The Widow's Kiss (27 page)

Pen, her face tear streaked, her eyes swollen, almost fell down the stairs in her haste to get to her mother. She clutched Guinevere around the waist and Guinevere knelt down, lowering Pippa to the floor so that she could embrace them both.

“It's all right now,” she repeated softly, tears pricking behind her own eyes, a lump in her throat as she held their dear familiar bodies and thought of how close she had come to being unable to do this ever again. Never to see them grow, to hear them laugh, to wipe their tears.

She must not think like that. She must not break down now. Not at the end, when she had been so strong before.

But joy and relief after such terror were too much.

“Why are you crying, Mama? Don’t cry.” Pen stroked her mother's eyes, trying to wipe away the tears that now fell without restraint. “Are you sick, Mama?”

“You said it was all right now,” Pippa said, nuzzling her mother's cheek, trying to bury herself in her mother, tears thick now in her own voice. “Please don’t cry.”

“I’m crying because I’m happy,” Guinevere said, reaching around Pippa to wipe her eyes with the back of her gloved hand. “I need a kerchief.”

“Here.” Hugh bent down and handed her his own.

“My thanks.” She took it and wiped her eyes properly before gently disengaging from the children and standing upright once more. “I have not cried,” she said softly. “Not a tear before.”

“No, I know,” he returned as softly, his hand for a second brushing her damp cheek.

She didn’t turn from the fleeting caress, but neither did she return it with hand or eye, although she knew his sympathetic understanding was genuine. There was still too much to be resolved between them to rush gratefully into his arms. She saw now that Tilly, the magister, Greene, and Master Crowder had joined them and stood a little apart, their expressions tense and questioning.

She went to them, holding out her hands. “My friends,” she said softly, clasping each one's hand between both of hers.

“ ’Tis truly over, chuck?” Tilly asked, dabbing at her own eyes with the edge of her coif.

“There are some complications, but we’re safe,” she replied. “And you will all stay with me and the girls, unless you wish otherwise.”

“That's a piece of nonsense,” Greene declared gruffly. “Where you go, my lady, we go.”

“My thanks,” she responded. “I need you as much now as I’ve ever done.” She smiled at them and turned back to the children as Crowder and Greene left the hall.

The magister and Tilly remained where they were, hesitant in the shadows of the staircase.

Pen and Pippa regarded their mother in solemn puzzlement. “You’re happy because everything's all right now,” Pen said firmly. “That's why you were crying.”

“Yes, sweetheart, that's why.”

“I’m very happy that matters turned out for the best, madam.” Robin spoke with a stiff gravity that concealed his emotions. He had been standing in the shadow of the settle watching the reunion. He was aware of enormous relief that his father had somehow managed to divert the devious course of justice in Lady Guinevere's favor. He had no doubt but that his father had arranged for Lady Guinevere's acquittal.

“Why, thank you, Robin.” Guinevere turned to the boy, smiling warmly as she gave him her hand. She had a shrewd idea that Robin had known more about the gravity of her situation than he had let on to Pen. She held his hand for a little longer than necessary, imparting a more than ordinary warmth. Hugh could kiss Pippa with utter naturalness, but Robin, even from his about-to-be stepmother, would definitely squirm at such a display.

Robin's fingers twitched and she released his hand immediately. Still smiling at him, she brushed a drooping lock of hair off his forehead in a gesture that could only be interpreted as maternal. She waited for Hugh to say something.

He said nothing.

Guinevere spoke. “I am to marry,” she said to her daughters.
’Tis the price of freedom.
But that she didn’t say. She bent and kissed their astounded faces.

“Again!”
demanded Pippa in ill-concealed dismay. “The last one was so
horrid!
Why must you marry, Mama? We don’t want another father! Do we, Pen?”

But Pen was silent, looking at her mother.

“Stepfathers,” declared Pippa, “are nasty and rough. They shout and throw things. We don’t want one, Mama. We want to go home and be like it was.”

“Would you accept
me
as a stepfather, Pippa?” Hugh asked with a quirked eyebrow.

“You!”
exclaimed Pippa. “You, Lord Hugh?”

“Aye,” he affirmed calmly. “Your mother has agreed to become my wife. And I am not in the habit of shouting and throwing things.”

Pen's eyes darted to her mother, became fixed on her face with an almost painful intensity as if she had some inkling of the devious channels that snaked beneath this startling decision.

Guinevere smiled at her and gave her a little nod of reassurance.

“Maybe not, sir, but you don’t like cats,” Pippa pointed out. “What will we do when Moonshine and Nutmeg have kittens if you’re going to live with us?”

“I suppose that increase is inevitable,” Hugh said with a mock sigh. “Well, when that happens you’ll do pretty much what you have been doing.” His tone was light and easy. “Keep them out from under my feet and I see no reason why we can’t coexist perfectly happily.”

Pippa absorbed this. She looked at her sister and saw that Pen, while she appeared still puzzled, was looking much less anxious and unhappy. That was enough for Pippa to decide that perhaps this strange turn of events was not necessarily a bad thing.

“I expect it will be all right then,” she said judiciously. “Even if you don’t like cats. Will we go back to Mallory Hall?” She plucked at her mother's skirts. “Or will we stay here? Pen and me, we want to go home. Don’t we, Pen?” She turned to her sister for corroboration.

“That hasn’t been decided,” Guinevere said before Pen could respond to her sister. For the first time Guinevere
glanced up at Hugh with a hint of challenge in her eyes. He acknowledged it with a tiny gesture of his head. They would draw battle lines soon enough.

Robin had said nothing. He was looking at Pen. If she was to be his stepsister, they couldn’t walk hand in hand along the riverbank, or pick flowers together, or …

He glanced up at his father and saw his sympathetic smile. “Sisters make the best friends, Robin,” Hugh said gently.

Pen looked momentarily startled, then she blushed, catching his meaning. She hadn’t thought about consequences for herself and Robin in their parents’ marriage. She glanced shyly at Robin, unsure what she felt about this new turn of events, wondering what he would think. He didn’t meet her eye and she looked away again.

Pippa frowned over this, then her face cleared as she said, “Oh, I see. If Pen and Boy Robin are brother and sister then they can’t like each other the way they do.” She frowned again. “That's not very fair.”

“We don’t mind,” Robin said gruffly.

“No,” agreed Pen, slipping her hand into her mother's. “We don’t mind.”

“Oh.” Pippa was about to ask how one minute you could say you loved someone and the next say you didn’t, but something told her it wouldn’t be wise to ask awkward questions at this juncture.

“You will enjoy having a brother,” Guinevere said, caressing Pen's cheek. “I always wanted one of my own.”

Pen looked a little uncertain but managed a game smile.

“We have cause for celebration,” Hugh stated. “A more than ordinarily good dinner is in order, I believe. Robin, will you go and arrange matters with Master Milton?”

“Pen and Pippa will go with you,” said Guinevere, putting a hand on each child's shoulder. “I believe that Master Crowder should have some contribution to make
to this …” She hesitated, then continued, “To this
joint
celebration, Lord Hugh?” She raised an eyebrow. “If we are to blend our households we must find some way to share domestic responsibilities.”

Hugh frowned. Guinevere, of course, would have her own household as always. Two stewards under one roof could prove problematic. “There's time enough to work out such details,” he said pacifically. “Milton and Crowder seem to have managed well enough so far.”

“Indeed, but Master Crowder has accepted his position as guest under your roof,” she pointed out. “That's about to change.”

“As I said, we will discuss such details later. Robin, if you please …”

Robin gave a jerky bow and turned towards the kitchen regions. Guinevere gave the girls a little push to follow him and they went half hesitantly, half willingly.

Tilly came forward. “So, ’tis to be another wedding, chuck,” she observed, regarding Lord Hugh with an expression neither favorable nor otherwise.

Magister Howard stepped forward. “We’ll be drawing up contracts then, madam?”

Guinevere heard the question in his voice and guessed that her tutor and mentor had a shrewd idea of what had transpired. “Yes,” she stated. “Lord Hugh will have his own lawyer, I’m certain. We will sit down together.”

She faced Hugh, met his gaze steadily. Saw the flash of warm amusement in the brilliant eyes, understood that he would not answer her challenge with his own. He had no need to do so. He had the upper hand and he knew she knew it.

“We will sit down together,” she repeated.

“Aye,” he agreed. “I’ll send for Master Newberry forthwith. Will tomorrow forenoon suit you, madam?”

“Certainly.” She inclined her head. “The time is yours to set, Lord Hugh. We remain beneath your roof.”

He laughed as he’d laughed in the Star Chamber and her heart turned over. She loved the sound of his laughter. It wasn’t mocking, not in the least. It was purely appreciative as if she’d made a joke that tickled him. A private joke that would mean nothing to anyone else. She gave a tiny half shrug.

“If you’ll excuse me now, Lord Hugh, I would go to my chamber. It's been a somewhat trying morning one way and another.”

“Of course.” He bowed. “We’ll dine at two o’clock. A little late, I know, but if we’re to sit to something rather more elaborate than usual, we should allow the kitchen time to prepare.”

Guinevere nodded agreeably, then turned from him. “Tilly, Magister, perhaps you would accompany me.”

“Oh, one other thing.” Hugh arrested her as she reached the stair. She turned, her hand on the newel post.

“I would appreciate it if you and Magister Howard could draw up a complete list of your holdings before our meeting tomorrow. I have some idea of their extent, but I’m sure there's much of which I’m not aware.” He smiled blandly as if his request had no significance.

“The estates I own are a matter of public record,” she said distantly.

“Ah, but I would have to journey back to Derbyshire to avail myself of such records,” he returned with the same bland smile. “A tedious journey. I’m certain you could save me the trouble. The king is anxious for the wedding ceremony to take place in two days’ time, and we must have the marriage contracts signed and sealed by then. I doubt the king would tolerate a delay. He is a man of changeable humor.”

There was no mistaking the threat. Guinevere knew he spoke only the truth, but he was also reminding her of how tenuous her reprieve was until the marriage had been celebrated. As if she needed such reminder. She contented
herself with a curt nod and resumed her ascent of the stairs, Tilly and the magister in her wake.

“So ’tis to be another wedding,” Tilly said again as they entered Guinevere's chamber. She shook her head. “ ’Tis to be hoped this one will turn out better than the others. But,” she added with cheerful bluntness, “since you’re no stranger to Lord Hugh's bed, you know what you’re doing, I’ll be bound.”

The magister fiddled awkwardly with the ribbons of his cap at this indiscreet statement. It was one thing for Tilly to share such confidences in private, quite another for her to speak thus to their lady in his presence.

“ ’Tis a very sudden decision, this, my lady,” he said with a dry cough.

“Aye,” agreed Guinevere, drawing off her gloves. “A decision that circumstances forced upon me, as I expect you can imagine. Lord Hugh is going to extract a heavy price for saving me from the executioner.” She gave a short laugh. “Can one blame him? I would probably do the same if the shoe was on the other foot.”

The magister sucked in his cheeks. “ ’Tis for that reason that he wishes to review your holdings?”

Guinevere nodded. “But what you and I can do this afternoon, perhaps, is to see how much if anything we can put beyond his reach. Land that is entailed for instance, or mine only during my lifetime and therefore not at my disposal.”

“And Lady Pen and Lady Pippa's own holdings, left them by Lord Hadlow,” the magister said, warming to the theme. “We could mayhap extend those to include some of the land around Ilkeston. It's not specifically mentioned in Lord Hadlow's will, but we could make a case for it, I believe, since the lands abut.”

He stroked his chin even as he continued to suck in his cheeks. “Lord Hugh would not interfere with your daughters’ inheritances?” He looked at her interrogatively.

Guinevere shook her head. “Lord Hugh would do nothing to harm my daughters,” she said definitely.

And he would not harm her either, except for her pride.

He had come after her initially to claim some of her land. Now he had the chance to claim much more than the land he had wanted for Robin. He would simply see such claims as payment for services rendered she supposed. She would have to swallow her pride. In her present position pride was not a luxury she could afford. But it would hurt. To be obliged to give up what she had worked so hard first to gain and then to maintain and improve. Simply to hand it over to someone who’d done nothing for it. Who simply claimed it as a husband's due.

Oh, yes, it would hurt. But not as much as the headsman's axe.
A grim smile touched her mouth.

M
aster Newberry was long and thin. His brown furred gown hung from his shoulders as if on a coat hanger. His black flapped hat was securely buttoned beneath his pointed chin and one pale eye wandered at will while the other remained disconcertingly steady. He looked as if he had not eaten a square meal in many a month.

He bowed low as Guinevere entered the hall the following morning, accompanied by the magister.

“My lady, may I offer my congratulations.”

“Why, certainly you may, Master …” she hesitated, “Master Newberry, I believe.”

“Just so, my lady.”

“Allow me to present Magister Howard. He's long been my advisor.”

The two men acknowledged each other with brief nods that did nothing to conceal their mutual suspicion.

Hugh entered the hall from the back regions of the house. He’d been riding and he carried the fresh morning air on his skin. He was bareheaded and his cropped iron-gray hair was slightly ruffled by the wind.

He pulled off his gloves and tossed them onto a bench beside the kitchen door as he greeted the three occupants
of the hall pleasantly. “I give you good morning … Lady Guinevere, Magister, Master Newberry.” He cast an appraising glance at Guinevere. All night he had been hoping that she would come to him as she had done before, but he had slept alone … alone except for his dreams.

After tomorrow though … ah, after tomorrow, she would share his bed as his wife.

She was looking cool and composed in a gown of pale gray figured silk; the fall of her dark blue hood was pinned up, revealing the slender white length of her neck around which nestled a collar of magnificent pearls. So tall and willowy, with her porcelain complexion, she looked as if nothing could ever disturb her composure, cause her to make a misstep, say something out of place. If he hadn’t known better, he would have said ice water ran in her veins. There was no hint of warm red blood flowing beneath that pale skin.

His fingers twitched to loosen her hood, take down her hair, run his fingers through the silvery silken tresses as they flowed down her back. The longing was so intense he thought he must be able to project it into her own mind. But Guinevere gave no hint of such a trespass. She merely gave him a cool enigmatic half smile.

He was not to know that she had lain awake through most of the night in a fever of longing, forcing herself to stay in her own bed, knowing as always that while she still had to fight him she could not afford to be weakened by passion. And she had decided that she was going to fight him over the marriage settlements. If he intended to rob her, he would not find her a lamb to the slaughter.

“Let's sit at the table.” Hugh gestured to the long dining table. He walked over and took a seat at the head. Guinevere and the magister sat to his right, Master Newberry to his left.

“You have compiled a list of your holdings?” Hugh inquired of Guinevere.

She gestured to the magister who laid a closely written parchment on the table. Hugh picked it up and looked down it. In fact it held no surprises for him. Privy Seal had his own records of the widow's wealth and the estates on which it was based. Hugh had familiarized himself with it before making his first approach to Lady Mallory. Now he was interested to see if they had doctored the list in any way, attempted to shelter any of her holdings from him.

“This land ceded to the girls on their father's death?” he murmured, glancing towards Guinevere. “I don’t recall all this land around Ilkeston being a part of it.”

“Don’t you?” she said blandly. And was once again silent.

He couldn’t help admiring the brazen nerve of the woman. He noted that the lead mines at Brassington appeared to be held by Guinevere only in her lifetime. They were rich mines and he certainly hadn’t seen any such proviso on Privy Seal's records. He had no way of proving the truth of her statement without access to the public records in Derbyshire. If it was true then the property could not form part of the marriage settlements since it did not actually belong to her. This, of course, had been his original argument in his claim on Roger Needham's land. If it was untrue and he believed or accepted the lie, she could dispose of the land without his knowledge or interference.

He glanced up at her again as he tapped the edge of his quill against the offending item. It would be typical of Guinevere, he thought, to turn his own arguments against him. She showed not a sign of discomfort, merely regarded him with an air of serene indifference. He looked at the magister. Magister Howard was staring into space, sucking in his cheeks.

What a clever pair they were.
They’d been collaborating for so long over Guinevere's affairs it was no wonder they should be so cool.

“Here is what I propose,” he said, suddenly brisk.

“Robin will receive outright the lands between Great Longstone and Wardlow that had been in our own family.”

Guinevere had expected nothing less so she merely nodded. Master Newberry began to write. Magister Howard made a small note.

“Your daughters will continue to hold the property ceded to them by their father to furnish their dowries, including the land around Ilkeston that did not appear in the original documents.” He shrugged; in the sum of things, that little deviation was hardly important. “Then, with the exception of Mallory Hall and the mines at Brassington, the remainder of your lands will be ceded to me, your husband, as is customary.”

He continued swiftly, ignoring Guinevere's sharp intake of breath. “On your death, your daughters will receive half of those holdings. On my death …” His eyes flicked over her stunned countenance and he continued with deliberate emphasis, “Should I predecease you, on
my
death, my son will receive the other half. Should there be children of our marriage, then a just proportion of all the holdings will be made over accordingly at the time of their births.”

Guinevere had told herself to expect the worst, but in the back of her mind had been the hope that while Hugh would take something from her for his own payment, his feelings for her would place a rein on his demands. He knew how vital her independence was to her.

In her more sanguine moments she had painted a rosy picture, seeing them living together and sharing what she had in comfortable amity. Maybe he would share the estate work and administration with her. She could become accustomed to such a partnership.

But he had let her down, fulfilled her most gloomy predictions. He would take every last vestige of independence from her. And she found she could not bear it. All
platitudes about swallowing her pride flew to the four winds. She could not endure such daylight robbery.

“Everything!”
she exclaimed, her face whiter than ever, her purple eyes blazing. “You are calmly suggesting that you would rob me of all my lands?”

A flash of anger crossed his eyes. “Hardly robbery, madam. I am to be your husband. A settlement such as this is entirely legal and customary. I realize you’ve arranged matters differently in past unions, but I am not going to yield
my
rights just because other men have done so. You will go short of nothing, I assure you, and your daughters are more than well provided for. I take nothing from them and I leave you as the sole possessor of Mallory Hall. In the circumstances, I’m being very reasonable, I believe.”

“You have done nothing to merit such a settlement,” she declared. “The estates and holdings are richer now than they were when I came into them because I have worked on them. I’ve administered them, spent much money on improvements. And now you think you can just take them from me.”

“It is a customary marriage settlement, my lady.” Master Newberry put in his twopennorth.

“I know what is customary and what is not,” Guinevere said curtly. She turned to Hugh. “It's not seemly to brawl like this in public. I insist we discuss this privately.” She stood up from the table.

“There is nothing to discuss,” Hugh said in level tones. “These terms are nonnegotiable.”

“I do not have to agree to this marriage,” she stated, her mouth taut.

“There's some truth in that.” Hugh rose from the table. “So it seems we do have something to discuss. It is after all a woman's prerogative to change her mind. The morning's pleasant. Do you wish to walk in the orchard?”

“A companionable stroll is not what I have in mind,” she retorted.

“My chamber then.” He strode ahead of her to the stairs.

“I should wait here, Lord Hugh?” inquired Master Newberry.

“Yes. In our absence, you and Magister Howard may go through the settlement point by point. The magister needs to be satisfied of its legality before Lady Mallory signs it.”

Guinevere closed her lips tightly and brushed past him as he stood aside to let her precede him up the stairs. She had so wanted to maintain her calm, to hold on to what dignity and pride she possessed, to accede with gracious generosity to his demands, but he had cut the ground from beneath her feet.

Hugh leaned over her shoulder to lift the latch on his chamber door. He placed a hand in the small of her back, easing her into the room. She sprang forward away from his touch and went to stand beside the window.

“This was why you lied to save me,” she accused bitterly. “So that you could become a wealthy man. I had thought better of you. I had not thought you so greedy and grasping. Of course I expected you to want some payment, but that you would rob me of everything I possess! I had not believed you capable of that!”

Hugh frowned suddenly. Was he robbing her? Of course he wasn’t. Her life would be the same as it always had been. She would lose nothing. She was overdramatizing.

Lose nothing but her independence.

Oh, but that was nonsense. Her independence was a mere perception. She would have a husband, a lover. In those ways only would her life change. And when she was prepared to put aside her pride, she would see that. She would see that the changes would only be for the better. That she was gaining not losing.

He said in level tones, “Guinevere, you make too much of this. I have no idea why your previous husbands allowed you to dictate the terms that you did, but I am not of their ilk. I am not in thrall to you and I will not be managed by you. We will marry under the customary terms. Your children will have half of your estates. I and my son the other half. And Mallory Hall will be yours to do with as you please.”

Guinevere crossed her arms over her breast and stared at him in silence. She
could
say she would not marry him under such conditions. She
could
say that, if she were inclined to commit suicide.

She felt so helpless, so vulnerable. Until Hugh of Beaucaire had ridden into her courtyard, she had known little of such weakness. But ever since that day such frailty had been her near constant companion. And now the sense of powerlessness, of desperation, was overwhelming.

Hugh took another tack, his voice moderate and reasonable. “Just think for a minute, Guinevere. If I allowed you to dictate the terms of this contract, as you have done in the past, Bishop Gardiner's charges of witchcraft would have some resonance. I can promise you that these settlements will be scrutinized by Privy Seal if not by the king himself. If they detect anything amiss, anything out of the ordinary, there's no telling what construction they’ll choose to put upon it.”

“You’re telling me that that's the real reason for this rape?” she demanded derisively. “It's not
just
your greed?”

Hugh kept a tight rein on his temper. “It is a fact, as you would see for yourself if you would just think about it. And don’t accuse me of greed again. My patience won’t stand it.”

Guinevere said nothing, merely continued to stare at him. He had a point, she had to admit … but only to herself.

After a minute he continued, “It strikes me as entirely
reasonable that I should benefit in some material fashion from this marriage. I had not intended to wed again … after Sarah.”

He paused before confiding with difficulty, “I swore I would protect myself from the hurt of another such loss.” He turned away from her intent and angry gaze, his expression somber.

“Should I die prematurely, I doubt you’ll suffer much heartbreak,” Guinevere said coldly. “A woman you married purely for material gain can hold little place in your soul.”

He spun back to her and she saw with some satisfaction that she’d finally ruptured his composure as surely as he’d ruptured hers. “Don’t be foolish!” he said harshly. “You know full well that I love you. Money alone wouldn’t compel me to perjure myself in the Star Chamber.”

They stood in silence, staring at each other, wary, assessing, angry, neither willing to back down, but neither willing to make an irrevocable move.

“But you intend to become rich at my expense,” she said finally.

His response was blunt. “Hardly at your expense. You will live as well as I. I would ensure Robin's future first, then I fail to see why I should eke out my life in my present less-than-comfortable fashion when the law, my dear Guinevere, entitles me to live in the manner to which
you,
my wife, are accustomed.”

“And when it comes to dividing the land among our children, just how do you intend to apportion it?” she asked bitterly. “Some properties, as I’m sure you’re aware, are of considerably greater value than others.”

“We’ll examine each property and divide them on merit as evenly as possible,” he replied readily. “I assume your accounts will reflect the value of each.”

“Of course,” she said with undisguised scorn at such a question.

“And I assume you’ll not attempt to distort the value
of those assets in any way?” He regarded her through narrowed eyes.

“If you’re not astute enough to detect any tampering with the figures, my lord, you’re not astute enough to manage a fortune as considerable as the one you’re taking from me,” she retorted. “You will, I imagine, manage my estates yourself?”

“Unless it would please
you
to continue doing that.”

“Oh, I see. That's a neat arrangement. The money goes to you, the labor to me. Quite a partnership that. I congratulate you, Lord Hugh.”