A Woman of Passion (13 page)

“Mistress Barlow?” he inquired, taking the best chair in the parlor.

Bess replied, “This is Mistress Arthur Barlow, and I am Mistress Robert Barlow.”

Her mother-in-law said sharply, “There is no need for you to be present, Bess. Barlow Manor has nothing to do with you.”

Bess was affronted and took the offensive immediately. “Actually, it has everything to do with me, since it belonged to my husband and my marriage portion entitles me to one third of the income.”

“That is a lie! My son was a minor when he wed you, and my husband died before he could give his consent to the marriage.”

Bess was outraged at the lie. Robert's mother was trying to cheat her of what was legally hers.

“Ladies, ladies, there is no need for unpleasantries. This is simply a formality. Since George Barlow is a minor, the Court will take the Barlow house and lands into wardship until the boy is of age.”

Bess shot to her feet, her eyes blazing. “The
bloody
Court will do no such thing! I have a legal document,
signed by my husband's father
, entitling me to my one-third
bride's portion. I also have my husband's will, leaving the other two thirds of the Barlow farm to a trustee.”

“I know of no such will; where is it?” Mistress Barlow demanded.

“The legal documents are at my mother's home for safekeeping. If you would care to return tomorrow, sir, I will produce them for you. I bid you good day.”

Livid at the younger woman's high-handedness, the man gathered up his papers and departed. The minute the door closed, the two women confronted each other.

“You know damned well the marriage was just a ploy to keep us from losing the farm. I'll
never
let you have a third of the income!”

“You
, madam, own nothing here. Robert suffered your presence here out of the goodness of his heart,” Bess pointed out. “I get one third of the income, and your son, George, owns the rest. Robert appointed my brother-in-law to hold it in trust for George. When I was six years old, I learned that the world owed me nothing and that I would have to stand firmly on my own two feet. Now it is time for you to learn that lesson. I will fight you and I will fight the Court of Wards for what is legally mine. And let me warn you, I will fight with no holds barred and use every means within my power!”

Bess swept upstairs to pack her belongings. When she was done, anger gave her the strength to haul her heavy trunk downstairs. With her head held high, Bess announced regally, “I shall return tomorrow with my legal documents
and
my legal witnesses. Good-bye and good riddance to you, madam.”

Bess felt only relief as she left Barlow Hall. She could no longer tolerate living with Robert's mother, now that he was gone. In her heart London was calling to her once
again, but first she would fight for the monetary compensation to which she was legally entitled.

When Bess arrived at her mother's, all welcomed her with open arms, and since her two sisters were now married, she was given a small bedroom of her own. A message was dispatched to Jane and her husband, Godfrey Boswell, who came immediately.

“What in the world can the woman hope to gain by denying your marriage portion to the official from the Court of Wards?” Bess's mother asked. “Surely she doesn't want the entire farm to be held until young George Barlow is twenty-one?”

Bess's aunt Marcy announced, “I have the answer! I have heard that Mistress Barlow has found herself a man —one who intends to buy George's wardship—and the pair of them are not satisfied with only two thirds.”

Godfrey Boswell spoke up. “Robert's will made me trustee. I am legally in charge of the Barlow farm until George comes of age.”

The following day the entire family accompanied Bess to confront the Court of Wards' official. When he demanded that Bess turn over her legal document concerning her marriage portion along with Robert's will, she adamantly refused. Finally, she agreed to make him exact copies of the documents, and he left, telling them he would take the matter under advisement and the administration would have to sort it all out before the matter could be settled.

When three months had passed and Bess had heard nothing, she began to realize her marriage jointure was
firmly enmeshed in the legal machinery of the Court of Wards and she would never get her settlement so long as it was the subject of legal wrangling.

As she lay in bed one night, the words of William Cavendish came back to her:
You should have had a lawyer. They are costly, but worth every penny. The side with the better lawyer
always
wins.
Bess suddenly realized she needed the services of a lawyer, but without money she knew none would take her case.

The next morning Bess saddled her horse and rode out in the warm May sunshine. The hedgerows were awash with wildflowers, and as she left the village behind, she saw that the Derbyshire dales were dotted with sheep and new lambs. Bess knew she was going to her favorite place in the world.

She drew rein on the summit of the hill that overlooked Chatsworth.
I got up early so I could taste the day. Up here the air is crisp and clear, like fine wine, and the view is forever!
Bess had been convinced that here in the rarefied air she would be able to think better and decide what she must do.
If it's going to be, it's up to me.
Bess had never had anything handed to her in her life, and she wasn't afraid to fight for what she wanted.

Gradually, an idea stole to her. She needed power behind her, and who was the most powerful man in the north of England? The Earl of Shrewsbury, of course! He was the lord lieutenant of Derbyshire, and his magnificent Sheffield Castle was only a dozen miles north of this very spot. The idea was an audacious one, but Bess knew she had never been short of audacity!

It was June before Francis Talbot, Fifth Earl of Shrews-bury, was in residence at Sheffield Castle. But Bess had
not wasted her time since her decision to pay a visit to the lord lieutenant of Derbyshire. She and her aunt Marcy had refurbished the elegant gray taffeta gown that Lady Margaret Zouche had given her. They took the billowing sleeves and embroidered them with violets. Then Bess took the scissors and altered the high neckline so that it was low and square-cut, to show off her breasts. Marcella took the piece of taffeta and fashioned a stomacher, also embroidered with violets, to emphasize Bess's tiny waistline. When it was done, the dress was quite showy, but its gray and mauve were quite acceptable mourning colors. Bess considered having Ralph Leche or her brother accompany her, then decided against it. A woman alone just might appeal to the earl's chivalry.

Bess rode down the long avenue of century-old oaks that led to the grounds of Sheffield Castle. It sat in an eight-acre park, and she stared in disbelief at the number of gardeners she counted. The vast lawns were manicured, the ornamental bushes clipped neatly, and the flower beds were laid out with a precise symmetry. Bess sighed with longing. Just so would she want the grounds of her own estate to look.

When she reached the stone courtyard that led to the long row of stables, two grooms approached her, one to take her mount, the other to assist her from the saddle. Bess removed her hooded cloak that had protected her hair and her gown from the dust of the roads. Then she rolled it up and tucked it into her saddlebags. Before she took out her package of precious documents, she brushed her glorious red hair until it crackled. The grooms stood gaping at her, but Bess forced herself to blithely ignore them, reminding herself that that was how the nobility treated servants.

Sheffield's size alone was intimidating. It was so enormous,
it easily contained over two hundred rooms. The arched doorway to the castle was flanked by uniformed guards, and beyond them Bess could see footmen in the entrance hall. Their blue liveries sparked her imagination, and she decided on the spot that when she had her own footmen she would put them in blue and silver.

When the majordomo approached to ask her business, she told him, “I'm here to see the Earl of Shrewsbury.”

“That would be impossible, madam,” he replied stiffly. “His lordship is not receiving today.”

Bess drew herself up and lifted her chin. Though the majordomo was an imposing figure, she refused to be intimidated by him. “I must insist—I am here on a most important matter.”

“Would that be a personal matter or a business matter, madam?” he asked impassively.

“It is a business matter,” she stated emphatically.

“Then you wish to see his lordship's secretary, Thomas Baldwin, who looks after all the earl's business affairs.”

Bess held her tongue. The man was too rigid to bend even slightly. The majordomo led her to a carved settle in a reception room off the entrance hall and told her to wait. After a half hour Master Baldwin put in an appearance. He had a scholarly look about him, with a sharp, pointed face and ink-stained fingers, and Bess hoped he would be more reasonable than the majordomo. Such was not the case, however. Baldwin refused to let her speak with Shrewsbury and insisted she lay her business before him instead. With a sinking heart she explained her predicament to the earl's secretary, who answered in a condescending manner.

“Madam, have you any idea how many supplicants come begging assistance daily from the Earl of Shrewsbury?
'Tis impossible to accommodate the constituents of three entire counties.”

A spark of anger ignited in Bess. “I refuse to leave until I have seen the earl!”

The heavy front door banged, and an extremely tall, dark young man in riding attire strode past the door of the reception room. Within thirty seconds he came back to get a second look at the woman with Baldwin. George Talbot advanced into the room, slapping a riding crop into the palm of his hand.

“Well, I'll be damned, if it isn't Mistress Elizabeth Hardwick.” He pronounced her name with the emphasis on the last syllable to provoke her.

“If I get my wish, you
will
be damned, and my name happens to be Mistress Elizabeth
Barlow,”
she said imperiously.

His eyes narrowed as they swept down over her luscious breasts and tiny waist. “So, you're now a married woman, with experience of the marriage bed. Hell's teeth, I'll bet you know a trick or two, Vixen!”

Bess's black eyes flashed with fury. “I am a widow, you uncouth lout; show a little respect!”

“Still teaching me manners? Splendor of God, it wouldn't surprise me if you could teach me other things as well, and while we're at it, there's a couple of things I'd like to teach you.”

Thomas Baldwin stepped away from the couple, who seemed to be on intimate, though extremely antagonistic terms.

“As an earl's son, someone must have tried to make a gentleman of you, but it is obvious that they failed miserably.”

Talbot ignored her assessment of him. With his riding
crop, he flicked a red curl that sat upon her shoulder. “Is that color real?” he drawled.

“Everything about me is real, including my temper!” Bess knew she was ruining her chances for help from the noble Talbots, but she simply couldn't control her tongue.

“Vixen!” he taunted.

She watched his eyes slide down her body and come to rest below the stomacher. Suddenly, Bess knew he was undressing her with his eyes. The flat of her hand delivered a stinging slap to his cheek.

His powerful hands shot out to clasp her about the waist and lift her from the carpet. If Baldwin hadn't been in the room with them, Bess knew that Talbot would have tried to ravish her. Slowly, he set her feet back to the floor and murmured, “You owe me for that, Vixen, and someday I'm going to collect.” He walked across the room to the secretary and spoke low.

Though Bess could not hear their words, she imagined the terrible things that were being said about her. Angry tears of frustration sprang to her eyes, and she fought them back with sheer determination.

The two men spoke at length before young Talbot departed and Baldwin returned to her. She thought she would be dismissed immediately and was surprised when he asked to see her legal documents. She gave them to him and sat back down on the settle while he examined them carefully.

When he left, Talbot immediately sought his father and found him at his massive desk in the library, signing letters and documents that had been prepared by his secretary.

“Father, there's a young woman downstairs asking to speak with you.”

“Not another petitioner? Have Baldwin attend her,” the earl directed.

“He is with her now, but as a favor to me, Father, I ask that you see her personally.”

The earl's eyebrows elevated and bristled as he laid down his quill and gave his heir a piercing look. “The only possible interest you could have in a young woman is a prurient one!”

George Talbot ignored his father's accusation. “She's a young widow from Hardwick, close-by in Derbyshire. Her family are farmers, the salt of the earth, as you are fond of saying. She's being cheated out of her jointure.”

“Then she needs a lawyer,” the earl said dismissively.

“Of course she needs a bloody lawyer, but she's a penniless young widow who has come to you for help.”

“Why me? Is it because you're bedding her? Is this some sort of blackmail?”

“No, sir, it isn't. I met her in London. Her reputation is above reproach; she's an acquaintance of Princess Elizabeth.”

“Why the devil didn't you say so?” Although the king's youngest daughter was a distant third in the line of succession and sometimes referred to as illegitimate, the remote possibility existed that someday she could rule England. The earl scribbled a note to Thomas Baldwin and summoned a footman to deliver it.

“Thank you, Father. All it will cost you is five minutes of your time.”

When the footman presented the silver salver to Baldwin, he took up the note upon it and bade Mistress Barlow to follow him. As she walked through the passageways of Sheffield Castle and ascended the great staircase,
Bess stared in awe at the magnificent furnishings. The Talbots were the wealthiest peers in the realm, and they lived in splendor.