Philippa (17 page)

“Wine or ale, my lord?” a male servant asked him politely.

“Ale,” he replied, and set about to eat the little meal that had been brought to him. He was, he found, very hungry, having come straight to Bolton House this morning. Lord Cambridge’s care for his person showed a delicacy of manners that impressed Crispin St. Claire. If his young cousin were as careful of her guests it could be that she would make a good hostess, a good wife, a good countess of Witton. It surprised him that he was actually considering an alliance with the daughter of a northern landowner, and an ordinary knight. His own family had arrived in England several centuries earlier with King William the Norman. He had Plantagenet blood, for one of his ancestors had wed one of King Henry I’s bastard daughters.

Still the girl in question—what was her name?—Philippa, yes! Philippa Meredith had the property he coveted, and if Lord Cambridge were to be believed, she also had wealth. He saw no reason not to believe Thomas Bolton. Was there anyone else that he would have preferred to wed? The truth was there was not. There was no one. He knew he had to take a wife. His sisters told him often enough. He was the last male St. Claire in his line. But since his return home after his father had died he had made no effort whatsoever to seek a match with any female. This girl, it seemed, was providence. Her family was respectable. Her connections were good. She had the land he sought after, and she had wealth. What more was there that a man could ask of a wife? And if she were pretty it would be but a bonus, but she need not be. He did not have to say anything further to Lord Cambridge. The man was astute, and he knew that after enough time to salve Crispin St. Claire’s dignity, the earl of Witton was going to accept his proposal. He was going to marry Philippa Meredith, and make her his countess. Looking the wench over was nothing more than a formality. The earl mopped his plate with the last piece of bread, and drank down the remainder of his goblet. He pushed back his chair, and sighed contentedly. It was going to be a good day. It was going to be a very good day. The main door to the beautiful hall opened, and Lord Cambridge stepped through into the chamber. “You have eaten well, dear boy?” he asked solicitously.

“I have!” the earl of Witton said, and then he stared with amazement.

Thomas Bolton chuckled at the look on the younger man’s face. “Yes,” he said, “I am quite magnificent, am I not, my lord?” His short, full, pleated coat was of midnight blue velvet brocade lined and trimmed with pale gray rabbit fur. His shirt collar had a delicate pleated edge. His sky blue doublet showed cloth of gold through artfully done slashings. His hose was finely woven wool in alternating stripes of the contrasting blues, and he wore a gold cord garter on his left leg. His codpiece was ablaze with gemstones. His square-toed shoes were the same velvet brocade as his coat. About his neck was a large chain made from squares of Irish red gold.

“By the rood, my lord,” the earl said, “if your cousin is half as beautiful as you are I shall marry her at once! The garb you wear now does make plain your burgundy house coat.” And he laughed. “I did not think it possible that any man could dress so well. Even the king, though you did not hear me say it.”

“And you, my lord, did not hear me tell you that the king frequently consults with me as to his wardrobe. Now, if you are ready, my dear Crispin, we shall leave for court so you may inspect Philippa Meredith, but I have no doubt you will have her to wife.”

“
T
here she is,” Lord Cambridge said quietly. ”There is my darling girl, and her younger sister, who is my heiress. She sits by the queen’s knee. Her highness is most fond of Philippa Meredith. She looks much like her mother, and I believe she reminds the queen of her youth. Of course that youth was not always a happy one, but Philippa’s mother, Rosamund Bolton, always remained steadfast in her loyalty to the queen.”

“The girl in green?” the earl asked, to be certain.

Lord Cambridge nodded. “Aye. Tudor green,” he said and he chuckled. “Not yet even sixteen, and Philippa is a consummate courtier. What do you think? I offer you wealth, the land you desire, and a very pretty girl for your wife, dear boy.”

Crispin St. Claire looked while attempting not to stare. She was lovely. Her features were delicate, and while not of noble blood she could not be considered coarse by any stretch of the imagination. “She is fair enough,” he acknowledged, “but I will want more in a wife than just beauty.”

“She has both manners and education,” Thomas Bolton said.

“But has she wit, my lord?” the earl asked.

Thomas Bolton felt a slight stab of irritation prick at him. “Come, sir,” he said rather more sharply than he had intended to. “If she were of a more baronial family would you be quite so fussy? Those lasses have a tendency to die young, and be poor breeders. For a family such as yours to survive it is necessary for you to wed outside of your usual realm every few generations. However, if you care not to have my young cousin to wife you have but to say so now, and we will part friends.”

“I need a wife with whom I may carry on an intelligent conversation now and again, my lord,” the earl said in defense of himself. “I would sooner not marry at all, and allow my earldom to disappear, than marry a woman who can speak of nothing but children, and her household. Do not tell me a woman like that would interest you.”

Lord Cambridge could not help but laugh. “Nay, sir, a woman like that would not interest me. But you need have no fear. Philippa is a girl of many and varied opinions. While she may drive you to distraction, she will never bore you. She may anger you; she may make you laugh; but you will never, ever be bored by her, or with her, I guarantee it, my lord. Now, are you interested in meeting Philippa Meredith, or shall we go our separate ways, my lord?”

“You tempt me with your words, sir,” the earl admitted. “You make this girl seem most intriguing. Aye, I should like to meet her.”

“Excellent! I shall speak with her, and we will arrange it. I think a less public venue than the babbling court, eh?” Thomas Bolton said.

“Not now?” The earl of Witton was surprised, and perhaps a little disappointed.

“In matters of so delicate a nature,” Lord Cambridge said, “it is best to go carefully, and prepare the way. Philippa was quite angered by Giles FitzHugh’s decision. It placed her in a most embarrassing position, and her feelings were hurt. She even considered taking the veil, but her great-uncle, the prior of a small monastery, thought it not wise, and spoke with her on the matter. However, she has come to distrust men, I fear.”

“Did she love him that much then?” the earl asked.

“She did not love him at all, although she was certain that she did. She hardly knew him,” Lord Cambridge said, and then he explained. “She met him as a child, and fancied herself in love with him from that moment onward. He was the older brother of her best friend, and young Cecily innocently helped to feed Philippa’s dreams as best friends are wont to do. Then Giles came home, announcing he was being ordained into the priesthood when he returned to Rome, and all of Philippa’s girlish dreams came crashing loudly down around her. Everything she had planned her life would be was gone. I think it would have been better had the lad died rather than desert her for the church.”

“Is she still angry?” the earl asked.

“She says nay, but I think she is,” Lord Cambridge replied. “But it is now eight months since the unfortunate incident, and it is time for Philippa to move on with her life, my lord. Wouldn’t you agree?”

The earl nodded slowly. “When may I meet her then?”

“In a few days’ time. You must stay with me, dear boy. A cubicle in Cardinal Wolsey’s residence sounds appalling. We will not be caught unawares. Philippa and her sister live at court as maids of honor. She comes to my house now and again for fresh wardrobe, as the space assigned her here is very slight.”

“Agreed,” the earl responded, “and I thank you. Were I still in service to the king I have no doubt my accommodation would have been better, but it was grudgingly given, and it is without a fire. And of course I am not invited to Wolsey’s table either.”

Lord Cambridge shuddered. “The man may be clever, and a cardinal, but blood will tell in the end. He has no manners, nor does he have any common sense. His palaces at York Place and Hampton Court are larger and grander than any the king possesses. One day Henry Tudor will stop to consider that. No man, even a cardinal, should put himself above the king. One day the cardinal will make a slip, and his enemies will be quick to point it out to the king. He is not a well-loved man though he be useful to the king. His rise has been great. His decline will be greater.”

“But he is extremely intelligent, and crafty,” the earl said. “While I served the king my instructions always came through Wolsey. Some say he manages the country while the king plays, but knowing both men I see it differently. The king uses Wolsey as anyone would a good servant. The king takes the glory, and the cardinal the contempt.”

“Ah, you have surprised me, my lord earl,” Thomas Bolton said. “You are obviously more astute than I would have taken you for, and I find that pleasing. Now, however, I am going to join a few friends. If you wish to leave before me just send the barge back, and I will do the same.” Lord Cambridge bowed, and moved off into the crowd, smiling and greeting people as he went.

An interesting man, the earl of Witton thought. Odd, but interesting. He moved into a recessed alcove, and looked for Philippa again. She was no longer seated next to her mistress, but dancing a boisterous country dance with a young man. When he swung her up and around with great vigor she threw her head back and laughed. The earl smiled. It was obvious she was having a good time, and why not. She was young, and fair. His interest was piqued further when the next dance began, and the king partnered Philippa Meredith. The king only danced with those he considered the best dancers in his court. Consequently his partners were limited, as many young women were afraid to dance with him lest they displease him. But Philippa Meredith wasn’t one bit afraid of Henry Tudor. Holding her skirts up she pranced daintily next to her monarch while the musicians played. She was graceful, and the smile on her lips never wavered. When the dance was over and done with, the king kissed the girl’s hand and she curtseyed, then backed away to rejoin her mistress. She was flushed, and a single tendril of auburn hair had slipped from beneath her elegant French hood. He found it charming.

Before he left court that day Thomas Bolton sought out his young cousin, and begged a moment of her company from the queen who graciously gave it, smiling warmly at Lord Cambridge. He took Philippa’s small hand in his, tucking it in his arm, and they left the great anteroom where the king and the court were now amusing themselves. Walking quietly through a gallery hung with magnificent tapestries, Lord Cambridge began to speak.

“My darling girl, we have had the most incredible piece of luck!”

“Were you able to obtain the property you sought, uncle?” Philippa asked him.

“Aye, and it is already in your name, but that is not the half of it. There was someone else who sought the property. A gentleman whose lands match with Melville. He is the earl of Witton, and he is unattached, and seeking a wife.”

Philippa stopped. “Now, uncle, I am not certain I like where this is going,” she said nervously.

“You can be the countess of Witton, darling girl! Think on it! Your husband would be an earl, of an old and illustrious family,” Lord Cambridge gushed.

“What is the matter with him, for there must be something wrong with an earl who would take a plain knight’s daughter to wife,” Philippa replied suspiciously.

“His name is Crispin St. Claire,” Lord Cambridge said. “He has been in service to the king as a diplomat. His father died last year, and he has come home to take up his responsibilities. There is nothing wrong with him.”

“Then he is old, uncle. Do you want me shackled to some graybeard?” Her look was almost fearful.

“He is thirty, Philippa, and I could not by any stretch of the imagination call him a graybeard. He is a mature man, and ready to take a wife. Can you not see what an incredible piece of good fortune this is for you? He wants Melville, and it is a part of your dower portion, darling girl.”

“He must be desperate to have it then, that he would offer to wed me,” Philippa replied.

“He did not,” Thomas Bolton said, deciding that his young cousin needed a bit of cold water thrown upon her fine opinion of herself. “He tried to buy Melville from me, but I paid a ridiculous price for it in order to get it when I learned this earl was wife hunting. I told him if he would have the land he must have you to wife to get it.”

“Uncle!” Philippa’s pretty face grew red. “You deliberately ensnared this man?”

“I wanted the estate for you. It is within an easy distance of London and the court. When I learned afterwards that the earl wanted it too I simply took advantage of the situation. You mother would fully approve my actions,” he responded.

“Your audacity, you mean,” Philippa said. “What must this earl of Witton think of you? Of me? I cannot believe you would do such a thing, uncle!”

“Nonsense, darling girl!” he said, unaffected by her criticism. “The earl of Witton’s is an old and an honorable family, but they are not a great family. He is not poor, but neither is he wealthy. Your father was a knight, Philippa. Your mother is a woman of property. Your connections here at court are impeccable. Even without Lord Melvyn’s property you are a most respectable prospect. A marriage with this man gives you a title. It ennobles your children. And in return he gains the lands he wants to add to his own, and a wife with a large purse. It is a perfect match.” He smiled at her.

“But where is the love, uncle? If I must be shackled to this man should there not be something between us other than money and property?” She was very pretty in her concern, her hazel eyes thoughtful.