The Last Heiress (3 page)

Elizabeth laughed aloud. “Uncle, you have not changed, and if anyone can make me presentable long enough to snag a healthy young ram to mate with, ’tis you!”

He raised a sandy-gray eyebrow. “You will have to learn to temper your speech no matter your thoughts, my pet,” he advised, and drank down the rest of his wine. This would be a herculean task indeed.

Elizabeth grinned back at him. “Well, isn’t that what we’re going to do, Uncle? Find me a mate for the purpose of getting heirs for Friarsgate?”

“You might put it a bit more delicately, dear girl, and there is always the possibility that you might fall in love,” he suggested dryly.

Elizabeth made a rude noise. “Love? No, thank you! Love weakens a body. Philippa gave up Friarsgate for love. Even Mama gave up Friarsgate for love. I shall never give up Friarsgate.”

“Ahh,” Lord Cambridge responded, “but the right man will never ask such a sacrifice of you. Your own father, who had lived all his life at court, was more than willing to come to Friarsgate, for love of your mother. And he quickly grew to love this land. And Philippa made her own decision in the matter. She did not want Friarsgate, for her passion is for the court. And your mother would have never left to live at Claven’s Carn had not you been here to accept her responsibilities as she has always accepted them. Even now she raises her sons in their father’s house as she should. You would not have had Friarsgate so soon otherwise, Elizabeth. Remember that.”

“Oh, Uncle, I doubt I will find a man who can love Friarsgate as I do! Philippa threw away her inheritance because no young man at court would have it,” Elizabeth said. She pushed a lock of her long, straight blond hair from her face. “I shall never do such a thing, I assure you.”

“Philippa was a creature of the court from the moment she first visited it when she was ten, Elizabeth. For her, Friarsgate paled in comparison after that first visit. I saw it, but your mother would not until she could no longer avoid it,” Thomas Bolton said.

“What if I find the court fascinating, and do not want to return?” 
she asked him.

“I doubt that will happen, my dear child,” he reassured her. “Your heart is here, and wherever your heart is, is home. Somewhere out there, Elizabeth, is a man who will make Friarsgate his home because you are here.” He patted her arm. “Now, where is my supper? I am about to swoon with hunger. And where is Will?”

“I am here, my lord,” William Smythe said, entering the hall. “I was seeing to your things. Good evening, Mistress Elizabeth.” He bowed politely.

“Welcome back, Will,” Elizabeth greeted him. “Are you hungry too?” She chuckled at him. She signaled a servant to bring William Smythe some wine.

“Indeed I am, Mistress Elizabeth, and your board is always a most excellent and tasty one, if I remember correctly.” He took the proffered goblet from the servant.

“Ah, but tonight I fear it will be a very simple meal, as I had not enough notice of your arrival. Now, Uncle, that is not at all like you.

Were you so eager to depart Otterly that you could not send to me?”

Elizabeth teased Thomas Bolton. “How are Banon’s little girls? Still as full of fun as always?”

“They are, it seems to me, overly lively,” Lord Cambridge said.

“How simple a supper?” His look was anxious.

“Broiled trout, venison stew, a roasted duck, a potage of winter vegetables, bread, butter, cheese, and baked apples with cream,” Elizabeth told him.

“No beef?” Lord Cambridge looked disappointed.

“Tomorrow, I promise,” Elizabeth said with a small smile, and she patted his arm.

“Well, I suppose it will have to do, dear girl,” Thomas Bolton said with a sigh.

“It is your own fault,” she repeated, “for not giving me more notice.

But I did have Cook make that sauce you like so for the trout.”

“With the dill?” He looked hopeful.

Elizabeth nodded. “With the dill,” she answered him. “And the apples have been baked with cinnamon,” she continued.

He smiled. “I shall survive then until morning, but you must have Cook do those poached eggs with marsala, cream, and nutmeg for me, my pet,” Lord Cambridge told her.

Elizabeth Meredith laughed. “I well know your tastes, Uncle. The order has already been given. And you will have ham too,” she promised him.

“You are a perfect hostess, my dear Elizabeth. Now if I can just re
mind you of your other duties as a lady we shall be quite successful at court.”

Elizabeth’s hazel-green eyes twinkled with mischief. “We can but hope, dear sir,” she said, and then she grinned at him.

She was the most charming girl when she chose to be, Thomas Bolton thought. But there was no denying she was a country woman.

She was not particularly anxious to emulate her two elder sisters. Her mother had probably been like her before she was whisked off to court an early age and learned how a lady behaved. Her eldest sister was delighted to gain the court, and absorbed its manners and ways like a sea sponge. Banon, his own heiress, Elizabeth’s middle sister, stood between Elizabeth and Philippa. She saw no disadvantage in good manners and womanly ways, although she was not nearly as high-flown about it as was Philippa.

But Elizabeth must be properly wed, and to do so meant that she must regain her ladylike ways. But had she ever really had them?

Thomas Bolton wondered. After Owein Meredith’s unfortunate death, Rosamund spent much time away from Friarsgate and her daughters. She traveled to the king’s court at the invitation of Queen Katherine. She visited the court of the late King James IV, and his queen, Margaret Tudor, who had been Rosamund’s girlhood friend.

She disappeared off to San Lorenzo with Patrick Leslie, the Earl of Glenkirk. She returned to both courts, taking Philippa with her. Her younger daughters were almost forgotten, particularly Elizabeth, who was known as Bessie in those distant days.

Elizabeth Meredith had grown up at Friarsgate, and she had never lived anywhere else except for brief visits to her stepfather’s home at Claven’s Carn before her mother turned Friarsgate over to her. She had lived among the simple folk of her holding, meeting few outsiders.

She had met Philippa’s husband once, when he had come north to meet his in-laws. Elizabeth vaguely recalled the Earl of Glenkirk, who had been so taken with her when she was a little girl. And he, Lord Cambridge thought, had been taken from the start with Banon. No one had a great deal of time for Elizabeth Meredith, it seemed. Because she had been healthy and well fed she had managed to grow up. If her mother had not been there, her mother’s old nursemaid, Maybel, had 
been there for her. Elizabeth had never been neglected, but neither had she been nurtured. She had grown up independent, outspoken, and completely capable of running her own life. She was a girl for whom sentiment had little meaning.

Lord Cambridge sighed and shook his head. How was he to find a husband worthy of Elizabeth? A man whom she could respect? A man who would respect her. He doubted any man at court would serve his family’s purpose. Finding Philippa’s noble husband had been a stroke of pure luck. Banon’s husband, also found at court, was the younger son of a northern family delighted by their good fortune, and convinced that they had wasted their coin to send John to court when they might have found Banon for themselves nearby. Yet they had never looked.

It would be a very special man who could live in the north; who could accept the fact that his wife was an excellent chatelaine of her lands, and that she was heavily involved in a cloth trade her family had set up themselves. What son of a family used to being surrounded by the kingdom’s high and mighty could understand a girl like Elizabeth Meredith? She would be welcomed at court because the king would accept her as Rosamund Bolton’s daughter; because her sister was the Countess of Witton; because her father was the late Sir Owein Meredith, a man respected and well thought of by those few who would remember him. Who one knew at court, to whom one was related among the aristocracy, was important, and so Elizabeth would be welcomed. But she would not be accepted as Philippa had. And her age was against her. An unmarried woman of twenty-two. An unproven breeder. She would be considered little more than a glorified farmer once she began speaking of Friarsgate and her sheep.

But Elizabeth Meredith was what she was, and Lord Cambridge knew there was very little he could do to change that. Nor was he certain he wanted to change her. She was not Rosamund. She was not her sisters. She was unique. Beautiful, witty, intelligent, and charming when she chose to be. There had to be a man out there who would appreciate those qualities. A man who could live with a young woman who took her duties as the heiress of Friarsgate far more seriously than 
had those before her. And by the Christ’s blessed body, Thomas Bolton was going to find him!

The next few weeks were difficult. Lord Cambridge had brought one of Banon’s old court gowns with him. He himself had been at court just three years prior. The ladies’ fashions had changed only slightly. Philippa, who wrote him several times a year, was always full of news of all kinds. She had not mentioned any great difference in styles, and she most certainly would have had they happened, for she knew how much Lord Cambridge appreciated such details. If enough gowns were made now, any small alterations needed could be made once they reached London. With this in mind he had had Will pack several bolts of fine materials, trimmings, and other stuffs from his own storehouse. There was an excellent seamstress here at Friarsgate, and she would, under Lord Cambridge’s direction, fashion the gowns and other garments needed for Elizabeth’s visit to King Henry’s court.

Elizabeth, however, had very little patience when it came to standing still and being fitted for those gowns. She grumbled, and she fidgeted until even Thomas Bolton was close to losing his usually even temper. But strange to say Elizabeth had an unerring eye for the colors and the cloth that suited her best.

“I like fabrics,” she told her uncle. “One day I shall learn how these fine silks, brocades, and velvets are dyed and made. I wonder if the threads that are woven to make them could be combined with our finest and softest wool? Do you think there is a merchant in London who could sell me silk threads in large enough quantity, Uncle? London would have a better source and vaster variety than our friends in Carlisle. But would our cotter’s looms be right, or would we need new and specialized looms?”

Her acumen surprised him, and again he realized there would be no noble name for Elizabeth Meredith. He wondered if they would not be wiser to seek a husband for her among the merchant class, but he had no entrée into that society. No. He would keep to his original plans.

Not all the young men at court these days came from families of rank, and the times were changing. King Henry was more interested in in
telligence and ambition than he was in the old names. Advancement based on one’s father was no longer the norm.

“Do you like this green, Uncle?” Elizabeth broke into his thoughts.

“It is quite bright, isn’t it? Would you call it Tudor green?”

“Grass green,” he replied. “The Tudor green is a bit darker, but I must say it is a color that well suits you, Elizabeth. While you are delicately made, dear girl, it is the delicacy of Toledo steel. I would do both the skirt and bodice in it. We’ll use a green-and-gold embroidered edging about the neckline, and the slashed grass-green silk sleeves will show a gold-and-white silk fabric. What think you?”

“That I shall look like a farmer’s prize pig all done up for judging at the Michaelmas fair,” Elizabeth said with a giggle. “Uncle, I have never had such fine garments, and I shall have no use for them when I return from court. It seems such a waste to make me so many beautiful gowns under such circumstances.”

“Going to court and finding a husband, my dear girl, is a game. The prize must be the richest, the most perfect, the most beautiful if we are to lure the proper players,” he told her. He turned to William Smythe.

“Is that not so, Will?”

“Indeed, Mistress Elizabeth, your uncle speaks the truth. In my few years at court, even in my humble position as one of the king’s under-secretaries, I saw many a match successfully concluded by just such means as Lord Cambridge now employs for you. You told your mother that you would go to court only if my master escorted you. Now you must trust him, as did your older sisters, to find the right husband for you,” William Smythe said. “He will not fail you.”

So Elizabeth Meredith fidgeted less at her fittings, and eventually she had a dozen beautiful gowns to take to court. And a boxful of contrasting bodices and sleeves so she might appear to have even more garments. And there were undergarments and underskirts, ribbons, embroidered girdles for her gowns, a cordeliere, a particularly fine marten skin, and other accessories necessary for a lady of the court.

There were caps and headdresses and veils, as well as gloves of both silk and leather, and beautiful shoes.

While Thomas Bolton had given much jewelry to his cousin Rosamund and her two elder daughters, he had kept some back for 
Elizabeth. “For you, dear girl,” he said, handing her an ebony box edged in silver.

“What is this?” she asked, opening the box. “I do not wear jewelry, Uncle.”

“A lady of the court always wears jewelry, dear girl.” He lifted a strand of pale pink pearls from the box. “These belonged to my sister,”

he said. “Now they are yours.” Then he showed her pear-shaped matching pearl earrings.

Much to her surprise, Elizabeth began to cry. “Uncle,” she sobbed,

“I shall never forget this kindness. To think you would have saved these for me.” Her fingers lifted two more strands of pearls together.

One was black and the other a creamy shade of white. They had matching earrings. There were two fine gold chains: one with a gold enameled cross, and the other of gold squares studded with blue stones he told her were called sapphires. She found a cream-colored ribbon Lord Cambridge told her was to be worn about her forehead. In the center of the ribbon was another large oval-shaped stone of pale blue.