Philippa (30 page)

He turned, and caught his breath. She was simply lovely. She wore no cap or veil, and her rich auburn hair flowed artlessly down her back. Her silk gown, a flattering Tudor green, was one piece. Her lips beckoned him on to his destruction. What the hell was the matter with him? Why this sudden burst of uncontrollable lust for Philippa Meredith? She took a deep breath, exhaled, and the laces of her gown gave way dangerously, and then she sat down upon the coverlet.

“Will you not join me, my lord?” she invited him sweetly.

“This was not a good idea,” he said as if to himself.

“Of course it was,” she disagreed. “Are we not getting to know one another better, Crispin?” She held out her hand to him. “Come, and sit with me. I want to be kissed and cuddled again. We are alone, and there is no one to see us in our little riverside grove of willows.”

He did not take her hand, but he sat down. He was a grown man. A man of experience. He could certainly restrain himself one more day. He was not some green and callow youth who sprayed his seed down his hose in a frenzy of eager desire. “I am hungry,” he said, eyeing the basket. Food would take his mind from his passion.

“So am I,” she replied, eying him as if he were some particularly rich sweet that she just had to have. Now.

He felt his mouth struggling not to smile. What had he done with just a few kisses and caresses. It was as if all her ladylike inhibitions were forgotten. “Madame,” he said in what he hoped was a stern, warning voice, “you must learn to control yourself.”

“Why?” she questioned him, pouting adorably. “I want to be kissed.”

“But just yesterday you did not. Why this sudden change in you?” he demanded to know. “First I cannot get you to kiss me, and now you must kiss me.”

“We are betrothed now. Our wedding is tomorrow,” she said as if that explained it all. “Don’t you want to kiss me, Crispin? Are you one of those men who wants what he cannot have until he gets it, and then he doesn’t want it anymore?”

“Philippa, I want to kiss you. I want to caress those sweet little titties of yours. But I have discovered to my surprise that what began as a mere lesson in passion to reassure you has whetted my desires so greatly that I am not certain I can control them. I want you a virgin tomorrow night. Our wedding night. I want the servants to gossip about the bloodstain on the bedsheet after we have departed for Brierewode. In the years to come I want them to remember that you were pure and untouched when I first took you. That you were an honorable woman.”

“Oh, Crispin!” she cried. “I should kiss you if you had not already assured me it would release the ravening beast in you. When I have returned to the queen’s service I shall proudly tell her of the honorable man to whom I am married. You are just what she would have wished for me. Alas, however, it seems that you have aroused a lustful nature in me that is perhaps not quite respectable. I long for your touch.”

“And I for yours, little one, but we will restrain ourselves for now. We will not have to restrain ourselves in another day. So you think the queen would approve of my gallantry, do you? Do you think I am the kind of man your mother would want for you?”

“I doubt it would matter to my mother, as you will not be the master of Friarsgate,” she told him frankly. “She will be happy that I am happy, for I know she loves me even if we do not always see eye to eye. You will like her.”

“I hope that you will like Brierewode,” he said. “The countryside is very unlike your wild Cumbria. The hills are gentle and the meadows green.”

“Are we on the Thames?” she asked him.

“Nay, we are to the west of the river, but I have planned with your uncle that we travel home via the river. We shall have his large barge, as he is returning to Otterly with your sister the day after our wedding. We shall go as far as Henley, where our horses will be awaiting us. We will ride cross-country to Cholsey, and then continue on by barge to Oxfordtown itself. After that we will ride home. It should take us about seven days. Your Lucy and my Peter will travel overland with the luggage cart. We will meet them first in Cholsey, and then Oxford.”

“Where will we stay at night?” she asked him.

“There are several charming inns along the river, and Lord Cambridge has made arrangements for us,” he told her.

“So we shall drift up the river alone, together, with no cares,” she said.

“I thought you would enjoy it,” he told her. “And had we not suddenly gotten along so famously it would have given us time to learn about one another.”

“Shall we make love along the way?” she teased him.

He grinned. “Oh, madame, I have much to teach you, and I am delighted to find in you such a willing pupil,” the earl told her. “Now open that damned basket, Philippa, for one of my appetites must be fed this minute or I cannot be responsible for what will happen.”

“Yes, my lord,” she said meekly. Marriage to this man, she suddenly decided, was not going to be so bad after all.

A
pril thirtieth dawned bright and sunny. The river at the edge of Bolton House sparkled in the cheerful light of morning. The gardens were abloom with early flowers, and the birds were singing sweetly. Philippa had awakened early enough to watch the sun rise. She had gone downstairs into the gardens in her night garment and gathered dew from the grass which she spread upon her face as if it were May morn. Then twirling amid the fragrant blooms, she ran on bare feet back up to her bedchamber to prepare for this most important day in her life. She realized to her surprise that she very much wished Rosamund were here today. But at the end of April her mother would be busy with the lamb count, the culling of her flocks, and preparing to ship the wool cloth woven by the cotters over the long winter months off to her European markets.

Crispin St. Claire had awakened early too. Going to his window he had seen the lithe figure dancing amid the flowers in the garden below. It was Philippa. He watched her, enchanted, and in that moment the earl of Witton realized that he was falling in love with the girl he would marry this very morning. He smiled, surprised, thinking himself briefly an April fool. She was so innocent and yet so sophisticated. And he had a great deal more to learn about her.

Banon came into her elder sister’s bedchamber, rubbing her eyes sleepily. “I vow I shall never catch up with the sleep I have lost these months at court,” she complained. “Can I share your bath?” She yawned broadly, and then, sighing, sat down on the bed.

“Lucy has gone to fetch us a meal,” Philippa said. “It is a perfect day, Banie. The air has a warmth to it, and smells so fresh.”

“I’ll be glad to escape back to Otterly before the plague season,” Banon remarked.

“We don’t have plague every year,” Philippa said.

Lucy pushed her way into the bedchamber with a heavy tray which she set upon the oak table in the center of the room. “Come along now, you two, and have your breakfast. I’ll get the tub ready, for the footmen are on their way now with the hot water. Wrap your shawls about yourselves. I’ll not have either of you flaunting yourselves before those sharp-eyed London lads.” She snatched up Philippa’s shawl and put it about her shoulders, then scampered into the room next door and came back with a shawl for Banon with which she enveloped the girl.

The two sisters sat and began to eat. There were eggs in a sauce of cheese, cream, and dill. There was ham, and fresh bread with sweet butter and cherry jam. There was a single trencher, neatly hollowed out, filled with oat stirabout. There was honey and cream for the cereal. Philippa and Banon shared the trencher. Philippa might have been at court for over three years, but she had never lost her country girl appetite, and Banon equaled her sister at the board. They ate until there was nothing left. They had sipped goblets of watered wine, for Lucy assured them it was better for the digestion and their nerves this morning than ale, which would only give them the bloat.

The footmen paraded up and down the stairs carrying their buckets of hot water. They had pulled the tall oak tub with its strong iron bands from its wall cabinet and into the room before the fire. When the tub was finally filled, Lucy shut the door to the chamber firmly and set about preparing the water.

“Don’t put lily of the valley oil in,” Philippa said. “Banie is going to share my tub, and I don’t want her smelling of my fragrance.”

“I don’t like lily of the valley,” Banon remarked. “It gives me the headache.”

“I’ll do damask rose then,” Lucy replied, uncorking a narrow flask and pouring a thin stream of oil into the water. “Hurry and get in, you two. You’ve eaten enough for an army. Not even a crust left for the poor, or a crumb for the birds.”

The sisters giggled as they got up from the table. They laid aside their shawls and pulled off their night garments.

“Your breasts have grown,” Philippa noted to her sister as she climbed into the tub. “They are bigger than mine, and you are the younger. ’Tis not fair!”

“Yours will grow too when you let your husband fondle them on a regular basis,” Banon responded with a grin. “They don’t grow when you keep them to yourself. Oh, I envy you, sister! I wish tonight were my wedding night!”

“If your mother could hear the pair of you,” Lucy said disapprovingly.

“Oh, Lucy, she wouldn’t fuss at us,” Banon said. “She slept with our stepfather before they were wed, you know, and she was the earl of Glenkirk’s mistress. And your own sister became with child before she wed. All Philippa and I do is speak on passion.”

“You were barely old enough to know such things,” Lucy said, shaking her head.

“No one pays a great deal of attention to children,” Banon said wisely, “but they listen, and they hear.”

“Wash your hair, both of you!” Lucy said.

The two sisters grinned, but did her bidding, helping each other to rinse their long auburn hair free of soap, then pinning it up so they might continue their bath. When they had finished they climbed from the tub, one at a time, and Lucy wrapped them each in large towels that she had been heating before the fire. She handed Banon a towel for her hair, but sat Philippa down and began to dry her hair herself. Philippa was, after all, her mistress, not Banon. By toweling and brushing the hair before the heat of the fire Lucy soon had the bride’s hair dry.

“I’ll dress you first, Mistress Banon,” she told the younger girl. “I have your gown all ready.” She helped Banon into her stockings and garters, and her round-necked silk chemise. Then she held out the bodice for
Banon to fit her arms into the attached sleeves
which were fitted to the elbow, and then folded back in a wide cuff to show the puffed sleeves of her silk chemise. Finally came the shake fold and the petticoats followed by the skirt of the gown. The garment was rose silk brocade. It had a square neckline embroidered with a band of gold and silver ribbon. The wide cuffs were rose and gold brocade. Banon’s slippers were covered in the same brocade fabric as was her neat little English hood with its gauzy short veil. She wore a simple gold chain about her neck with a pearl, ruby, and gold cross.

“That color is so flattering on you,” Philippa said. “I think it must be your blue eyes. Our hair is so similar, and yet that shade of rose is not a good color for me at all.”

“I want to see your gown now,” Banon said. “The material was simply gorgeous.”

Philippa had already dressed herself in her stockings and undergarments while Banon was being dressed. She smiled at her sister’s comment, and then Lucy fitted the bodice of Philippa’s ivory silk brocade wedding gown onto her mistress. The wide sleeves were slashed, and tied with gold cords, but fitted at the wrists and edged with a lace ruffle. The neckline of the gown was square, and decorated with embroidered gold ribbon and pearls. The skirts of Philippa’s wedding gown were split in the front to reveal the ivory and gold velvet underskirt which was embroidered and quilted.

“Oh, sister,” Banon breathed admiringly, “you simply must be painted in that gown! I so wish mama were here to see you.”

“You know the spring is a bad time for her,” Philippa said. “She will be at your wedding, and I shall see her then. Crispin and I must marry today, for the queen wishes us to be man and wife when we join the court to go to France.”

“Will you always serve Queen Katherine?” Banon asked.

“Of course,” Philippa said.

“There have been rumors that the king is not happy with her because she cannot give him an heir,” Banon murmured.

“They have Princess Mary to follow the king,” Philippa said. “The king has no choice unless the queen dies. She is his wife, no matter her deficiencies, until death.”

“I have heard it said the king could divorce the queen should he choose,” Banon replied. “That he could wed a new, younger, and more fertile wife. Other Christian kings have done it in an effort to get an heir.”

“That cannot be so!” Philippa snapped. “A Christian marriage is until death, Banon. I hope you have not repeated such dreadful gossip around the court.”

Banon shook her head. “I listen,” she told her older sister. “Nothing more.”

“Good,” Philippa replied, slipping her brocade slippers onto her feet.

There was a knock, and the door sprang open to reveal Lord Cambridge. He entered the bedchamber and, one hand over his heart, he stepped back dramatically, exclaiming, “My darling girl, you look magnificent! You really must be immortalized in that gown. I shall speak to the earl myself.” He took her hand and kissed it.

“Banon said I should be painted too,” Philippa responded. Then she stepped up before him, and kissed his cheek. “Thank you, Uncle Thomas, for everything you have done for me. You have obtained a far better match for me than I could have ever hoped for, and I am grateful.”

“You seem to like him, darling girl, and I do want you to be happy,” Tom Bolton said. “And I believe it is more than just the land for him now. He seems quite taken with you after these last few weeks. He is a good man, Philippa. That I know in my heart. I should not let you wed him today if I did not believe that. I promised your mother to look after you, and you know that she is dearest to my heart of anyone else living in this world. I would not fail her nor you.” He took a lock of her unbound hair up in his fingers, and kissed it.