Philippa (28 page)

“One day you will get fat,” Philippa teased her sister.

“I don’t care,” Banon said. “I shall have Otterly, my bairns, and Robert. ’Tis all I want in life, sister. And Robert won’t care. More of me to love, he always says.”

Philippa shook her head. “How is it that you and Robert can speak so easily with one another? You have known him hardly longer than I have known the earl.”

“Philippa, you are my older sister, and you know without my saying that I love you, but you have too much of the queen in you. I mean neither you nor the queen any disrespect when I say that, but you should be more like mama. She has a zest for life, and devil take the hindmost. She is not afraid of giving in to passion. The first night she and Glenkirk met he bedded her, and she was more than willing, it is said.” Banon dipped her spoon into her trencher of warm oat stirabout, bringing it to her mouth. It was flavored with bits of apple, cinnamon, sugar, and heavy cream.

“How do you know such a thing?” Philippa demanded, surprised.

“Uncle Tom told me,” Banon said. “I have lived with him since I turned twelve, after all. And while she resisted our stepfather, she also longed for him,” Banon added. “But you have held Crispin St. Claire at bay, whether from shyness or prudery I do not know. But no matter, the effect has been the same, and now you will marry him tomorrow, and you can no longer hold him at bay. You would not be doing your duty as a wife if you did.”

“I know,” Philippa admitted. “I am so confused, and not just a little frightened.”

“Of what?” Banon wanted to know.

“Of him. The earl. He is a very strong-willed man,” Philippa explained.

Banon laughed aloud. “You are a very strong-willed girl,” she said.

“He took me into the gardens after the ceremony yesterday, and he kissed me again and again,” Philippa replied.

“And?” Banon probed.

“He loosened my laces! He fondled my breast! He said I was his pupil, and he would teach me passion, that in two days’ time I would be his wife, and I would do my duty towards him,” Philippa said. “I ran back into the house and stayed in my chamber the rest of the day.”

Banon shook her head. “You are determined to be unhappy, I see. What is the matter with you, Philippa? The earl is a charming man. He is not very well known at court but those who know him speak of his ethic and good nature. No one has forced you to this match. I cannot believe you are behaving like a shrinking virgin, and a ninny.”

“I am a shrinking virgin,” Philippa protested.

“You are a ninny first, I suspect. I am almost tempted to stay my own betrothal in an effort to aid you. That is what sisters are for, but I will be damned if I hold back from my own happiness because you are behaving like a silly fool,” Banon declared. “If I were not in love with Robert Neville I would steal the earl from you and marry him myself!” She drank down half the contents of her goblet in irritation. “He is most preeminent as prospective husbands go.”

“Why, thank you, Mistress Banon,” the earl said, coming up to join them at the high board. He gave her a warm smile, and then turned to Philippa. “You are feeling better this morning, little one?” He kissed her forehead as he sat down next to Philippa.

“Aye, my lord,” she answered him, her eyes lowered.

“Well, I’ve had all I want to eat for now,” Banon said, getting up from the table. “I’m going to go and take a nap. One never gets enough sleep at court, I fear. I shall see you both later.”

“I will go with you,” Philippa said, and she made to stand up, but the earl would not let her. She turned to him questioningly.

“I don’t want you to go with me, you lackwit!” Banon snapped, and she ran from the hall.

“This foolishness must cease,” the earl told Philippa.

“I know,” she agreed. “I do not know what is the matter with me, my lord. I have never before been a coward.” She filled his goblet from the pitcher on the table, and buttered a piece of the cottage loaf for him.

“We will spend the day together,” he told her. “We will take Tom’s barge out on the river, and row upstream away from the city. We will bring a basket with us and have a picnic, just the two of us. Not my chattering sisters, or your charming sister, or the flamboyant Lord Cambridge. Just us. And you will tell me of your family, and why you have an aversion to sheep,” he teased her, “and I will tell you of my early years.”

“Oh, I should like that,” Philippa said, and she smiled at him.

“You are tired, little one. I can see it. You take life most seriously, and I wonder if you have ever been care-free in all of your life,” he said, and he caressed her face with his fingers.

“When I was little, and lived at Friarsgate,” she said softly. “Mama watched over all of us and saw we were happy and safe. There were lessons with Father Mata, and we learned to swim in our lake. I remember seeing newborn lambs just from their mother’s wombs. Sheep are not very intelligent, and drop their newborns in the worst of winter,” she told him.

“It sounds most peaceful and idyllic,” he replied.

She laughed. “It does, doesn’t it.” She stood up. “I am not running away, I promise, my lord, but I would go to the kitchens and tell cook we will need a basket for our picnic. I shall return quickly, and you shall eat while I am gone.”

He caught her hand and kissed it. “Do not be long, little one. I find I am coming to quite enjoy your company,” he said to her.

What a sweet thing to say, Philippa considered as she hurried off to the kitchens of Bolton House. Banon was right. She was being a ninny. But the queen had instructed all her maids of honor to chaste behavior, and was not the king’s wife a shining example of virtue to her kingdom’s womenfolk? While Philippa had seen the king give his wife a public kiss now and again, he was far more familiar with some of the court ladies, and Philippa knew that the court was in certain areas a haven for licentious behavior of a salacious variety. She wasn’t certain what was right and what was wrong. If indeed there was a right or wrong about it all.

Reaching her destination, she instructed the cook to fill a basket with bread, ham, cheese, and wine. “And some of those delicious-looking meat pasties coming out of the ovens right now,” she said, “and oh, I see early strawberries, some of them as well. Pack enough, Master Cook, for the earl is a big man, and likes his food.”

“When will you want it?” the cook inquired politely.

“In an hour, or possibly even less,” Philippa said. “I’ll send Lucy for it.”

“There will be just the two of you?” the cook asked.

Philippa nodded, feeling a small blush touch her cheeks. “Aye,” she responded, and then departed the kitchens.

Upstairs in the hall she found that the earl was just about finished with his morning meal. He was yet alone, for Lord Cambridge rarely rose before ten in the morning when he was in London. Neither were the earl’s sisters in evidence.

“I will wait until Uncle Thomas is up,” Philippa said, “so I may tell him where we are going. Would you like to go into the gardens? The day is fair.”

“Aye,” he agreed, “but first I have a small surprise for you, Philippa. It is your natal day, is it not? You are sixteen today. I have brought you a small gift.” He held out a velvet bag to her.

“How kind!” she exclaimed, surprised. “What is it?”

“Open the bag,” he smiled, “if you wish to know.”

Philippa spilled the contents of the bag into her upturned palm to reveal a delicate gold chain to which was attached a round gold pendant studded with sapphire stars. “Oh,” she exclaimed. “It’s beautiful, my lord. Thank you so much! The only man who has ever given me jewelry before is Uncle Thomas.” She held the chain and pendant up, admiring it as it sparkled in the sunlight of the hall.

“Well, now it will be my privilege to gift my wife with jewelry. Let me put it on you,” the earl said, taking the chain from her and turning her about to slip it over her head. “My mother wore this piece, Philippa, and my grandmother. It is always given to St. Claire countesses. I had an ancestor who fought with King Richard. He brought it back from the Holy Land.” Then his arms went about her waist, and he dropped a kiss upon her shoulder. His hand adjusted the pendant, his fingers slipping between her breasts for the briefest moment as if by accident, but they both knew it was no accident.

Philippa’s pulse raced, but she did not scold him, or even flinch. By tomorrow she would be his wife. Whatever the queen said about the virtue of chastity in a marriage, this innocent play could not be wrong between a man and his wife. The betrothal agreement made them a married couple already according to the law of the land. Once the church rendered its blessing and gave them the sacrament it would be fact. If the purpose of marriage was children, then she must yield to his desires. And why should she not yield to her own desires? There were so many questions she needed answers to, and for the first time in three years Philippa Meredith wanted her mother.

“What are you thinking?” he asked her. “You are very silent, little one.”

“I wish my mother were here, for there is much I have to ask her,” Philippa said.

“I expect ignorance and inexperience of you, Philippa,” he said, guessing the direction her thoughts must be taking. Then to his surprise Philippa laughed.

“You must not read my mind, my lord,” she told him. Then she turned and kissed him on the lips without any prompting at all. “Thank you again. The chain and the pendant are lovely, and I will cherish them.”

They walked out into the garden to discover that the river was filled with barges making their way from Richmond down the Thames to Greenwich. Philippa recognized many of the vessels, with their colorful flags flying, and their inhabitants as well. She waved at them gaily, and hailed many by name. The royal barge appeared, and as it came even with Lord Cambridge’s quay she curtseyed low, as by her side the earl bowed low.

“Philippa! Philippa!” A small figure in a bright scarlet gown waved wildly from the royal barge.

Philippa waved back, and curtseyed again as the earl bowed as well. “It is the princess Mary,” she told him. “Safe journey, your highness!” she called as the royal barge moved past Bolton House with stately grace. “We can sit down now,” Philippa told the earl, settling herself on a marble bench.

“Does everyone go to Greenwich by barge?” he asked her. “And why, when Richmond is downriver of Bolton House, did we see them at all?”

“In the spring, aye. And of course not everyone can afford to keep a barge, so it is important to have friends that have one, or a friend who has a friend. The court departs when the king decrees, and sometimes the tide is not with them. They come upriver first, turn with the tide, and then go back down again. The king could just as easily wait, but he will not.” She smiled. “If you listen you can hear the baggage carts rumbling along the road outside of our gates now. And here and there among them those who could not find seats on the barges, pretending they wanted to ride anyway. One must be very rich or have important relations or friends to succeed at court. I have been very fortunate. From the first time I came to court I knew it was where I wanted to be. I cannot imagine any other life.”

“You know I cannot allow you as much time at court as you have had,” he said. “You will have other duties to attend to as the countess of Witton. We can go for the Christmas revels, and in May, of course.”

“Of course,” she agreed amiably, thinking to herself that once the queen recalled her to be one of her ladies her husband could not gainsay her. And the queen had hinted that she would be recalling Philippa eventually. I can wait, Philippa thought.

Lucy came into the garden and, finding them, curtseyed. “Cook says he has your basket ready, mistress. Good morning, my lord!”

“I had best go tell Uncle Thomas that we are going to take the barge, and picnic,” Philippa said. “Put the basket in the barge, Lucy, please.” She arose and went off.

“Are my sisters up yet, Lucy?” the earl asked.

“I ain’t heard a peep out of them or their tiring women, my lord,” Lucy replied.

“Do you think you will be happy at Brierewode? It is not Cumbria,” he told her.

“I am content wherever my mistress is, my lord,” Lucy said, curtseying again. “I must put the basket in the barge now.”

He stood up. “I’ll take it, lass,” he said, taking it from her hand. “Which barge?”

“The one with the Friarsgate blue and silver curtains,” Lucy said. “Lord Cambridge had it made for my mistress’s mother when she came to court after Sir Owein’s death. My sister is in service to the lady of Friarsgate.”

“Do you think the lady of Friarsgate will like me?” the earl wondered.

“If you’re good to her lass, aye, she will,” Lucy responded pertly.

“I am endeavoring very hard to be good to your mistress, Lucy,” Crispin St. Claire said with a small smile at the young tiring woman.

“She takes to heart too much what the queen says, my lord, but you never heard me say it,” Lucy told him with a broad wink. “If you gets my meaning.”

The earl laughed. “I do, and I shall struggle to overcome that influence as swiftly as possible, Lucy.” Then he walked away with the basket towards the little barge bobbing on the river by Lord Cambridge’s quay.

In the meantime Philippa had gone back into the house and hurried up the staircase to her cousin’s apartments. She knocked softly, to be admitted by Thomas Bolton’s personal servant.

“Good morning, Mistress Philippa,” the man greeted her.

“Is he awake yet?” she asked.

“For over an hour, and already dictating his orders to Master Smythe. Shall I tell him you are here?” the serving man asked politely.

She nodded, and was quickly admitted.

“Darling girl, a most happy natal day!” Lord Cambridge called to her as she entered his bedchamber.

“May I echo his lordship’s good wishes, Mistress Philippa?” William Smythe said, bowing to her. He was standing by the bed.