The Last Heiress (2 page)

“We must leave April first,” Lord Cambridge said. “If we are to be down to Greenwich in time for the May Day celebrations we must go then. Dear Will, there is so much to do, and so little time in which to do it. We must write to Philippa, for she will be our entrée into court for this visit. And you must contact Master Althorp. I will want him at Bolton House in London with my new clothing as soon as we arrive. He will have all the latest gossip for us.” Thomas Bolton chuckled. “But first we will have to pay a visit to Friarsgate. If I know our heiress she will have not a garment suitable for travel, let alone the court. You will have to get her measurements, dear boy, so we may have some decent clothing made for her. So much to do! And barely time in which to do it, Will.”

“We will proceed as we usually do, my lord, in a calm and an orderly manner,” William Smyth assured his master. “I will begin today.

Now let me bring you some wine, my lord. You will need all your strength and wits about you, for Elizabeth Meredith will not be an easy girl for whom to find a husband. Her manners, my lord, if you will forgive my mentioning—and she is already considered an old maid by many.”

“Fiddle-faddle!” Lord Cambridge replied. “The king’s little friend is 
even older, and she is yet unwed. And Mistress Boleyn has not the dower portion that Mistress Elizabeth Meredith has. Who will ever marry her, I wonder?” He sniffed.

“When shall we plan our visit to Friarsgate, my lord?”

“As soon as possible, dear boy,” Thomas Bolton replied. “I have always liked Friarsgate, but more so now than ever. The hall is a peaceful one there these days. And Elizabeth is an excellent hostess. Her table is always well served, and her guests well fed. Go and ask old Ben in the stables what the weather is to be for the next few days. He is always correct in his predictions about such phenomena.”

“At once, my lord!” William Smythe replied, placing a small goblet of wine in his master’s hand. Then, bowing, he hurried from the chamber.

“The weather,” old Ben pronounced, “will be fair for the next few days, particular considering it were January, but February were a terrible month, and not likely to be any different this year, sir.” William Smythe reported back to his master.

“See we are packed for a long stay, my dear Will,” Lord Cambridge said with a wicked chuckle. “If I am to be snowed in then I prefer Friarsgate this year to my own dear Otterly, though I should have never imagined the day I would admit to such. My dear heiress and her mate can handle any emergencies that might arise. After all, Otterly will one day belong to Banon. When I tell her why I must away to Friarsgate she will understand better than any. Of all of Rosamund’s children she is the most reasonable, which is fortunate, for her husband, while still a pretty fellow, is not a man of intellectual strengths. So many of these old northern families interbreed too much, and barely educate their children. They still believe we live in a time when their name alone is all that matters. I chose well when I made Banon my heiress. She is wise beyond her years.”

“Indeed she is, my lord,” the secretary agreed. “Except perhaps where her husband and offspring are concerned. She is most indulgent with them all.”

“She has a kind heart, Will,” Thomas Bolton said with a small smile. When he had purchased Otterly all those years ago he had determined to make Banon, his cousin’s second child, his heiress.

Philippa, the eldest of Rosamund’s daughters, was to inherit Friarsgate, and to Elizabeth he had promised a large dower. But Philippa had gone to court at twelve to serve the queen, and had quickly found that no suitable young man wanted a girl, even a great heiress, with a northern estate. So Lord Cambridge had purchased a small estate in Oxfordshire for her, and then found the perfect husband for Philippa. It had elevated her into the ranks of the nobility, and was in the eyes of the court a spectacular match for a girl of Philippa’s background. As Countess of Witton, Philippa had filled her husband’s nursery with three sturdy sons and an infant daughter.

But Philippa had renounced any claim she had on Friarsgate, and her husband had surprisingly agreed with her decision. Most men would have been delighted to gain the great lands of Friarsgate, but Crispin St. Clair believed a man should live on his lands, the better to oversee his own wealth. His estate of Brierewode, along with the matching lands his marriage to Philippa had brought him, were more than enough for him.

And when his cousin Rosamund had despaired of what would become of her beloved Friarsgate, it was her youngest daughter, Elizabeth Meredith, who had spoken up and declared she would have it, for of the three sisters it was Elizabeth who loved Friarsgate the best. So it had been agreed that upon her fourteenth birthday Friarsgate would be turned over to Elizabeth, and it had been. Rosamund, who had spent much of her life caring for, loving, defending, and making Friarsgate prosper, retired to her Scots husband’s home at Claven’s Carn to raise Logan Hepburn’s five sons, four of whom were theirs.

Elizabeth Meredith, like her mother before her, had been born to manage the Friarsgate inheritance. She loved the land. The raising of sheep fascinated her. She tried breeding different kinds of the creatures to see whether the wool they grew was different, or better. She spent two days each week in a chamber set aside for estate business, where she oversaw the export trade her mother and uncle had set up.

No one had yet to match the Friarsgate blue wool cloth they sold through their factors in the Netherlands, and Elizabeth had been working for several years now to develop a new and unique color. So far, nothing had satisfied her.

She was a great chatelaine of her lands, and therein lay the problem. Nothing meant more to her than Friarsgate. It was her raison d’être. Elizabeth did not acknowledge the passing of time, or bother to consider a future in which she would play no part. Like all great estates, Friarsgate needed to be assured of a new generation.

Thomas Bolton sighed to himself. Elizabeth Meredith was by far the loveliest of Rosamund’s daughters. But her social skills were practically nonexistent. She had been taught them, but had no use for fine table manners, or the playing of an instrument, which she had once done quite well. Her clothing was that of a country farmer’s wife, and not a young heiress. She spoke directly, and sometimes roughly. All the niceties she had been bred and born to were forgotten in her passion to oversee Friarsgate.

And that in part, along with his desire for a quieter household, was his reason for going to Friarsgate for the rest of the winter months. Before he might introduce Elizabeth into court he would have to reeducate her in the ways of her station. They were going to need Philippa’s aid once they were at Greenwich, and Philippa was unlikely to give it, blood kin or no, if Elizabeth was going to prove an embarrassment to her oldest sister. That would be one of the first things he must work on with Elizabeth, Thomas Bolton decided. He had to convince her before they departed Friarsgate not to deliberately irritate Philippa.

Finding a husband for Elizabeth Meredith was going to prove a far greater challenge to him than finding a husband for her two sisters had.

William Smythe was an invaluable servant and companion. By the following morning he had his master prepared to depart Otterly. The cart carrying their baggage had left at first light for Friarsgate. Six Otterly men-at-arms were waiting to escort Lord Cambridge and his secretary. It was a long ride, but if they rode out early enough they would reach Friarsgate shortly after dusk.

“Oh, Uncle, must you leave us?” Banon Meredith Neville asked him as they broke their fast in the hall. “When will you return?

Jemima, stop teasing your sister!”

“My dearest girl, you know how your mother relies upon me in such matters. Elizabeth must have a husband, and seems not of a mind to
find one for herself. I must drag her off to court and seek a miracle, Banon, my angel. I hope you will pray for our success.” He spooned some egg into his mouth, smiling as he tasted a hint of both chive and cheese. Then he took a swallow of his morning wine. “Your youngest sister is not an easy creature, as you well know.”

“Will you ask for Philippa’s help?” Banon queried him, her pretty face curious. “Katherine, Thomasina, Jemima, and Elizabeth, it is time for your lessons. Run along to your tutor now, and take Margaret with you. I know she is but three, but perhaps an early start will help.”

Banon sighed.

“I fear I have no choice,” he answered her. “Philippa’s connections at court are impeccable, as you know.” He waved to the little girls leaving the hall, for he did love them all despite their high spirits, and his heart warmed as they blew him kisses.

“Perhaps no longer,” Banon noted. “Even here, Uncle, we get the gossip. Later than most, but eventually it comes. You know the queen is no longer in favor with the king. And he pays most public court to the younger Boleyn girl. I doubt my eldest sister approves, for like our mother her devotion to Queen Katherine is deep.”

“Indeed it is,” Lord Cambridge agreed, “but I suspect now her loyalty to her sons will be even stronger. She must look to their future, and the king will decide their fate, not the queen. Philippa may love the queen, but it is the king who wields the power, Banon. Your sister will not embrace Mistress Boleyn, but neither will she offend her.”

“Well, Uncle, you shall soon see,” Banon replied. “How long will you remain at Friarsgate, and when will you depart for court?”

“There is so much to do.” He sighed, taking a piece of fresh, warm cottage loaf and buttering it lavishly. The butter ran down his fingers as he popped it into his mouth. “Elizabeth must be reminded of her heritage and her breeding. She must begin to practice her social skills again. The court is not filled with sheep. At least not those with woolly coats,” Lord Cambridge amended. “And she will need clothing.” He licked his fingers clean of the butter. “Maybel and Edmund have little authority over her, I fear.”

“They are old, Uncle. Edmund will be seventy-one in the spring, but he is still strong enough to steward Friarsgate for Elizabeth.” Her 
blue eyes grew thoughtful, and her plump fingers drummed upon the tabletop. “But what will she do when Edmund cannot aid her? I do not know if my sister has even considered such a possibility. Elizabeth seems to think that nothing changes, but of course it does.”

“First things first, my angel girl. And the first thing is to recivilize your little sister, and then take her to court to show to her best advantage. There has to be one younger son of some sense who could find it in himself to live in the north. I shall track him down and get Mistress Elizabeth married properly before year’s end.” He stood up. “I must go now, Banon, if I am to reach Friarsgate by nightfall. I shall send word when I plan to return. In the meantime Otterly is yours to care for and watch over.” He kissed her cheek and gave Banon’s husband, Robert Neville, a friendly wave as he turned and departed the hall.

“Well,” Banon said, turning to her husband, “what do you think of all of this?”

“Tom knows well what he is doing,” Robert Neville said. He was a man of few words, which was fortunate, since everyone else around him had a great deal to say. And he had quickly accepted the fact that his wife ruled Otterly. It suited him, as he far preferred hunting and other gentlemanly pursuits. Leaning over he gave her a kiss on the cheek, knowing it was expected of him. Then, grinning lecherously at Banon, he remarked, “We shall have Otterly to ourselves all winter, my sweet. Only the children to consider, and the nights are yet long.”

Lord Cambridge’s party rode hard the day long, and as he had anticipated it was dusk as they came down the hills to Friarsgate. The fields about them lay fallow, the plow ruts frozen and touched with white frost. The lake had a skim of ice upon it, and already a moon was rising in the half-light to reflect itself in the frozen waters. William Smythe rode ahead to alert the house to their arrival. The cook would need to be informed, and places must be made in the stables for the horses and their riders. But stable lads were there to take Thomas Bolton’s horse and lead his men-at-arms to the stable.

The front door was flung open, and light poured forth through its opening as Elizabeth Meredith came forth to greet her uncle. “You did 
not wait very long after receiving my mother’s plea,” she teased him.

“Or have you come to tell me you are too old to go to court? That is what Mama said.” She kissed his cheek, and then, linking her arm in his, brought him into the house and through into her hall. She was wearing a long blue wool skirt, a wide leather belt about her narrow waist, and a long-sleeved white linen shirt.

It suited her, Lord Cambridge thought. “I shall never be too old to go to court,” he replied a trifle indignantly. So Rosamund thought because he had begun his sixth decade he was not the man he had always been. Well, she would see soon enough. He would turn Elizabeth into a little princess in spite of herself. “Nor will I ever grow too old to fail Rosamund’s daughters, my pet,” he said, smiling with pleasure as she kissed his cold cheek in welcome. He plunked himself into a tapestry-backed chair by the fire and, pulling off his gloves, held his hands to the fire. “God’s wounds, ’tis cold!” he exclaimed.

“Wine for my lord!” Elizabeth shouted to her servants.

Lord Cambridge winced. “Dear child,” he pleaded, “do not call out as if you were in the taproom of a crowded inn. A lady’s voice should be gentle but firm in tone when instructing her servants.”

“Oh, lord!” Elizabeth said almost wearily. “Are my lessons to start at once?”

“Aye, they are,” he said, taking the goblet of wine from a hovering servant. “You are obviously in sore need, Elizabeth Meredith, of civilizing. And I shall not be driven off. Your mother is correct: You must have a husband. Friarsgate needs to be assured of another generation of those who love it and will care for it. I am going to turn you back into the lady you were born to be, and then, dear girl, we shall go hunt for a nice young man who will not be frightened of you, and who shall wed you and give you the sons and daughters this estate nurtures so well.” He put the goblet to his lips and drank half of the contents down. “Now what is for dinner? I have not eaten since we left Otterly, except for a wedge of hard cheese and a bit of bread. I must have a good meal if I am to take on this incredible task, dear girl.”