The Traitor's Wife (98 page)

“They're mine?” he had said in disbelief when Hugh told him that the life tenant had died. “They're not forfeit?”

“Father arranged for you to have the reversion when you were but a babe, Edward, and he actually appears to have done it legally. Father did have a lapse or two in the direction of morality now and then.” He chuckled. “Mostly then. Did you ever hear of his schemes to raise money for the crown by forcing people to buy bad wine? I hope they at least got good and soused off of it.” Edward frowned; he had not developed Hugh's peculiar sense of humor about their father. “So you'll have lands now in Bedfordshire, Buckinghamshire, Wiltshire, Rutland, Northamptonshire, and Lincolnshire, little brother. When shall I visit you?”

There had been, of course, the king to do fealty to. Edward had seen the king fleetingly after Halidon Hill, when he had been knighted along with a number of other men who had been spoken well of by their commanders or who had come to the king's own notice. But he'd not had to speak to him at the time, and so his fealty had not gone particularly well. Oh, he hadn't disgraced himself—he told himself morosely that this would take a lot of doing for a Despenser anyway—but he had gone through the ceremony as though sleepwalking. When the king allowed him to stand and tried to engage him in small talk, he had answered in polite monosyllables, conscious that he probably appeared a bumpkin. In fact, he'd been wondering the entire time,
Did your grace see my father die? Did you enjoy it as much as the others?

Hugh had gone with him for moral support. As they rode south, for the king was at Newcastle, Edward asked, “Hugh, don't you ever get angry at them? Our father, for getting you in prison all that time? Mortimer and Isabella?”

Hugh looked at his horse, resplendent in Despenser trappings. The king after some hemming and hawing had allowed Hugh to bear the family arms—a display that never failed to attract stares, which Hugh coolly ignored. “What would that accomplish? I loved Father. He's dead. I hated Mortimer. He's dead, too. Shall I go to their graves and kick at them?”

“Piss over Mortimer's is what I would do. But that bitch Isabella is still alive. Alive and thriving. I'd like to kill her.”

“Don't; it'd be a pleasure to have one generation of Despensers with their heads intact.” Hugh saw his younger brother shiver and touched him on the shoulder. In a different tone of voice, a tender one, he said, “Edward, don't get yourself caught up in an endless cycle of hate. It'll waste you. You're young, good-looking, bright, and prosperous. Do the one thing Isabella didn't want any of us to do. Enjoy your life.”

And he was trying his best to do so. But at this moment, he was soaking wet, and the rain was beginning to turn to sleet.

He turned to the squire closest to him—now that he had manors in six counties he had a suitable number of retainers, and he was still not used to their constant presence—and asked, “Where are we?”

“Near Groby, sir. The Ferrers family lives there. Perhaps we should seek shelter there.”

Edward did a brief review of his father's known misdeeds and concluded that the Ferrers family did not figure into any of them. But Henry de Ferrers was his aunt Elizabeth de Burgh's son-in-law, and there was that Gower and Usk business he had heard tell of…

The sleet was coming down in pellets, and his horse was shivering. That settled the matter, for Edward was fond of his horses and could not stand to see them uncomfortable. “All right. Let's head to Groby and get you a dry stall and some nice oats.”

The squire looked confused but turned in the direction of Groby.

Lady Elizabeth de Burgh had known trouble lately; her cocksure son, William, had been murdered in Ireland in 1333 by his own men. Since then she had become especially close to her daughter Isabella and to her sensible son-in-law, Henry, whom she was visiting on the day when Edward le Despenser came calling at Groby. Elizabeth was sitting in the spacious chamber allotted for her, working on a tapestry for her young grandson's nursery, when Henry poked his head in. “There's a drowned rat in the great hall who claims to be your nephew. Are you up to one of your Despenser relations? Edward le Despenser, to be precise.”

“Come now, Henry. I've met Edward several times. He's not like his father, he's very quiet and sweet-natured.”

“Oh, I suppose. But if you could see him!” He chuckled. “He's soaked to the skin, and then some. And you're right about him being quiet. I gave my poor sister the impossible task of entertaining him while my man looked out for him some dry clothes. I think he said four words to her, and three of them were his name, if you count the 'le.'”

“Anne is entertaining him?”

“Well, she will be once he has had his bath. Unless he bolts first.”

Elizabeth said thoughtfully, “Leave them alone for a while, why don't you?”

“My lady?”

“Don't you see? You were talking only yesterday about a husband for Anne. Why not the Despenser lad? They're not so far apart in age, he bears a good character, which is no mean feat considering from whose loins he sprang, and he's handsome, as you'll find when he's not dripping wet. And I understand he's just come into a very pretty collection of estates.”

“But you can't stop Anne from talking when she gets going, and you can hardly seem to start him talking.”

“So? Some couples get on splendidly that way. And Anne is a beautiful girl. If the boy won't exert himself a little for her, he's hopeless or half-blind. Come. Sit down and let's play a game of chess and let's see how they get on. The sleet grows worse than ever. He won't be leaving any time soon.”

Edward was of two minds as he took his bath, half-longing to hurry so he could again see the goddess he had met on his arrival, half-longing to linger so that he did not have to think of something to say to her. At last the memory of her golden ringlets, soft blue eyes, and cherry lips won out, and he allowed his man to dress him (another innovation he was having difficulty getting used to) in his borrowed robes, ignoring the squire's half smile. He bowed as he reentered the great hall. “My lady.”

“You look quite comfortable now. That must have been a horrid storm.”

“Yes.”

“Do you live in Leicestershire, Sir Edward?”

“No. I am passing through from Essendine.” Edward thought a moment before coming out with the immortal words, “Have you ever been there, my lady?”

“No. I barely ever get out of Groby. Henry is so lucky. He goes to Parliament, and he will be going back to Scotland shortly, I think, to hold Berwick securely for the king. You know, I have never even seen the king. Have you, Sir Edward?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, how could I be so stupid? You must have seen a great deal of him when you were younger. Your father—”

She clapped her hand across her mouth. “I am so sorry, Sir Edward.”

“It matters not, my lady,” said Edward in a gallant tone he did not know he could muster. “Most people shy away from mentioning my father. It's good to have him in the conversation early.”

“I was a little girl, you know, when all that happened. It must have been horrid for you.”

“Someday I would like to tell you about it—when I get better acquainted with you.”

“When you get better acquainted with me, sir?”

“That is—if you would like that.” He waited for her to recoil with disgust.

She looked at him solemnly. “I would, Sir Edward.”

“Quietly, Henry, quietly. This is how your hopelessly shy knight is barely getting on with your sister.”

Henry followed his wife and his mother-in-law to the great hall, which was being set up for dinner. In a window seat, oblivious to all around them, sat Edward and Anne, talking and as close together as a couple could be without being seated on each other's lap. As Elizabeth, Isabella, and Henry watched, Edward tentatively put his hands on Anne's shoulders and drew her in for a kiss. It was a long one, evidently highly satisfactory to both parties, and it was followed up quickly by another that showed no sign of stopping in the near future.

“Time to throw some cold water over those two,” said Henry. “Sir Edward?”

Edward turned, looking less flustered than annoyed at being interrupted. “Lord Ferrers,” he said. “I would like your permission to marry your sister.”

“Yes, I had hoped things were going in that direction,” said Henry dryly. “Come to my chamber, sir, and let us talk.”

They were married on April 20, 1335, at Groby. Their bedding ceremony was restrained, as Edward had hoped. With his bride's parents dead, the tone was set by Henry, who was a protective brother, and his mother and stepfather, who knew well his bashfulness. Eleanor had helped Anne undress for the evening and, Anne told him later, was most kind, whispering as she tucked the covers round her, “Don't worry, my dear. Edward is the kindest man in the world. You will be happy with him.”

Zouche made a friendly toast that could not have offended the oldest lady there, and Hugh, though taking the brother's prerogative of some bawdiness, was so charming that even Edward laughed. He could not resist adding, “A lot about marriage you know, my bachelor brother.”

“Then you shall teach me,” said Hugh cheerfully.

Edward was a romantic, and it grieved him as he lay with his new wife that he would not come to her pure, as she was coming to him. He took some consolation, however, in the fact that he had not had a woman since the day he had met her.

She was so lovely undressed that he was almost afraid to touch her, but he got over this soon enough, and he put his superior experience to good use in making it a pleasant night for her as well. When all was done and she lay in the crook of his arm, she murmured, “Edward, you have made me so happy, and I love you so much.”

Tears stung his eyes. “Anne, I never thought to hear anyone say that to me.”

“Why not? You're sweet and handsome and loving.”

“My father and grandfather, the men I loved above all others, were hung as traitors. My brother was clapped into prison, three of my sisters were forced to take the veil, my mother and us other children were sent to the Tower. Then my mother was sent back and almost died. For years I hated everyone—or feared them, I don't know which. I thought we were cursed. And now I see that I have been blessed.”

“I will do my best to make you happy after all that you have suffered.”

“You can't.” He drew her into another kiss. “You've already done that, my love.”

Coming out of Anne's chamber at Essendine Castle eleven months later, in March 1336, Eleanor collided with her son. “Edward! Why aren't you downstairs?”