Until You (66 page)

W
hy did you not tell me?” Philippa Meredith de manded of Cecily FitzHugh. “I do not think I have ever been so sad and angry in all of my life. We are best friends, Cecily. How could you keep this from me? I do not know if I can ever forgive you.”

Cecily’s blue-gray eyes overflowed with tears at Philippa’s words. “I didn’t know,” she sobbed piteously. “It is as big a surprise to me as it is to you. I only learned of my brother’s decision this afternoon as Giles was speaking to you. My father said they kept it from me because they knew I would tell you, and it wasn’t up to us to speak with you. It was Giles’s responsibility. I think my brother is horrid, Philippa! We were to be sisters, and now you will marry someone else.”

“Who?” Philippa sniffed. “I am not noble, and while I am considered an heiress, my estates are in the north. Giles’s selfishness has probably rendered me impossible to marry off. Look how long it took your parents to find you a proper bridegroom. And soon you will be married, Cecily, while I shall wither away.” She sighed dramatically. “If your brother has decided to devote his life to God, then perhaps it is a sign that I should too. My great-uncle Richard Bolton is the prior of St. Cuthbert’s, near Carlisle. He will know of a convent I may enter.”

Cecily burst out laughing. “You? A nun? Oh, no, dearest Philippa, not you. You have too great a love of all things worldly to be a nun. You would have to give up all the possessions you so love, like beautiful clothing, jewelry, and good food. You would have to be obedient. Poverty, chastity and obedience are the rules in any convent. You could never be poor, docile or biddable, Philippa.” Cecily’s blue eyes danced with merriment.

“I could too!” Philippa insisted. “My great-aunt Julia is a nun, and my father’s sisters.”

Cecily laughed all the harder.

“Well, what else is there for me now that your brother has rejected me?” Philippa demanded of her best friend.

“Your family will find you another husband,” Cecily said practically.

“I don’t want another husband!” Philippa cried. “I want Giles! I love him, and I shall never love another. Besides, who would want to exile themselves to the north where my estates are located? Even Giles said the thought of having to live at Friarsgate made him miserable. Why my mother fought so hard to retain it I will never know. I don’t want to live there either. It is much too far from the court.”

“You are only saying that because you are disappointed in my brother,” Cecily said. Then she changed the subject. “My father has written to your mother telling her of Giles’s decision. The messenger will leave for the north in the morning. Do you want to send a letter to your mother with him?”

“Aye, I do,” Philippa said. She arose from where they had been sitting together in the queen’s antechamber. “I will ask the queen’s permission to go and write it now.” Without a backward glance to her friend Philippa moved serenely across the room. At fifteen she very much resembled her mother at that age, with her slender carriage and her auburn hair, but her eyes were not Rosamund’s. Philippa had her father’s changeable hazel green eyes.

Approaching the queen, she curtseyed and waited for permission to speak. It was given almost immediately. “What is it, my child?” Queen Katherine asked, smiling.

“Your highness has undoubtedly heard of my misfortune by now,” Philippa began.

The queen nodded. “I am sorry, Philippa Meredith,” she said.

Philippa bit her lip, for she suddenly found herself near tears again. She swallowed hard, and then forced herself to continue. “Lord FitzHugh is sending a message north on the morrow. I should like the courier to also carry a letter from me to my mother. With your highness’s permission I will withdraw to write it.” She curtsied again, giving the queen a weak smile.

“You have our permission, my child,” the queen said. “And you will give your mother our kind regards, and say that if we may be of help to her in seeking a new match for you we shall be glad to come to her aid, but I remember your mama likes to do everything on her own.” Queen Katherine smiled with fond remembrance.

“Thank you, your highness.” Philippa curtseyed once more, and backed away. She slipped from the queen’s rooms, hurrying to the maidens’ dormitory where she might be alone with her troubled thoughts as she wrote to Rosamund. But the girl Philippa liked least among the maids was there preening as she prepared to join the queen’s ladies.

“Ohh, poor Philippa!” she cried with false concern as she saw her enter the chamber. “I understand you have been jilted by the earl of Renfrew’s son. What a pity.”

Philippa’s eyes narrowed. “I do not need your concern, Millicent Langholme, and besides it is none of your business.”

“Your mother will have some difficulty finding you a decent husband now, and especially as your estates are so far north,” Millicent murmured. “Did I hear aright? Giles FitzHugh is to become a priest? I wouldn’t have thought it of him. He must have wanted to get out of marrying you quite badly to do that,” she tittered. Then she smoothed her velvet skirts, and adjusted her gabled headdress.

Philippa had never wanted to hit someone so much in all of her life, but her situation was bad enough without deliberately bringing disgrace upon her family by assaulting another of the queen’s maids. “I have no doubt that Giles’s vocation is an honest one.” She found herself defending him although what she really wanted to do was pound the wretch who had deserted her with both of her fists. Then she said, “You had best hurry, Millicent. The queen was looking for you.”

Seeing she could not bait Philippa into bad behavior, Millicent Langholme hurried off without another word. Philippa opened the chest that held her possessions, and drew out her writing box. Opening it she sat down on her bed to write, and when she had finished Philippa gave the sealed letter to a page who saw it was dispatched with the earl of Renfrew’s messenger, who rode north the following day.

 

Reading her daughter’s missive some days later Rosamund gave a little shriek. “Give me Lord FitzHugh’s letter, Maybel. Quickly! Just when I thought all was well, it would appear we have difficulties again.”

“What is the matter?” Maybel handed the younger woman the packet from Lord FitzHugh. “What does the earl say?”

“A moment,” Rosamund replied, holding up a delicate hand. “God’s foot and damnation!” Her eyes quickly scanned the parchment, and then she set it aside. “Giles FitzHugh has decided to enter the priesthood. There will be no betrothal between him and Philippa. The wretch! Well, I never liked him that much anyway.”

Maybel gave a little shriek of outrage.

“The earl apologizes,” Rosamund continued, “and says he still thinks of Philippa as a daughter, and always will. He offers to aid me in finding another husband for Philippa. I must send to Otterly for Tom. Even though he has been away from the court for several years he will still be wiser than I in this matter. Poor Philippa! Her heart was so set on that boy.”

“A priest,” Maybel lamented. “That fine young man! ’Tis a pity, and now our lass left bereft at her age. That selfish lad might have told her sooner, I say.”

Rosamund laughed. “So do I,” she agreed. Then she picked up her daughter’s letter again, and began to read it completely, shaking her head as she did so. When she had finished she set it aside with the other. “Philippa says there is nothing for her but to become a nun. She asks that I consult with my uncle Richard as to a good convent.”

“Stuff and nonsense!” Maybel said. “The lass is overwrought, although who could blame her under the circumstances. However, I do not see Mistress Philippa taking holy orders at all, no matter what she says.”

Rosamund laughed again. “Neither do I, Maybel. My daughter has too great a love of all things fine to give them up. Tell Edmund to send to Otterly for Tom today.”