A Woman of Passion (10 page)

She saw their pitying, skeptical looks. “I shall write to him immediately,” she vowed desperately.

Marcella felt torn in half at Bess's desperation. She wished with all her heart that another way could be found to aid her sister and her husband. Marcella touched Elizabeth's arm, and they withdrew to a corner of the kitchen for a hurried consultation. Then her aunt
came to Bess and put a comforting arm about her shoulders. “Write your letter, child. I hope and pray you get the answer you are wishing for. If your knight in shining armor comes to your rescue, or sends a written proposal offering for you, your parents will consider him. But he'd better hurry up,” she admonished gently. “Time is running out for the Barlows and for us.”

W
illiam Cavendish knew he had done an exemplary job in Dover. He had curbed his impatience to return to London, firmly setting duty before pleasure, because of his driving ambition. Upon his return he went immediately to Court to make his report to Treasurer Paulet and learned that his ambition had served him well.

“I have good news for you, Cavendish. King Henry is most satisfied with the work you have done at the monasteries. He has you in mind for another such post and asked to speak with you the moment you returned.”

Paulet hinted at preferment of some sort, and William was flattered and eager for an audience with the king. William did not take time to change his clothes but went directly to the Presence Chamber, where after a short wait he was ushered into the king's Privy Chamber.

He could smell Henry's ulcerated leg the moment he entered the room, in spite of the perfumed royal body, and put aside his concern for his own travel stains.

“Cavendish!” Henry beamed graciously. “We are not
unmindful of the competent job you have done month after month.”

Cavendish bowed, also with grace. “Your Majesty, I thank you.”

“We have need of your services, further afield. The post we have in mind will be a shade more difficult perhaps, but we feel you have the qualities necessary to bring all to completion.”

“Your Majesty, I will do my utmost to see that it is so.” William knew the qualities Henry spoke of were energy and a certain ruthlessness.

Henry's small eyes seemed to diminish to pinholes in his fleshy face, and William held his breath as he wondered what the devil was coming.

“Ireland!” Henry spat.

Cavendish let out his breath.
Christ Almighty, I will need to be a magician to deal with the bloody Irish monasteries!
But nevertheless he was highly flattered that the king thought him capable of such a task. “Ireland,” William repeated. “As you say, Your Majesty, a shade more difficult, but I relish a challenge.”

“Just so, man, just so! And we will not be ungrateful in this matter. You will be amply rewarded for any results.”

Henry, truer words were never uttered!

As the king approached to take his hand, Cavendish pinched his nostrils and held his breath. Then he kissed Henry's rings.

“Thank you, Sire, you do me great honor.”

Before Cavendish went to his own residence, he stopped off at Suffolk House to share his news with his friend, Henry Grey.

“I don't know whether to congratulate you or commiserate
with you,” Henry said wryly. “There are some bloody religious fanatics in Ireland, old man.”

William laughed. “The Irish are all fanatics, religious or otherwise, and since half the English orders I've dealt with were overrun with Irish monks and nuns, I don't believe I'll encounter anything I can't handle.”

“Well, better you than me. When do you go?”

“Immediately. Paulet says I'll be gone at least a year, perhaps two.”

“Two years in Ireland? That's a bloody life sentence! Let's hope there's a title in this for you.”

“My thoughts exactly.”

“Well, come to us before you leave. Frances will be beside herself.”

“Who's taking my name in vain?” Frances asked, sweeping into the salon. “If you are going to be made
Sir
William Cavendish, I'd better work on Henry to elevate me from a marquess to a duchess,” Frances drawled.

“She listens at keyholes,” Henry explained.

“He's telling the truth, that's how I knew it was you, Rogue. I have a letter for you.” She pulled the envelope from her ample bosom and handed it to him. “It's from your ravishing redhead, darling; obviously she missed you sorely.”

William took the letter and frowned when he noted it was postmarked Derbyshire. He felt annoyance that Bess had run home. He'd fully expected her to be here awaiting his return. Disappointment washed over him. “Thank you, Frances. I'm going to miss you both.”

“Not half so much as I shall miss you, Rogue,” Frances said, sighing heavily. “Who's going to keep my husband occupied while I go about my indiscretions?”

William clipped her close and bade them good-bye,
promising to spend an evening with them before he departed for Ireland.

The envelope inside his doublet was burning a hole in his chest. When he arrived home he handed his horse to a groom and, before he left the stable, opened Bess's letter.

One sentence jumped out at him from the page:

William, I am determined to wed none but you!

God's death, how could she possibly be that innocent? Cavendish had taken it for granted that Bess knew he was already married. She was begging him for help, and a protective urge rose up in him. Perhaps he could take her to Ireland with him. He stuffed the letter back inside his
doublet. He had other pressing matters to attend to, and it would be later in the day before he could pen a reply.

The moment Cavendish opened the front door, his daughter, Catherine, was there to greet him warmly.

“Cathy, how are you, my sweetheart?” He swung her into the air in a huge bear hug.

“I'm well, Father, but Eliza has been poorly again.”

“Don't be sad, sweetheart; Eliza won't change. I know she isn't robust, but I've come to suspect she rather enjoys her days in bed.”

Twelve-year-old Catherine flushed with relief. “Oh, I felt so guilty because I suspected the same thing.”

William Cavendish found it ironic that he had wed Eliza Parris to care for his motherless daughter, and almost from the beginning she had been the one who demanded care. Cavendish felt no guilt for not dancing attendance on Eliza. It had been a marriage of convenience, and she had never been much of a wife to him. He had provided her with a lovely house and dozens of servants, then looked elsewhere for his pleasure.

James Cromp had brought his luggage home hours ago, and when William entered his bedchamber, James had arranged hot water for his bath and laid out fresh garments.

William set Bess's letter beside his bed, and as he did so a vivid picture of her flashed into his mind. The dark eyes, so direct, her full lips, flaming hair, and luscious breasts formed an image that had been with him the entire time he had been in Dover. He heaved a sigh as he removed his clothes.

William found Eliza in her sitting room wrapped in a lap rug, sipping a tisane of chamomile. “I'm home,” he announced
cheerfully, dismissing the two maids hovering about his wife.

“I couldn't fail to know you were home, William. Your voice is so loud it rattles the dishes, and when you stride about in your riding boots, the floorboards tremble.”

He bit back a caustic remark that she wouldn't have to put up with him much longer and, instead, set his back to the mantel and said, “I have been given a new post by the Crown, Eliza. It necessitates my traveling to Ireland for a year.”

She blinked rapidly as she digested how this would affect her. “I don't mind your going, William, but your daughter, Catherine, is getting to an age where she could become restless and precocious and need watching constantly. The responsibility is too heavy for me in my condition.”

“I have no intention of leaving Cathy here with you.”
I don't want my child stifled, and that's just what she will be if I leave her here, entombed with you.
“Since Catherine is espoused to Lord Cobham's son, I will arrange for her to join his household until she and young Thomas are old enough to be married in more than name.”

“An excellent arrangement. Thank you for your consideration, William. Would you put more coal on the fire before you go?”

William complied, wondering how on earth she could breathe in such suffocating heat.

He dispatched a note to Henry Brooke, Lord Cobham, to arrange a meeting later in the day, then sought out his daughter so they could spend a few hours together.

Cavendish enjoyed himself immensely. He and Cathy
laughed away the afternoon as he indulged her every whim, buying her a harness with silver bells, for her palfrey, and a new fur cloak and hood.

“I would simply love a little neck ruff. Will you buy me one, Father?”

The image of Bess was conjured full blown, and it was brought home to him that Mistress Elizabeth Hardwick was only four years older than his little girl.

Later that night in the seclusion of his bedchamber, he took up his quill to reply to Bess's letter. During the afternoon hours with his daughter, William Cavendish's perspective had altered. It was wrong of him to seduce a girl who was barely sixteen years of age. The kindest thing he could do for Bess was to let her have her honorable marriage.

Bess had been up at the crack of dawn each morning, avidly awaiting the post from London. Her stomach was in knots from apprehension. What if William didn't get her letter? What if he got it but didn't bother to reply? A hundred what-ifs chased each other through her mercurial thoughts as day by day her dread increased.

She had visited the Barlows on two occasions at the urging of her mother, but though Bess was deeply concerned about Rob's health, she couldn't bear to listen to Mistress Barlow urging her to the marriage and issuing veiled threats about having her stepfather imprisoned for debt.

Bess spent time with her sisters and younger half-sisters, though after Lady Zouche's spacious London house, it seemed they were living on top of one another. Ralph Leche and her brother, James, had little farming to
do now that December approached, but they busied themselves going into the forest to cut wood for the fires.

Finally, the long-awaited post arrived. Bess looked down at the envelope bearing William's bold script, and as her heart leapt with joy, she kissed the letter fervently. She ran upstairs and sat on the bed she shared with Jane. Holding her breath, she tore open the envelope and unfolded the letter.

Bess stopped reading as the words swam together.
A wife? No, no, how can that be?
The news stunned her as if she had been given a death blow. Slowly, she read the words again. She was not mistaken.
I thought you knew I already had a wife.
Bess's heart constricted.
No! Noooo!

The letter fluttered to the bed as she wrapped her arms about her body and began to rock back and forth. A deep sorrow engulfed her. Tears she could not stay spilled down her cheeks and dropped upon the parchment. She sobbed on until she was breathless and her bodice was soaked with tears. Sadness seeped along her veins and into her bones. With nerveless fingers she reached for the letter and read further.

The letter slipped from her fingers, and in a trance she went downstairs, walked out the front door, and didn't stop until she came to a sturdy elm tree. Bess wrapped her arms about the smooth gray trunk as if she were willing its strength to enter her body. Then all of a sudden her sorrow turned to anger. She smote the tree with her fists and began to curse.

“Knave, bastard, whoreson … ravisher of virgins! I hate you, Rogue Cavendish! I
hate
you!”

If he had been before her, she would have killed him with her bare hands. She was in such a passionate rage, she wished she were a goddess with a fistful of thunderbolts to hurl.

Inside, they watched through the window, clearly hearing her screaming and cursing. “Can't we help her?” Jane asked in anguish.

Her mother shook her head. “There's nothing we can do until the storm has blown itself out.”

Bess remained outdoors, away from everyone. As dusk began to fall, Jane said, “She'll freeze; she has no cloak.”

Aunt Marcy patted her shoulder. “Bess's blood is too hot to freeze. Her passionate nature will always stand her in good stead. She gets everything out of her system in one fell swoop.”

Bess didn't come inside until it was full dark, then shortly after, she went upstairs to bed. Bess heard Jane come into the room, felt her climb softly into bed beside her, then eventually heard her sister's breathing change as it quieted in sleep. Bess lay for hours, wanting the oblivion of sleep, until finally, sheer exhaustion crept over her.