Philippa (21 page)

He had taken her by surprise when he enfolded her into his embrace. She felt herself blushing once again. Worse, her heart raced at the proximity of their two bodies, though her skirts protected her from too great an intimacy. He was going to kiss her, she realized. His head was descending. Her eyes closed slowly of themselves. Her moist lips parted slightly. She sighed as his mouth touched hers, and her head spun with the pleasure the kiss offered. It had certainly not been anything like this with Roger Mildmay. Philippa was astounded. And then his lips were gone, and she felt a sense of deep loss. She almost cried out a protest as her eyes flew open.

“There,” he said. “The bargain between us is sealed now, Philippa.”

“But,” she protested once again, “I have not said it!”

“You will,” he promised her in his deep voice, and he released his hold on her.

Philippa almost stumbled when he did, but she recovered herself quickly. “I must go to bed,” she told him. “I will have to arise early to be back at the palace in time for the early mass. The queen always expects her maids to attend the first mass of the day with her. Good night, my lord.” She curtseyed to him, and almost ran from the hall.

He watched her go, and then walking to the sideboard he poured himself a silver goblet of rich red wine from the decanter there. Seating himself by the fire he considered the evening that they had just spent together. Was he mad to wed such a young girl? Perhaps a girl of twenty would suit him better, but nay. He wanted Philippa Meredith. And he was not of a mind to wait the next several months or a year to wed her. She had admitted to kissing another, and yet the touch of her lips on his had sent his senses reeling. Her mouth had not the experience of a courtesan. Indeed there was a charming innocence about it. He would let her go to France, but while she could not know it yet, she would go as his wife. Tomorrow he would seek an audience with the cardinal, and offer Wolsey his services for this great meeting that was to take place in the coming summer between King Henry and King Francois. Crispin St. Claire knew there would be a need for skilled diplomats at this endeavor. The cardinal knew what was needed, but he had not the patience to work out all the tiny details that would need to be settled. A minuter of details that would decide where each king’s pavilion would be set; how many horses each man would have; how much, and what kinds of foods and wines; how many courtiers each king would bring with him. And then there would be the similar preparations for Queen Katherine and Queen Claude. Nothing would be left to chance. Each of these kings was filled with his own self-importance. Each considered himself the first among rulers. Each would have to be catered and cosseted equally. It would require much patience, and a great deal of planning. And not just before the event transpired, but during the event and afterwards, as both Henry Tudor and Francois Premiere sought to claim that they were the greater of the duo and had gained the upper hand at this event.

Philippa departed early the following morning before either Lord Cambridge or the earl was up. She did not want to see or speak with either of them until she had had time to consider all that had happened in the few short hours she had been with the earl. She had slept badly. Her time with Crispin St. Claire had left her somewhat confused. He was a strong-willed man, she quickly divined. He was used to having his own way. So was she.

Her father had died when she was so young, Philippa thought. She had been raised in a house of women. Edmund Bolton was a quiet man, and while the management of Friarsgate was left to him, in the hall he was relatively silent while her mother and Maybel had ruled the roost. And Uncle Thomas never interfered with her mother. Indeed, if anything they had been close companions and confidants. And while she had been at home when her mother had wed Logan Hepburn, her stepfather never interfered with her mother’s rule at Friarsgate, and Philippa had rarely gone to Claven’s Cam with them, as she was considered the heiress to Friarsgate.

She was simply not used to having a man tell her what to do, and how to do it. But he really hadn’t, she reconsidered. He would simply exercise his rights as the man of the house. His house. Why was she chafing like an unbroken mare at her first bridle? This was an incredible match for a girl like her. And when he had kissed her ... Philippa felt herself grow warm with the memory of it, and she smiled to herself. She had enjoyed kissing him. She had almost wished he would kiss her again, and perhaps not stop for a brief time. She wondered what Crispin St. Claire would have thought of that.

The earl of Witton entered the hall at Bolton House that morning to find it empty but for the servants. Lord Cambridge would not make an appearance until afternoon, the earl knew. But where was Philippa? Certainly she hadn’t returned to the palace this early? He stopped a servant.

“Where is the young mistress?” he inquired of him.

“Gone back to Richmond, my lord,” the man replied. “It were barely first light when she called for her barge. May I bring you breakfast, my lord?”

The earl nodded. He had hoped to speak with her before she left. Had she fled him? Or was it that she really did want to be back in time for the first mass of the day? Would the queen really have minded if she had not been there this one time? He ate the meal placed before him, and then spent a restless morning until Lord Cambridge finally made his appearance dressed to the nines, and obviously preparing to return to court himself. The earl had noted that the Bolton barge had returned, and was bobbing in the river waters by its quay.

“Dear boy, how long have you been up?” Thomas Bolton asked his guest, taking a goblet of watered wine from the tray a servant was holding.

“Several hours, Tom,” he answered.

“Did you see my darling girl before she departed back to her duties?”

“She was long gone when I came down into the hall. A servant told me it was barely first light when she left,” the earl answered his host.

“So faithful in her duties, my young cousin,” Lord Cambridge murmured.

“I want the betrothal papers drawn up as soon as possible,” the earl began. “Philippa will accompany the queen in a few months’ time, but I have decided I would prefer it if we were man and wife before we leave for France. I am going to Wolsey this morning to offer my services for the event. The king will take only a chosen few, so I must put myself in the cardinal’s service if only for a brief period of time.”

“And is Philippa as eager to be wed as you are, dear boy?” Thomas Bolton asked.

“I have not discussed it with Philippa. It is not her decision when we wed,” the earl told Lord Bolton.

“Tch, tch, dear boy!” Lord Cambridge clucked, shaking his head. “You cannot simply announce to my cousin that you have set your wedding date. I will have the papers drawn up for you, and I will seek the king’s permission for the match, but you must tell Philippa that you desire to wed before the summer progress to France. Surely you learned last night that she is not a meek creature whom you may treat like a little ewe lamb. I believe you will have to use all your diplomatic skills to get her to agree, but then I will remind her that Banon cannot wed until she is wed. And Banon and Robert Neville want to marry soon. If Philippa will settle herself, her sister can be married at Otterly in the autumn or early winter. You, of course, will wed my cousin here. Her mother will be disappointed not to be with her daughter at such an auspicious time in her life, but Rosamund will understand. Besides, she will have delivered her child by now, and not be fit to travel so far from Claven’s Cam.”

“Can you act on the lady of Friarsgate’s behalf?” the earl asked.

“I can, and the king is aware of it. Still, my dear Crispin, I will not force Philippa into marriage with you. Her mother would never allow it. Rosamund was brought three times to the altar by others. Her fourth husband was her own choice, and she has always said she wanted her lasses to have the choice as well. Would she approve of you? Oh, my, indeed she would! But it is not Rosamund whom you must convince. It is her daughter, Philippa. Be assured that I will speak in your favor, and I am not against a marriage before the summer journey to France. Actually I believe it would be better for Philippa to have the protection of a husband.”

“Will you go with the court?” the earl inquired.

Lord Cambridge shook his head. “This is an enormous undertaking, the meeting between England’s king and France’s king. Only the crème de la crème will be invited. I have wealth, and am considered amusing by my betters, but I will not be asked to accompany Henry Tudor and his queen. I am simply not important enough. Nor will Philippa’s sister go. I will return north with Banon Meredith and young Neville. My heiress’s betrothal agreement will be executed, and the marriage celebrated sometime in the autumn. Perhaps you will be able to come north then to meet Philippa’s family. I know that she will want to be at her sister’s wedding.”

“You are certain that Philippa will be invited to go with her mistress?” the earl said. “I should not want to offer my services to Wolsey only to find myself separated from my wife for the next few months.”

“Philippa is an especial favorite of the queen’s despite her own humble birth,” Lord Cambridge said. “The queen will want her by her side. She cherishes that link with her past, and Philippa is very good with her when the queen grows sad. She soothes her. Oh, yes, I can be certain that Philippa will be invited to go with the court to France. And what an adventure it will be for her, my dear Crispin! She has visited Scotland with her mother, and God only knows that is a foreign enough place, but to go to France! Ahh, dear boy, that is something she will never forget. The memory of it will surely sustain her during her first confinement, eh?” He chuckled. “Now, however, all you must do is convince the little wench to wed you before the summer progress. Do you think you can do it?” Thomas Bolton smiled. He knew Philippa far, far better than Crispin St. Claire. The task that the earl had set himself was almost Herculean, but he would support him, for he did believe it was better Philippa wed before the journey.

“I don’t know,” the earl admitted in a moment of rare candor. I have not said it! He could hear her voice in his head. How was he to approach her? Directly? Stealthily?

“If the decision were mine,” Lord Cambridge suggested, “I think I would woo the lass with all the skills at my command. Poetry. Little gifts. But most of all, passion. Virgins are skittish, but they are curious, and rarely immune to passion, dear boy.”

“Surely you aren’t suggesting that I seduce Philippa,” the earl said slowly.

“If it were me,” Lord Cambridge murmured, “I would do whatever I had to do to gain the fair maid’s consent, dear boy. A skillful seduction is a marvelous way around a stubborn lover.”

“I think,” the earl said slowly, “that Cardinal Wolsey has lost a skillful and wickedly clever servant in you, my lord.”

Thomas Bolton barked a sharp laugh. “I would think, dear boy, that I am far too wise to involve myself in the political dealings of any nation or government. I leave that to those others who need to enhance their own self-importance.”

Now it was the earl of Witton who laughed. “Are you a cynic or a skeptic, Tom Bolton?” he asked.

“Neither,” Lord Cambridge responded. “I believe I am a realist. And so must you be if you are to win Philippa over in time to go to France. Court her, but do not underestimate her, dear boy.”

And just how was he going to do that, the earl asked himself as he prepared to join Lord Cambridge at court that day? And next to Thomas Bolton he looked like a sparrow beside a peacock. But then, so did most of the court but for a very few.

“I shall seek appointments with both the king and the queen,” Lord Cambridge said as they exited his barge at Richmond.

“Won’t that take time?” the earl replied.

“Under normal circumstances it would, but I have a new friend among the ranks of the king’s secretaries, and a fat purse. Both will gain me a few minutes with the monarch and his spouse today, so we may not have to wait.”

“Then I shall go and offer my services to the cardinal,” the earl said.

The two men separated, each going in a different direction. The earl of Witton found his way to Cardinal Wolsey’s apartments. There he told one of the cardinal’s men that he wished to speak with his old master. “Today,” he emphasized strongly. “I come to offer my services for this great meeting to be held between our good King Henry and the French king.”

The cardinal’s second secretary to whom he spoke knew who the earl of Witton was, and of his service to his master. “You do not need much time then,” he said, his gaze anxiously scanning the earl’s face. “He is frightfully busy with all of this.”

“Five minutes,” the earl told the second secretary.

“You will have to wait, but I will get you in,” was his reply.

Crispin St. Claire sat down in a tall-backed chair, and waited. Having been in the cardinal’s service before, he was more than well aware of how busy Wolsey was. Wolsey served a hard master in the king. It was no easy task to do his bidding, to keep ahead of him, to be seriously useful to Henry Tudor, to dodge his detractors. And Thomas Wolsey had more against him than stood for him. A brilliant and hardworking man, he had an unfortunate inability to tolerate fools. But worse, he was arrogant, and thought nothing of keeping the high and the mighty cooling their heels in his antechamber. Even the earl of Witton now waited, more patiently than most.

Finally the secretary beckoned to him, and rising quickly he followed the man into the cardinal’s sanctum. “My lord, the earl of Witton,” the secretary said, and then scuttled back through the door where they had entered.

Thomas Wolsey did not bother to look up from the papers on his desk. “I am told you wish to offer me your services once again, my lord.”

“Only briefly,” the earl said. “I want to go to France with the court, but know I am not important enough to be invited merely for my charm.”