prize beyond his wildest imaginings, and he would cherish her to the end of his days.
He held her close, and kissed her beneath the golden October sun, and knew he needed nothing more in his life but her, his sweet, desirable, courageous Chloe.
And from the ardor with which she responded, he knew that she loved him back and that nothing would ever interfere with their happiness again.
Epilogue
A Christmas wedding was very different from a summer one, and not just because of the cold weather. Chloe felt that the season exuded its own special magic and that her union with Robert was truly blessed. The formal part of the ceremony over, her new husband took her gloved hand in his as they left the church porch. Children from the village and the manor skipped and frolicked in front of them as they processed away from the church and along the muddy lane, excited at the prospect of good food and gifts from the newlyweds.
The adult guests followed close on their heels. Some had partaken of mulled liquor already to keep themselves warm throughout the service. Happily full of lambswool and spiced wine, these merrymakers were producing enough noise to wake the dead of the entire parish.
Chloe smiled up at Robert. Her heart was full of joy, despite the tears that continually threatened to spill.
He returned her look with a beam of pleasure. “It was a long sermon. Mayhap we should trot along, Wife, lest we catch a chill.”
“Surely you jest, Husband? If I run in my pattens, I’ll break an ankle. Perchance both of them.”
“I could lift you and run with you. That would warm us.”
“Nay.” She shot him a sideways glance. “I need you to save your energy for the marriage bed.”
His mouth drooped. “But that is hours hence, and there is much feasting, carousing, and dancing to be endured before the appointed hour.” He grinned suddenly and gave her a look that made her quiver in anticipation. “Be not afeared, Wife. I will be able to stay the pace.”
“Mayhap you won’t have to wait that long. It’ll be dark by five. We could slip away and avoid all the embarrassment.” Chloe wasn’t looking forward to people crowding around them and singing rude songs as they headed for the traditional bedding of the bride. She wanted privacy, and she didn’t want Robert to have to rush.
“Regrettably, we must put our desires aside and let our guests hold sway, my love. But mayhap we can escape partway through the celebrations for a short walk around the manor. I can show you the home farm, and the horses, and we can see if the ice on the duckpond needs breaking.”
Chloe squeezed his hand. Robert was justly proud of Blacklands, his manor in Berkshire. It was set amidst gently rolling hills, boasted the ruins of a Norman castle, and was fully tenanted. The house itself required repairs, particularly the roof, where many tiles had cracked or spalled. It was most fortunate that Chloe’s mother had persuaded Sir Mortimer to not only cancel Robert’s debt but to provide Chloe with a substantial dowry. It meant the house could now be put to rights.
“A perambulation of your manor would be welcome—we may need to walk off the wedding feast in any case. Our guests have been generosity itself—I still can’t believe my father sent us a peacock. What a centerpiece it will make!”
“Your mother’s gilded apples have captured the imagination, as have her oranges. ’Tis a shame your father deigned to come—I would have enjoyed watching her punish him some more.”
Chloe pulled her fur partlet more tightly around her neck. Privately, she was grateful her father had remained in London and not come to the festivities. Despite his recent generosity, he’d decided not to publicly recognize her as his daughter. She didn’t mind this at all—Uncle Matthew was more deserving of that accolade, for he had raised her from a small girl. Nay, Sir Mortimer Fowler was as bad-tempered as his name suggested, and despite their shared blood, she couldn’t love him as a daughter ought. She now had Robert’s protection so had no expectation of needing her father.
“Aye, my mother does seem to have gone for every spherical fruit that can be had at this time of year. I’m glad she made no blancmange for us, for that would doubtless have been shaped like a pair of dugs and topped with sugared cherries.”
Robert threw his head back and laughed. “Mistress Riviere of the Bawdy House will never change, I fear. I hope you’re not too ashamed to have her as kin?”
“She will behave if I speak firmly to her. She understands enough about propriety not to make me a laughingstock. And after today, she’ll return to Southampton. We’ll see her only when she comes to us rather than vice versa. As she said—she’d rather not mix business with pleasure, which is ironic considering her business is pleasure.”
They’d reached the courtyard of the manor house now and were walking on cobbles rather than the rutted road. Chloe paused in the porch to lean on her husband while she removed her muddied pattens. Their youthful escort quieted and stood off to one side, gazing solemnly at the newly-wedded pair.
“I’ll carry you across the yard so you don’t soil your shoes.”
A cheer erupted as Robert hefted Chloe into his arms and marched into the house with her. He carried her all the way through the great medieval hall around which the modern manor had been built. The place was decked with evergreens, and sweet herbs burned in the huge fireplace. As soon as the couple appeared, musicians struck up a cheerful tune.
Chloe took her place at the top table and exchanged nods and smiles with their guests. Master Whiteley joined them, as did her mother, the parson who’d conducted the service and, of course, Uncle Matthew and Aunt Philippa. Sitting at lower board, at the far end of the hall were, amongst the tenants and servants, Master and Goodwife Hazelthwaite from the White Hart. They’d traveled all the way up from Hampshire and were staying at the village inn, along with very self-important Sim.
Dela leaned across and patted Chloe’s hand. “Did I not say all would turn out well? A daughter should always trust her mother’s words.”
Chloe raised an eyebrow. “In this instance, aye, you have proved to be right. But largely because you bullied poor Sir Mortimer.”
“No more than he deserved, as well you know. Imagine forcing your charming husband to tear all around the country and risk his life because of a gambling debt! Deplorable worm. Although, I suppose I shouldn’t speak ill of your father at your wedding.”
Chloe relented. “I’m only teasing you, my Lady Mother. I’m truly grateful for all you have done on my behalf.” She lowered her voice. “Your scheme to make Robert jealous was particularly successful.”
Dela chuckled. “I can tell by the pink of your cheeks that it was. And in very truth, I was glad of the chance to see Mortimer again. He needed to be put in his place, and I thoroughly enjoyed doing so. Now, by contrast, what a magnificent fellow that Sir Francis Walsingham is!”
Walsi
ngham, though he had wished Chloe and Robert well, had found it needful to remain in London. He had, to Chloe’s relief, released Robert from his service, claiming that now Robert was married, he had a duty to his wife to keep his skin whole. Fearing that Robert might miss the excitement of being an undercover warrior for his queen, Chloe had made a bargain with Sir Francis. Robert would be called upon if any local plots or unrest were suspected—but he’d gather information only, not enter into any fights. She vowed she would hold him to that.
Chloe wondered why her mother’s eyes were shining. “I don’t know that I’d call him magnificent, but he’s a fine fellow, and a fair one. So long as one remains on the right side of him.”
“Ah, well, there you have it.” Her mother tapped the side of her nose conspiratorially. “Pray, keep this to yourself, but I can tell you that although Walsingham has lost one of his agents—Robert Mallory—he’s gained another. Can you guess who that might be?”
Her mother’s excitement was so obvious, there was no need to guess. “Oh, Mother, surely you haven’t allowed yourself to get tangled up in his schemes?”
“Oh, it’s nothing dangerous. But I was much taken with the clever gentleman when we met him at Whitehall Palace. There’s great advantage to be had from aiding him, you know—if there’s anyone in the realm who could help one out of a tight spot, that man is Walsingham. My girls are party to many secrets that men in their cups, or in the throes of passion, accidentally let slip. The queen’s spymaster will pay me handsomely for useful information. What say you to that?”
“I don’t know if that knowledge will make me worry about you more, or worry about you less. Just be careful. You have seen how dangerous a game spying can be.”
“I’ll be careful. I’ve weathered many stormy waters and always come safe to shore. I am glad you care about my wellbeing. I’m not certain I deserve it.”
Fearing her mother was about to become maudlin, Chloe called for wine and filled Dela’s cup to the brim, before kissing her cheek. “Of course, I care. Now that I know you, how could I not?”
Lord of Mistrust (Trysts and Treachery Book 4) Page 20
