A Woman of Passion (47 page)

The young woman stared in disbelief at Bess's attire, then indicated the parlor.

Bess swept into the room with weapons primed. “James Hardwick, while you sit here bending your elbow, your workers are rioting because they cannot pay their rents!”

“Lady St. Loe,” he mocked, “welcome to my humble abode.”

“Don't use that tone with me, you idle son of a bitch.”

“You always did swear like a man; now you've taken to dressing like one. Are you growing a cock under those fine breeches, sister?”

“If I were a man, I'd take a horsewhip to you. Now, explain what's happening at Hardwick.”

The sneer dropped from James's face and was replaced by a sullen, morose look. “I can't make a go of it, Bess. I've tried and tried. Either the crops fail or the sheep die of foot rot. This spring I couldn't even sell my wool. They said it was inferior quality, and it was so tick-infested, I had to burn it.”

“Dear God, James, you have to be a better manager. You know sheep must be dipped to keep them tick-free. You should know that successful farming takes hard work and good management. We as landowners have a responsibility to our tenants.”

“I haven't collected rents from Hardwick's tenant farmers for months—I know they cannot pay,” he said defensively.

“That's all very well, but what about those who work for you and rent from me? No wonder fighting broke out
in Chesterfield, if my tenants have to pay rent when yours don't! Why haven't you done something about this mess?”

“You're the one who's filthy rich. Why haven't you?” he asked bluntly.

“In case you've forgotten, I spent the last eight months in the Tower.”

“You likely deserved it; you always were a meddling bitch.”

Bess took a menacing step toward him and raised her riding crop. Behind her she heard Lizzie scream. “Don't hurt him—James spent a month in Fleet prison for debt.”

Bess swung around and stared at her young sister-in-law. Her shrewd glance swept back to James and her black eyes narrowed. “How did you get out?”

“I borrowed the money to pay the debts.”

“You mortgaged Hardwick?” Bess accused.

When James nodded she stepped forward and brought her crop down across his shoulders.

He snatched it from her hand. “How the hell else could I get money? Marry it, like you did?”

“You bastard!” Bess snatched up the iron poker and advanced on him. He backed up in a hurry, knowing what her temper was like when riled. “Why didn't you come to me?” she demanded.

“Pride, I suppose.”

“You have no bloody pride. Look at this place!”

“I've just borrowed some money to make repairs,” he said defensively.

“Cancel the loan instantly. I'll pay for the repairs and fix the roof. I'll also loan you money to get more livestock and put in some crops.”

“You've always wanted Hardwick, and this is your way of getting your grasping hands on it.”

“James, you have horseshit for brains. Don't you realize I could buy the place cheap from your creditors?”

He knew she spoke the truth and agreed to let her fix up the house and loan him money for livestock. But Bess had no idea that the moment she made the improvements, James intended to sell the accursed place and move to London.

On the day of the double wedding, Bess decided they needed two carriages to take them to Sheffield, since she did not want her sapphire taffeta crushed and creased. Her mother, wearing blush pink, and her two young daughters, in identical white dresses with pink sashes, went in the first coach with her, and her three sons went in the second coach with Marcella and Jane.

Syntlo was not with them. He was escorting Queen Elizabeth from Haddon Hall and had ridden over to Chatsworth last night to spend a few hours with his family. Bess had been appalled at his frail appearance. Not only was he stooped and gray, he was thin as a rail. All the women had fussed over him, feeding him and mixing him possets to increase his appetite, but he had assured them he was feeling quite well. Bess, however, decided to speak with him about taking a break from his duties, once this wedding was over.

Bess's coach and the queen's arrived at precisely the same moment. Robin Dudley accompanied the queen on horseback. Bess took this opportunity to introduce her two younger daughters to the queen.

Elizabeth looked down at the elder. “I am your godmother, and you are my namesake.”

Young Elizabeth, almost eight, sank into a graceful curtsy and murmured, “Your Majesty, I am honored.”

The queen looked at Bess. “This one is a Cavendish, all right.” The queen's eyes slid to the smaller of the pair with the bright red curls, who stuck out her tongue. “This one's a Hardwick, may God help her.”

Bess rolled her eyes at Robin, who couldn't hide his amusement. Bess envied Queen Elizabeth her gown. It was white satin, embroidered all over in a diamond-shape pattern with jet beads. On the bodice, interspersed with the jet beads, were real diamonds. “You look magnificent, Your Majesty.”

“But you are wearing the latest style, I see. That framed collar does glorious things for your hair. I shall adopt the fashion immediately.”

Bess waited for the queen to precede her, but Elizabeth spoke up. “We shall go forward together to greet our hostess and see what the mother of the bride is wearing.”

“I wager she'll be wearing Tudor green to honor you, Your Majesty,” Robin guessed.

As Gertrude Talbot rushed down the castle steps to greet her queen, Elizabeth murmured, “Good God, that's not Tudor green! Whatever shade is it?”

“Goose turd, I'd say,” Bess murmured behind her fan.

The queen gave a great bark of laughter. “I miss your wit, Lady St. Loe, when you are absent from Court.”

Gertrude Talbot shot Bess a look of loathing. She was a short, plump woman who would not have been attractive no matter what she wore. Making matters worse, her features were set in a condescending look that was permanent. “You honor us, Your gracious Majesty.”

“I do indeed,” Elizabeth said rather caustically. “Why isn't the Old Man here to greet me?”

Shrewsbury seemed to materialize from nowhere, his tall, dark figure casting its powerful shadow over them all in the brilliant morning sunlight. He sketched an elegant bow. “The two loveliest ladies in the realm; welcome to Sheffield.”

“I refuse to share that honor with Mistress Tits,” Elizabeth said crudely, and the four of them were transported back to the day they met at Hampton Court.

Dudley laughed so hard, he choked, and the queen wiped tears of mirth from her eyes. Bess and Talbot joined in the laughter, but their amusement was a private thing, apart from the others. They had an intimacy that was secret and could never be shared.

The Earl and Countess of Pembroke joined them, and all made their way to Sts. Peter and Paul's Church, which was on the grounds belonging to Sheffield.

Syntlo joined Bess in the church, which bulged at its consecrated seams with noble guests. The child brides brought a lump to Bess's throat, and she offered up a quick prayer that the young girls were making happy marriages.

The religious ceremony seemed to be over in the blinking of an eye, and the guests thronged from the church to partake of Sheffield Castle's hospitality. Large families were the fashion, and the nobility had brought all their children. Bess's sons and daughters immediately went off with Talbot's brood, together with the offspring of the Herberts, the Howards, and the Stuarts.

The reception was on a lavish scale, comparable with anything the queen's Court ever put on. The banqueting chamber held a formal dining table that accommodated all sixty adult guests, while the young people sat at smaller tables. A liveried footman stood ready to serve behind every second chair.

Bess had never seen so much silver plate all at one time. The price of the heavy sterling cutlery alone would have fed an entire town for a year. The paintings and the tapestries on the walls were of course priceless and had been handed down through generations of Talbots since medieval times. Bess tried not to stare, but to own such riches was almost beyond comprehension.

After dinner, when they moved to one of the ballrooms and Bess was immediately approached by William Parr for a dance, she cast an inquiring glance at her husband.

“Go and enjoy yourself, my dearest. I'm not up to dancing these days, but I know how much you love it.”

With a pang Bess watched him join a group of older men who did not dance and knew he would be happier talking with William Herbert than partnering her on the ballroom floor. As the hours flew by, Bess danced every dance, partnered by all the earls and lords who had ever made her acquaintance and some who hadn't until tonight. Finally, she found herself being swept into Shrewsbury's arms in a lively galliard.

Beneath her tiny cream ruff, the huge sapphire sparkled in the cleft between her breasts, and she saw his eyes on it.

“Magnificent,” he murmured.

“Thank you; 'twas a gift from Syntlo.”

“I wasn't referring to the sapphire.”

When she ignored the innuendo, he bent close. “You could be wearing diamonds and emeralds, my beauty, if you'd let me buy them for you.”

She glanced up at him with a challenge in her black eyes. “How about the infamous Talbot pearls?”

Shrewsbury threw back his dark head and laughed.
“You are the most audacious woman I've ever known, and it attracts me like a lodestone.”

“Men always want what they cannot have,” she said lightly.

“Apparently women are the same, or why would you covet the pearls?”

Bess was well aware that the only way a woman could get the pearls was by becoming the Countess of Shrewsbury, yet when he alluded to the fact that she could never have them, it rankled her. “Shrew, you keep your pearls and I'll keep my virtue.”

She felt the muscles in his arms bulge, hard as iron, as he lifted her high in the galliard, and she felt weak with longing. She watched his pupils turn black with desire as her jade silk undergarments were revealed, and in that moment she knew she wanted him desperately. To talk and touch in the crowded room was sheer torture.

He whispered intensely, “You're starving for it. Why do you deny me, deny yourself?”

She looked up into his eyes. “Do you want the truth? It's because we are both married; that's the only reason I deny you.”

“Syntlo cannot possibly satisfy you. He was an old man when you married him, but now he's a frail shadow of his former self.”

“All the more reason why I cannot betray him.”

“So you'll live like a nun just to honor an empty marriage vow you should never have made in the first place.”

“You once thought me rather fetching in a nun's habit.”

They were level with the ballroom doors, and he pulled her through them before she knew what he intended. “No, Shrew!” She tried to release her hand from his, but his powerful grip tightened and he almost
dragged her along the gallery that led out to the gardens. “Christ, I won't ravish you!” he growled.

Damn, if only you would, how simple it would make everything.

They ran through the night-scented gardens, across manicured lawns, passing a fountain of dancing waters, to the seclusion of a giant yew walk that had sheltered lovers and their secrets for over a century. Bess made no outcry, knowing the scandal would be horrendous with the nobility for witness.

He took hold of her other hand and looked down at her face outlined by moonlight. “You've invited everyone to Chatsworth save me,” he accused.

“I'm entertaining Her Majesty, for God's sake. I can't be distracted by you.”

“Then you admit I distract you?” His arms closed about her and he pulled her close against his long, hard body.

“You are well-aware of what you do to me, you black devil. You are like Lucifer, tempting me to sin.”

“Loving is no sin, Bess.”

“Damn you, it isn't love, it's lust!”

“We are two passionate soulmates who have found each other.”

“We are two oversexed people who can't keep their hands off each other!”

“You don't seem to have any trouble resisting me.”

“Shrew, if I dared to let down my defenses, I'd devour you!”

He groaned, and his mouth came down on hers with a hunger he had never known before. With his lips still against hers, he demanded, “Do you know what it did to me, watching you dance with all those other men, knowing
their hot hands were on you, their eyes devouring your luscious breasts, hoping for a glimpse of nipple?”

“Shrew, for God's sake, don't kiss me again. You know we can't stop.” For answer his mouth took hers and ravaged it.

Bess pulled away from him angrily. “This is insanity. We cannot carry on like this. It's your son and your daughter's wedding! 'Fore God, if you don't control yourself, we'll be coupling under the hedge like a pair of gypsies!”

Suddenly, they both heard someone shouting. They stopped talking and listened. There seemed to be a general outcry from the castle. “Obviously something's wrong; go quickly,” she urged.

Bess waited a few minutes, then, keeping to the shadows, made her way across the gardens and back to the castle. She was in time to watch George Talbot, Earl of Shrewsbury, gently pick up his countess, Gertrude, from where she lay on the floor and carry her up the great ornate staircase to her private apartments. Gertrude's three ladies-in-waiting followed, wringing their hands.

Bess joined Syntlo, who was standing with the queen and Dudley. “What happened?”

“Some sort of seizure. Fortunately, Shrewsbury has his own physicians at Sheffield. Too much excitement, I warrant,” Elizabeth declared.

Anne Herbert spoke from behind her fan, although it did little to muffle her words. “Gertrude was arguing with her son Francis, my new son-in-law. He and his bride wanted to retire from the reception, and Gertrude wouldn't hear of their being alone. Apparently, she's a termagant with the children, likes to exercise complete control over them. Her girls are frightened to death of her.”

Elizabeth raised her plucked eyebrows. “I knew we could rely on you to give us a full accounting, Lady Herbert.”

Anne Herbert's skin was so thick, the pointed barb did not penetrate. “Now that Francis is a married man, he decided to challenge Gertrude's authority, and suddenly she turned red as a turkey wattle and fell to the floor.”