Philippa (23 page)

“You do not wish to go to France then?” Lord Cambridge asked.

“Oh, I shall go, for the queen wants me with her, and she is certain to allow my husband to accompany me, for she would not separate a newly wed couple. Her heart is too kind. It shall be the most glorious summer, and when we have returned we shall travel north to Otterly to see Banie married to her Neville,” Philippa concluded.

Lord Cambridge looked to the earl. “And you agree, my lord?”

Crispin St. Claire grinned. “I dare not disagree,” he said. “Philippa’s flawless planning is but an indication of the skills she possesses, and will be put to good use at Brierewode when she becomes its mistress. My house can use a competent chatelaine.”

“You will be pleased to learn the king approves your match, and has offered to stand witness to your formal betrothal.”

“Ohh!” Philippa clapped her hands together. “He and Queen Margaret were witnesses to my parents’ betrothal. Wait until mama hears of it! I must go and write her this very minute.” She curtseyed to the two men and, turning, hurried off down the gallery.

The two men strolled together. “How did this all come about so easily, my dear Crispin?” Thomas Bolton asked his companion.

The earl shrugged. “I am as mystified as you are, Tom. I asked the queen’s permission to walk with Philippa. You had obviously already seen her for she was aware of our impending betrothal and marriage. She was most gracious, and sent us off suggesting we go into the gardens. Philippa, however, being sensible first rather than romantic, said no, for it was too chill. She led me to a small chapel where we spoke. She said she had departed early because she needed to think about our situation. And then she announced to me the date of our wedding, and that we would go north to her sister’s wedding when we returned from France. She said it was best to be married at the end of April because the emperor would be here in May, and then in June we would embark for France. She is a practical girl. There will be no need now to visit Oxford this winter.”

“Practical. A kind word for bossy,” Lord Cambridge said with a smile. “But then that is Philippa. When she makes up her mind to do something she does it. You are content with the arrangement then?”

“I am. Have the papers drawn up so we may act on them,” the earl said.

“Dear Crispin, it will be done before the week is out,” Lord Cambridge promised.

The two men parted, and Thomas Bolton hurried to his barge that he might be rowed home as quickly as possible. It was the time between the tides, and the river was as smooth as glass. The craft skimmed along the Thames, and its passenger thought that he could smell springtime in the air. Arriving at Bolton House he found a message from the north awaiting him. Opening it he read the contents, his eyes widening a moment, a smile creasing his face. Rosamund had delivered twin sons, to be named Thomas Andrew and Edmund Richard, on the last day of February. The lads were both healthy, strong, and suckled well. He was to be godfather to his namesake along with Rosamund’s stepson, John Hepburn. The other twin would have his mother’s uncles for godfathers. The boys had, according to custom, already been baptized, she wrote. If he had been at Otterly where he belonged, she scolded him, he might have been there. When was he coming north? And what of her daughters?

“Is the messenger still here?” Thomas Bolton asked his majordomo.

“Yes, my lord, in the kitchens, eating. He arrived but an hour ago. He is one of the laird’s own men.”

“Send him to me when he is finished. There is no rush, for I must compose a letter to his mistress,” Lord Cambridge said. “Bring me my writing box.”

“At once, my lord!”The servant moved off to do his master’s bidding.

When he had returned, Thomas Bolton sat down to write his cousin. He and Banon would be coming home in early June. The clever child had settled on a Neville, a descendant of her grandmother Philippa Neville’s family. He would be accompanying them, and they would stop at his family’s home to visit the Nevilles, who had expressed their delight in the match. And the church had approved. The lad was a younger son, and this would be an excellent match for him. There should be no difficulty given Banon’s dower portion and the fact she was to inherit Otterly. The marriage would be celebrated in the autumn. Here Thomas Bolton paused. He wished he might explain Philippa’s situation to Rosamund himself, but he could not. Picking up his pen again he continued. He had obtained a splendid match for Philippa with the earl of Witton. Philippa was delighted, but the marriage would be celebrated on the last day of April at court. And the king would bear witness to the betrothal agreement as he had to Rosamund’s all those years ago. The need for the haste was that the queen wanted Philippa to accompany her to France with the summer progress, and in order for the earl to go as well they must be wed. Philippa would be released from her service when they returned from France. The pair would then come north to meet the family. And when he got home, Lord Cambridge promised his cousin, he would explain in exacting detail how Philippa’s match had been obtained. He went on to say that he was both amazed and delighted by the birth of his namesake and his namesake’s twin. But he did hope that, now that the laird of Claven’s Cam had five legitimate sons, he would be content, and Rosamund would take the precautions he knew she was aware of to prevent future children for whom provision would have to be made. Then he went on to say he would be bringing with him a secretary he had poached from the court, one William Smythe, who he believed would be most valuable to them and their commercial enterprise. He was eager, he wrote, to return home. Court no longer held the same luster for him as it once had. He closed by sending her his love.

Laying the quill aside Thomas Bolton considered if he had left anything out of his missive, but deciding he had not, he folded the parchment, sealed it, and pressed his signet ring into the hot wax. It would have to do. He had more important tasks ahead. The betrothal papers must be drawn up, the date for the signing set at the royal convenience. And his darling girl must have two new gowns: one for the betrothal ceremony, and the second for her wedding day. He began to consider fabrics and color. The door to his library opened, and William Smythe entered.

“I have just learned of your return, my lord,” he said, and then spying the folded letter on the desk, he continued. “I would have written your letter for you.”

“ ’Tis for Rosamund, Will, and I prefer to write her myself.”

“The messenger is outside, my lord. These Scotsmen must have arses like leather, for while he ate I could see naught beneath his kilts but a pair of rather large balls,” the secretary told his master.

“I am curious as to how you obtained a peek, dear Will, but I shall not embarrass you with my query. Send the man in, please,” Lord Cambridge said with a small grin.

The Hepburn clansman was known to Thomas Bolton. He bowed and waited.

“You and your horse will rest the remainder of the day, Tam. Eat your fill, and sleep. My cook will give you food for your journey tomorrow. You will carry this message to my cousin the Lady Rosamund at Claven’s Cam. Your master is well?”

“Aye,” the clansman said. “And right pleased wi’ his two new lads. His lady is a good breeder, she is, my lord.” Tam grinned broadly.

Lord Cambridge nodded. “Five sons should be enough for your master,” he noted dryly.

“Och, my lord, a man can nae have too many sons,” was the reply. Then the clansman bowed. “I thank you for your hospitality,” he said, picking up the folded parchment. “I’ll see this delivered safe.” Then he bowed again, and left the room.

“Will, send for the mercer. I will want to choose fabric for my darling girl’s wedding gown.”

“At once, my lord,” the secretary said, and departed the library.

Thomas Bolton closed his eyes, leaning back in his chair. The day was but half over, and he was absolutely exhausted. It was obvious that what he had written to Rosamund was truth. He had simply not the stamina for court any longer. Court was for young creatures like Philippa. He wondered what she was doing now.

Philippa was speaking with her sister Banon as they separated colored threads in the queen’s workbasket. “Have you kissed Neville?” she wanted to know.

“Of course,” Banon replied. “How was I to know if I could tolerate him if I did not kiss him? He kisses well in comparison to the others I have kissed,” she concluded.

“You kissed other lads?” Philippa sounded shocked.

“Oh, sister, you can be such a prude.” Banon laughed. “Much of the fun of being a girl is getting to kiss the lads. I know that you kissed none until the FitzHugh boy deserted you. And now that you are to wed with the earl of Witton you cannot kiss any lest you spoil your chances, and shame the earl.”

“I have done my share of kissing,” Philippa said. “Enough to know that the earl kisses very well, Banon.”

“You have already kissed him?” Banon was surprised, given her oldest sister’s reticence.

Philippa nodded. “I would swear that my toes curled, Banie,” she said.

Banon giggled, and then she replied, “Just think, Philippa, this time next year we will both be married women with big bellies. Mayhap you will have even delivered by then. Imagine! We will be mothers, Philippa.”

“Because we are wed does not necessarily mean we will be enceinte at once,” Philippa told her sister.

“Mama says that every time Logan drops his trews she finds herself with another bairn in her belly,” Banon confided. “I will admit that our stepfather is a fine figure of a man. I wonder it took mama so long to wed him.”

“Mama loved another man,” Philippa said. “I do not believe you can so easily get over the kind of love she and Lord Leslie had, Banon.”

The days were much longer now, and the air was warming. The gardens were beginning to green up, and the court was looking forward to its May move to Greenwich. The queen’s nephew, the Holy Roman Emperor, Charles V, would visit England before the meeting with King Francois of France. He would be returning home to Spain following his coronation as emperor at Aachen in Germany. Katherine wanted her husband and her nephew on good terms. She far preferred a strong alliance with Spain and the empire to one with France, but she was to be disappointed in her hope.

Much to her irritation the king regrew his beard because he had been told that King Francois had a fine beard of which he was very proud. Katherine did not like her husband with a beard.

“I do it to honor France’s king,” Henry Tudor said. “Remember that his son will one day husband our daughter. Mary will be France’s queen as well as England’s. What a coup, Kate! Imagine our little girl queen of two such great nations.”

“Indeed,” the queen said, but her voice definitely lacked enthusiasm. She had not wanted a betrothal with France, and she did not want a meeting with them. She wanted her daughter aligned with Spain, and she knew England could not be ally to both.

The betrothal papers would be signed on Philippa’s birthday, with the wedding to follow on the next day. She had been allowed more latitude in her service to the queen in order to prepare for these two important events in her life. And she was allowed to meet with the earl of Witton more frequently now. Philippa still thought him arrogant, but Lord Cambridge had laughed at this assessment.

“The difficulty, I believe, is that you are both alike,” he told her.

“That is not so!” Philippa declared vehemently.

“Come, darling girl, and choose the fabric for your betrothal day,” he coaxed her.

“The violet silk brocade,” she told him. “That particular shade is flattering to my hair, I believe. And I shall have the ivory silk brocade for my wedding gown with an underskirt of that ivory and gold velvet brocade. And matching French hoods and veils, uncle. Am I being too greedy?”

“Nay, darling girl, not at all, but while the hoods can be made for you, you will not need them either day, for your hair must be left loose as befits your maiden state.”

“Banie must have a new gown too,” Philippa said.

“And so she shall. I think that rich rose velvet most flattering to your sister,” he replied. “Remember she will have new gowns when we return north, for she will soon be a bride too, darling girl.” He stood up. “And now that we have settled these most important details, I shall return you to the palace with the earl. Was he too distressed that we would not allow him with us while we considered this important decision?”

“He said he suspected you were far more suited to the task than he was, and besides he said there is something about not seeing the bride’s gown before the wedding,” Philippa answered, and she stood up. “Thank you, Uncle Thomas. I know I shall be the most beautiful bride at court thanks to you.” Then kissing his cheek, she curtseyed and left him to join Crispin St. Claire, who awaited her in the hall of Bolton House.

They left the house, and walked through Lord Cambridge’s garden down to where the barge awaited them. The earl was becoming used to the marble statues of the well-endowed young men set about the garden, and Philippa seemed not to notice them at all. Settling themselves, they sat back as the barge skimmed down the river back to Richmond.