Philippa (Friarsgate Inheritance #3)

Chapter 4

P hilippa looked down from the hills surrounding the valley of Friarsgate. The lake sparkled in the afternoon sunlight. The fields looked well tended as always. The sheep, cattle, and horses grazed in their meadows. Her mother had obviously added to her flocks, for there were more sheep than Philippa remembered.

“It looks a prosperous and peaceful place,” Sir Bayard said.

“ ’Tis both,” Philippa noted dryly, and Lucy snickered. Philippa nudged her mount, and they began to descend the hill. The peasants in the field stared openmouthed at the beautiful young woman passing by. Only a few recognized her after two years, for Philippa had grown from a young girl into a young woman.

Sir Bayard Dunham had spent most of his life as a courtier. The landscape around them was indeed lovely. The people looked content. Yet he suddenly realized that he himself could not possibly be happy in so quiet a setting for very long, and he had sympathy for his charge. Philippa Meredith was a creature of the court, and not the country.

Arriving at the house they were immediately greeted by stable boys who came to take their horses, and the door to the house swung open to reveal Maybel Bolton, wife to Edmund, Friarsgate’s bailiff. Edmund and his brother, Prior Richard, had been the eldest born of Philippa’s great-grandfather’s sons, but both were bastards of the same mother. Their births had occurred prior to their father’s marriage, which had also yielded two sons. Philippa’s grandfather, Guy Bolton, was the eldest legitimate son. He had perished along with his wife and son, leaving Philippa’s mother, Rosamund Bolton, an heiress, and Rosamund’s uncle Henry, his younger legitimate brother, his daughter’s guardian.

Maybel gave a shriek of surprise, turned as if to go inside, and then reversed herself. She came from the house, enfolding Philippa in her arms, sobbing. “My baby is home at last!” she wept noisily. “Why didn’t you tell us you were coming, you bad lass?”

“Because I didn’t know myself until several days ago,” Philippa said. “You might as well know, Maybel, that I have been sent home to recover from my broken heart, although it is already healed.”

“Oh, my poor baby,” Maybel sniffled. “To be jilted by the likes of that dreadful Giles FitzHugh! Bad luck to him, I say.”

“Maybel, this is Sir Bayard Dunham, my escort. He is the queen’s man, and we have the men-at-arms to feed and house as well for the next few days. Where is my mother? And my sisters?”

“Your mother is up at Claven’s Cam with the Hepburns. Banon is at Otterly being the lady of the manor. Bessie is about somewhere however,” Maybel said. “Come into the hall, child. And you also, Sir Bayard.” Maybel looked out at the dozen men-at-arms. “You lot as well.” She gestured towards them.

They entered the hall, and Maybel was quickly ordering the house servants to set up the tables and benches for the men. “And feed them now. ’Tis late and they will be hungry.” She turned to Sir Bayard. “The weather is warm enough for your men to sleep in the stables, sir. I don’t think it proper they remain in the house with my master and mistress away.”

“I agree,” Sir Bayard said. “When they have eaten I shall take them out myself.”

“You may remain here, sir,” Maybel responded. “I’ll have a servant make up a nice bed space for you. You are not in the flush of youth any longer, and need the warmth the hall will provide.”

“Thank you, madame,” Sir Bayard said. This country woman was most bluntly spoken, but kind. He could not remember the last time someone had shown a care for his personal well-being. The thought of a warm bed space to sleep in was very comforting.

“Perhaps you should send for mama,” Philippa said. “Best to get it all over with as soon as possible. I’m sure she has much to say to me. I do not intend remaining at Friarsgate for long. I am asked to return to my position. The queen will need those of us with experience in her service. Many left this summer to be married. Banon may be invited to court, Maybel. I think she would like that.”

“Banon to go into the queen’s service too? Oh, my dear child, what an honor, and all because of your mama’s friendship with the queen,” Maybel gushed.

At that moment a little girl came into the hall. She was all arms and legs, and her long blond hair was unruly. She wore a gown that appeared to have seen better days, and that hung straight on her shapeless form. She stared at Philippa and Sir Bayard.

“Come and welcome your sister Philippa home, Bessie,” Maybel said.

Elizabeth Meredith came forward, and with great dignity curtseyed to Sir Bayard and her sister. “Welcome home, Philippa,” she said.

“Why are you dressed like some peasant child?” Philippa said sharply.

The younger girl looked at her oldest sister. “Because I have no grand garments like you, sister, and what good gowns I have I prefer to keep clean. One can hardly herd animals done up for court.”

“I am hardly done up for court,” Philippa replied. “I left all my beautiful gowns in London at Uncle Thomas’s home. And why are you herding animals?”

“Because I like to,” Bessie replied. “I do not enjoy being useless, sister.”

“I am a maid of honor at court, and believe me I am not useless,” Philippa snapped. “To be in service to Queen Katherine is an honor, and we maids scarcely have time to sleep, we are kept so busy.”

“Do you enjoy the court? But of course you must, for you have not been home in ages, sister,” Bessie remarked.

“King Henry’s court is the center of the world,” Philippa said, her eyes shining. “I cannot wait to go back!”

“Why did you bother coming home then?” Bessie queried.

“That is not your business,” Philippa said in lofty tones.

Bessie laughed. “It is because of that boy, isn’t it? Boys are stupid. I shall never involve myself with a boy, sister. Worthless fellows, except perhaps our little brothers.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about, Bessie Meredith,” Philippa replied. “Someday you will be married, although who will marry you I don’t know. You have no land of your own, and a woman must have land to be an acceptable match for a good family. But why would you know something like that? How old are you now?”

“I am eleven,” Bessie said, “and any man who marries me one day will do so because he loves me, and not because I have or have no land.”

“Girls, girls, cease your quarreling. What will Sir Bayard think?” Maybel scolded them. “Bessie, go and wash the dirt from your hands and face.”

“I’ll only get dirty again when I go back outside,” Bessie said, but she was already moving up the stone staircase to her chamber.

“I am surprised that mama allows her to be so rough,” Philippa noted as her youngest sister disappeared from her sight.

“She is the youngest of your father’s children,” Maybel explained. “Now your mama has a new family, and they need her too. So does her husband.”

“Bessie should not be allowed to run wild as she is obviously doing,” Philippa said primly. Then she turned to Sir Bayard. “Come, sir, and sit at the high board with me. The servants will bring us supper too.”

Edmund Bolton came in, and greeted Philippa warmly. He thanked Sir Bayard for his careful shepherding of the girl from Woodstock to Friarsgate. He saw that a messenger was dispatched to Claven’s Cam across the border. Then when Philippa and her sister had gone to their beds he sat with Sir Bayard and his wife by the fire, drinking the fine whiskey that Rosamund’s husband brewed up.

“It seems odd to me,” Sir Bayard began. “An English landholder, a friend of our queen’s, married to a Scots laird.”

“There are many such marriages here on the border,” Edmund responded. “And our Rosamund is also a close friend of Queen Margaret.”

“I am told she is now called the king’s mother,” Sir Bayard said.

“By some, but never in this house,” Edmund replied. “The lady of Friarsgate would not tolerate such disrespect of her old friend.”

“The Scots make fine whiskey,” Sir Bayard noted.

“Aye,” Edmund agreed with a small smile.

Rosamund arrived two days later, just as Sir Bayard was preparing to depart. She thanked him for his care of her eldest daughter, and insisted he have a small purse for his troubles. While he demurred at first, he took the purse as he kissed her hand, and bid her farewell. Rosamund watched as he rode off with the dozen men-at-arms. Then turning, she reentered her house. “Where is Philippa?” she asked Maybel.

“In her chamber, sulking,” came the tart answer. “I do not know what has happened to our sweet child, Rosamund. She is disdainful of everything, and fights constantly with Bessie. And that Lucy ain’t much better, with her airs. They brought virtually nothing with them, and Philippa has had the seamstress run ragged altering several of her old gowns which barely fit her because she has grown breasts. She has been wearing the same clothing in which she traveled. When I asked her why she brought no luggage with her she said ’twas because she would not be here long, and did not wish to take any longer getting to so distant a place than was necessary. The Philippa I helped you raise is long gone, I fear, and I am not certain I like this girl who bears her likeness and name.”

“It is the court,” Rosamund said quietly, putting an arm about her old nursemaid.

“We went to court, and did not come back all hoitytoity,” Maybel said.

“Remember the Bolton family motto, Maybel?” Rosamund said quietly. “It is Tracez votre chemin. Make your own path. That is, I think, what my daughter is doing.

“But she is young yet, and she has been hurt. Not so much in the losing of Giles FitzHugh, but in the embarrassment he has caused her at court.”

“The gentleman who escorted her home brought a letter for you from the queen. I imagine there is much in it that Mistress Philippa has yet to share with us,” the older woman said. “She has been anxious for you to come home on one hand, but on the other not in so much of a hurry to see you.” She handed Rosamund the packet.

Rosamund laughed. At twenty-nine she was still beautiful, although she was even now ripening with a seventh child that would be born in February as her ewe sheep were dropping their lambs. “Well, I suppose it is better to get it over with, Maybel. Send one of the girls up to bring my daughter down into the hall.”

“Mama!” Elizabeth Meredith ran into the large chamber. “I saw your horse being led to the stables. You didn’t come alone, I hope. Papa will be furious.”

“Nay, my darling Bessie, I was escorted by several of our clansmen.” She cocked her head, and looked closely at her youngest daughter. “Well,” she said, “I see no outward signs of violence.”

Bessie burst out laughing. “I am too quick for Mistress Fussy-Prissy, mama. I don’t remember Philippa being so mean. I really don’t think I like her anymore.”

“Be patient, my darling Bessie,” Rosamund counseled her child. “Philippa is unhappy right now, and so we must be kind. The match that was to be made for her was a particularly good one, and it will be difficult to replace Giles FitzHugh. Philippa has lived at court long enough to know that. Beneath all her anger and superiority she is frightened. Fifteen is the age many girls wed. To find herself unexpectedly bereft of a proposed husband at this time is a catastrophe in her mind, but Friarsgate is an excellent dowry, and she will have gold and silver as well. She is more than well dowered enough to attract the right man. We must just be patient.”

“Philippa says she hates Friarsgate, mama. She says if her lands weren’t so far north Giles would not have deserted her,” Bessie replied.

“Telling tales already, brat?” Philippa entered the hall. She was dressed in a plain green gown. “Mama, I am happy to see you. But gracious! Are you breeding yet again?”

“Bessie, pet, go to the kitchens and tell cook I am home. Philippa, come and sit by the fire with me. And aye, I am breeding again. The bairn will be born in February. It will probably be another lad, for Logan, it seems, can sire only lads on me.” She sat down, the packet Maybel had handed her still unopened. She saw Philippa eye it warily.

“Will you tell me what is in the queen’s letter, or shall I open it now, and read it before we speak?” she asked her daughter.

“Do what you will, mama. I’m sure the queen has overreacted to my situation. She seems to believe that I am pining for Giles FitzHugh, and I am not! I hate him for discarding me in so hasty a fashion. Now I am to be the old maid of the court. I am not happy, mama, but I am not weeping over that pious fool.”

Rosamund broke the seal on the queen’s letter, and opening it out began to read. Once or twice her left eyebrow lifted itself. Once there was almost the hint of a smile about her lips. She actually read the queen’s missive twice to make certain she understood Katherine’s position. Finally she set the letter aside on the bench where she sat and said in a quiet voice, “Were you anyone else’s daughter, Philippa, I expect that you would have been dismissed from the queen’s service, and sent home in total disgrace with no invitation to return.”

“But I have been asked back! At Christmas, and I am to resume my old place in the ranks of the queen’s maids,” Philippa said quickly.

“Because the queen values our small friendship, Philippa.”

“The king stood up for me too. He was so kind,” Philippa told her mother. “They say Inez de Salinas once caught you in a compromising position with the king, and that you got her dismissed from court when she gossiped about it, but the queen forgave you.”

“That is a lie,” Rosamund said. She would not share her secret history with her daughter. It was not Philippa’s business. She continued calmly. “I knew the king as a boy when I lived in his grandmother’s care. You know all of that. You are foolish to listen to gossip, Philippa, especially such old gossip, but we are not speaking of my days at court. We are speaking of your shameless behavior. What possessed you? Drinking to excess? Dicing, and removing your clothing when you lost as payment for the debt? How am I to find you a respectable husband when you exhibit such behavior? King Henry was kind to you? Aye, he would be. He well remembers your father, and Owein Meredith’s faithful service to the house of Tudor. Would that his eldest daughter could prove as honorable.

“And the queen says while she hopes you may return at Christmas, that decision is to be mine, and mine alone, Philippa. I am very angry at you, and I do not know if I shall ever allow you back at court!”

Philippa jumped up from the chair where she had been seated. “I will die if I am forced to remain in this backwater, mama! Is that what you want? Do you want me to die? I must return to court! I must!” Her eyes were wild with open distress.

Rosamund remained seated. “Sit down, Philippa. I can see why the queen was concerned. You have lost all sense of proportion, and your behavior is out of control. I am not pleased with you, my daughter. What Giles FitzHugh did was childish, selfish, and thoughtless. He might have written his father of his decision before he returned home to announce it to one and all.”

“I lo-loved him!” Philippa began to weep.

“You barely knew him,” her mother replied bluntly. “You saw him first when you were ten and I took you to court to present you to the king and queen. A match was proposed that I did not decline, but neither did I accept. I said we must wait until you were older. By the time you returned to court Giles was on the continent studying. You have built up this romantic fantasy in your mind about Giles, Philippa. I suspect it is a good thing that Giles is not to be your husband, for I honestly doubt that he could live up to that dream lover.”

“Mama!” Philippa sniveled, “I never thought of him like that!”

“Didn’t you? Then he was absolutely not the man for you. A woman should lust after the man she is to wed. I might have been shy, but I could scarcely wait for your father to bed me. And believe me when I tell you that I lusted greatly after Patrick Leslie, and Logan Hepburn. Do you not remember the passion between Glenkirk and me?”

“I thought it wonderful, but odd,” Philippa admitted. “Most people do not love like that, mama. A good marriage is intended to improve your family’s connections and wealth, and for the purpose of procreating children. That is what the queen teaches the maids.”

“Does she?” Rosamund said. “Well, I suppose it must be enough for a princess of Aragon who weds a king of England. But it would not have been enough for me, nor should it be for you, Philippa.” She reached out and brushed the tears from her daughter’s cheek. “Giles has hurt you, my darling girl. Accept it, and then when your heart is once again content we will find you a young man you can love as I have loved the men in my life. You are no queen, Philippa. You are simply the heiress to Friarsgate.”

“You don’t understand,” Philippa said, drawing away from her mother. “I don’t want Friarsgate, mama. I don’t want to live here for the rest of my life. That was your dream. I love the court! I love the excitement, the pageantry, the intrigue, and the color. It is the center of the world, mama, and I want to be there forever!”

“You are upset, Philippa, and you do not understand what you are saying,” Rosamund said calmly. Not want Friarsgate? Certainly Philippa didn’t mean it. Of course she wanted Friarsgate. She was just distressed, and now was certainly not the time to discuss it. “I am sending to Otterly for Tom, and your sister Banon,” she said, turning the subject away from what was obviously an uncomfortable place for both of them.

“I hope Banon is cleaner than Bessie is. And better bred,” Philippa told her mother sourly. “How can you allow your daughter to run about barefoot and dirty, mama? She spends all of her days in the meadows with the sheep. I never found sheep to be of great interest. Does she not take lessons anymore with Father Mata?”

“She is far better read than you are, Philippa,” Rosamund said. “She is extremely proficient in several languages including Latin and Greek. She can speak Dutch, and German, which I certainly cannot.”

“Why would she speak Dutch and German, mama? French is a far more cultured tongue,” Philippa replied. “My French is much improved by my service at court. I know papa would be very proud, for he taught you to speak it. Who is there to teach Bessie such clumsy and coarse tongues?”

“Bessie is much interested in our wool business. She has accompanied me to the Netherlands twice. We have a factor in Amsterdam now who apprenticed his son to us. The boy’s name is Hans Steen. He is learning the business of wool from the sheep onward. And he teaches your sister the languages she will need to deal with northern Europe. I don’t think Bessie will ever want to go to court, Philippa.”

Philippa looked absolutely scandalized. “Bessie would prefer to act like a man of business, mama? Oh, how can you permit it? We are not common merchants. I should be totally ruined socially if anyone knew my sister behaved in such an unladylike fashion. You cannot really want her to do this. I know we are not old nobility, mama, but we have certainly climbed the social ladder a short ways since your birth.”

“Your youngest sister is landless, Philippa. While she will have a good dower portion thanks to my cousin, Tom, she would not make a good farmer’s wife. But she will one day be a valuable spouse for a successful merchant’s heir. Besides, she is intelligent, and would be unhappy being an ornament for some man.”

“I cannot believe that you would allow my father’s child to fall so low,” Philippa replied disapprovingly.

“Philippa!” Rosamund exclaimed. “Where do you think your own wealth comes from, you foolish lass?”

“Uncle Thomas is rich,” Philippa said naively.

Rosamund laughed. “And where do you think his wealth came from? Trade. Tom’s great-grandfather and mine were twins. Martin Bolton was sent to London to wed the daughter of the merchant to whom he was apprenticed. They married, and she bore a son, but she was a pretty girl, and King Edward IV saw her, and seduced her. She killed herself in shame. King Edward felt guilt over the matter, especially as Martin Bolton and his father-in-law were staunch adherents of this king, and had been generous financially to him. So the king gave Martin Bolton a peerage, and that is how it came into the family, Philippa. But trade of one kind or another has always kept this family prosperous. I am sorry you do not understand that, and think it shameful to earn one’s bread. You have lost your sense of morality and ethic while you have been at court. I think you will not go back until you have regained these virtues, my daughter. And do not scowl at me, Philippa. My mind is made up, and you will only change it when I see a change for the better in your attitude.”

“You do not understand, mama!” Philippa cried. “You have never been young!”

“Only in years, Philippa, but then I was never allowed to be young. The burden of Friarsgate was on my shoulders from the tender age of three. There was little time to be young as you know it. Perhaps, my daughter, I have been too generous to you. You have come to believe it is your right to be spoiled and selfish, but it is not! Now go to your chamber. I am disappointed in you.”

“I will go back to court at Christmas if not before!” Philippa cried. “Even if I have to ride all the way to Greenwich myself! I will not stay here. I hate Friarsgate, and I am near to hating you, for all you can see is this damned estate. You do not understand me, and you never have!” Then Philippa ran from the hall, and up the stairs.

Rosamund sighed deeply, and taking up the queen’s letter read it a third time. She had known from the first time she had taken Philippa to court that her daughter was lost to her. That was why she had kept Philippa from going until the summer she was twelve. And in that time before her daughter’s first visit and departure Philippa had practiced her French and Greek and Latin. She had struggled with her embroidery until it was perfect. She had learned every dance that anyone could teach her. She sang, and she played upon her lute and small Irish harp until her music was almost angelic. She bathed far more often than either of Rosamund’s other daughters, and tended to her complexion as if it were the rarest of flower gardens. Each morning and each night she had Lucy brush her long auburn tresses one hundred strokes. Everything she did was to prepare her for court, and her position as one of the queen of England’s maids of honor. And when she was fifteen she would be betrothed and married to the second son of an earl. Philippa’s life was exactly as she had wanted it. Until now.

“You have weathered the storm, I see,” Maybel said, reentering the hall and coming to sit by Rosamund.

“Barely,” Rosamund replied. “She is very angry. I have told her she will not go back to court until I see a change in her demeanor. She has replied she will go back even if she has to walk the whole way by herself. I do not ever remember being that headstrong, Maybel.”

“You were,” Maybel responded, “but your passion was for Friarsgate, and those for whom you were responsible as its lady. Philippa has become selfish. Perhaps she always was selfish, and we did not notice it because she was a child. I fear for Friarsgate, for your eldest daughter has absolutely no interest in it at all. Her passion is for this court of hers, and for herself. If you could but see, but of course you will, how scornful she is of Bessie who loves the land so greatly.”

“I must speak with Tom,” Rosamund said.

“Not your husband?” Maybel was surprised.

Rosamund shook her head. “Nay. Logan may be my husband, but he has never really understood me where Friarsgate is concerned. It is his one weakness.” She smiled. “Tom understands, and he will know what we are to do about Philippa. Logan would marry her off to the first suitable husband he could find, and devil take the hindmost. My husband will most certainly not put up with my daughter’s bad behavior. Nay, Tom must come quickly, for if I remain too long here right now Logan will come. He will not put up with Philippa’s haughty ways. As her stepfather he has the right to beat her, and I have no doubt he would take a hazel switch to her bottom should he feel she needed it. And though I would never admit it, I think she does.”

“Surely the man would not beat his children,” Maybel said, horrified.

“He’s a rough man, Maybel, and while he is not cruel, he has taken a switch to Alexander once or twice. And my wee Jamie as well. Rowdy laddies both, I fear. ’Tis his John who is the gentle lad. Nay, we must send for Tom right away.”

“Edmund did, when he sent for you,” Maybel told Rosamund. “He should be here if not late today, tomorrow for certain, and Banon with him. Mistress Philippa will certainly have her nose put out of joint when she sees our Banon, for she is surely the most beautiful of your lasses. When she was young I thought she would resemble you as does Philippa, but she has grown into a mix of both you and lord Owein, may God assoil his good soul. With those blue eyes of hers you would think she was the laird’s child.”

“My uncles have blue eyes,” Rosamund noted. “But aye, Banon is lovely even at thirteen. Imagine what two more years will do for her.”

“Another one to find a husband for,” Maybel said almost grimly.

“I am leaving that to Tom,” Rosamund replied. “She is his heiress. Let him choose the man who would husband Banon, and be the next lord of Otterly. It is not my concern, although I will want some small say in the matter, of course.”

The evening meal was a grim one. Philippa hardly spoke a word except to criticize her little sister. And Elizabeth Meredith was not one to sit meekly with her hands folded and accept the unkind words her sister spoke. At first Rosamund attempted to keep the peace between her eldest and her youngest daughters, but finally she gave up.

“Go to your beds, both of you! I am not of a mind to listen to your quarreling. If you cannot be civil to one another then I do not want you at my board.”

The two sisters departed the hall, still quarreling angrily with one another.

Rosamund sat back and closed her eyes for a long moment. Life had been so peaceful before Philippa arrived home. She was beginning to feel some strong antipathy towards the second son of the earl of Renfrew. This was really all his fault. If the life that her eldest daughter had envisioned had vanished in a puff of smoke, with Philippa’s return so had the life that Rosamund now led and loved. The girl was contentious beyond all belief. “I am going to bed,” she said to no one in particular, and then she stood up and left the hall.

In mid-morning the sound of a horn was heard from the hillside, and Sir Thomas Bolton came riding down the road accompanied by Banon Meredith. Ahead of them rode a young man blowing a trumpet, while sleek greyhounds and a wolfhound loped along beside the riders. Lord Cambridge and his heiress were accompanied by six men-at-arms. Up to the front door of the house they rode, where Rosamund, alerted, was already there to greet them. Lord Cambridge slid from his mount, and lifted Banon from hers.

Banon Mary Katherine Meredith was a beautiful girl on the brink of young womanhood. She was dressed in a deep blue silk riding gown that matched her eyes. Her auburn hair was simply dressed beneath a gabled hood that had been set back to display her hair, and from which hung a small neat lawn veil. “Mama!” she said, slipping from her uncle’s grasp. She kissed Rosamund sweetly. “Where is Philippa? I am anxious to see her!” She smiled, and Rosamund was reminded of her mother whom she could but barely remember.

“Wait, my child,” Rosamund advised. “Philippa is not as you remember her. She is unhappy, and angry.”

“She is selfish and mean,” Bessie Meredith said, overhearing as she ran up to greet Banon. “Banie! How lovely you look!”Then she turned and flung herself at Tom Bolton. “Uncle Thomas! What have you brought me?”

“Bessie!” Rosamund gently scolded her daughter, but Tom Bolton laughed.

Reaching into his elegant velvet doublet he drew forth a sleepy kitten, of a deep orange hue. “Will this do, madame?” he asked her.

Squealing with delight Bessie took the kitten, holding it up to admire its golden eyes, and kissing its nose. “How did you know I wanted a kitten?” she demanded of him.

Thomas Bolton laughed. “You always want some living thing to love, Bessie, and I have brought you enough puppies to make a hunting pack. I thought a kitten for a change would suffice your greedy nature.”

“Oh, thank you!” Bessie said, and turning, she put an arm through Banon’s, and walking off began to whisper most earnestly.

“Now what is that all about, dear girl?” Lord Cambridge asked his cousin.

“Philippa, if I don’t miss my guess,” Rosamund said as they walked into the house. “She has come home angry, and argues constantly with Bessie, of whom she very much disapproves now. I am worried, Tom, and I need your advice on how to deal with my eldest child. I am at a loss as to what to do.”

“Where is Logan?” her cousin asked. He took a cup of wine from the servant holding the tray, and sipped slowly as they entered the hall to seat themselves.

“Up at Claven’s Cam with our lads, and may he remain there, Tom, for I know he would beat Philippa if she spoke rudely to him, and she is that way with everyone now. She says she hates Friarsgate, and she almost hates me as well for loving it more than I do my children. There is no reasoning with her at all, I fear.”

“And all because of Renfrew’s lad? They are a nice enough family, but I would not have thought any of them could arouse such passion in a woman’s breast, dear girl. It has to be more than just that,” Tom Bolton said, sipping thoughtfully at his wine.

“She was sent home, Tom,” Rosamund said low. “Oh, she has been asked back when she has recovered from her disappointment, but that decision is to be mine.”

“And why was she sent home?” His look was both curious and amused.

“She and some friends, three young men and another lass, climbed to the top of the Canted Tower where they got drunk and were caught gambling. My daughter had lost all her coin, and so was pledging items of her wardrobe. She had divested herself of both shoes and stockings, her bodice, and had just stepped from her skirts when the king and the duke of Suffolk arrived to study the constellations.”

Thomas Bolton burst out laughing. “My dear, dear girl, I should have never suspected that Philippa had such devilment in her. How too too amusing!”

“Oh, Tom, it is not funny at all! If I were not considered a friend of the queen’s Philippa might have been ruined. Fortunately just about everyone had left court for the summer, having no wish to tramp from one hunting site to another with Hal, and needing to be on their own lands. The incident could have been a disaster. We need to find a husband for Philippa, and I simply do not know where to begin!” Rosamund declared.

“Why, cousin,” he said, “I have not seen you so distressed in a long time. This is indeed serious then. I think I must speak with Philippa, and hear what she has to say before I can make any decision as to how we may surmount this difficulty that has arisen. I trust that Logan will remain on the other side of the border while we consider the problem. Your wicked Scot has a good hot temper on him, and if Philippa is as out of control as you believe, then there must not be a clash of wills between the two.”

Rosamund nodded. “I will have one of the servants fetch Philippa to you. I will leave the hall, for she and I cannot speak these days without quarreling. I am breeding another son for Logan, and I do not enjoy controversy” She arose. “I will be in the garden if you wish to speak further with me before the dinner hour.”

Thomas Bolton watched as his cousin glided from the hall. He sometimes thought it was a pity that he was not a man for marriage with a woman, for his cousin would have been a good wife for him. They had from the first gotten on, and she always seemed to come to him with her problems, but not so much of late. Well, it was only proper that she confide in her Scotsman. But this was obviously an issue that would require the most delicate finesse to solve. And Logan Hepburn had never been a man noted for finesse.

“Uncle.”

Thomas Bolton looked up and saw Philippa standing before him. He gave her a quick smile, and then said, “My darling girl, while I am ecstatic to see you, the gown you are wearing is a total disaster! Surely this is not the new fashion at court?” He looked genuinely distressed, and not just a little appalled.

A tiny smile touched the girl’s lips, but it was as quickly gone as it had come. “I left my court gowns at the London house, uncle. I would not bring them here. They would be most unsuitable, and besides the journey with all its dusty summer roads would have ruined them.”

“Then what on earth is it that you wear, my darling girl? It is most unattractive.”

“I had some old gowns I left behind in my trunks altered,” Philippa explained.

Thomas Bolton shook his head wearily. “Your figure has, um, er, ripened in your time away, Philippa. There is obviously not enough fabric in the gown to do you justice. It will not do. No, no, darling girl, it will not do at all! We must have new gowns made at once. Not the kind, of course, that you are expected to wear at court, but gowns for a country visit that will at least fit you properly. God’s foot, my dear, what you are wearing makes your shoulders look quite broad, like a peasant girl who pulls the plow for her husband.” He shuddered with distaste.

Philippa had to laugh. “Uncle,” she told him, “finally I have a reason to be glad I am here. Why do you persist in isolating youself here in Cumbria when once you so loved the excitement that only being at court can engender?”

“Indeed, darling girl, I did once very much enjoy the court. When I first came to Friarsgate I was astounded that your mother could love it here so. But after a time the glory of the court pales when one sees a winter’s sunrise from a hillside, or the first of the spring flowers pushing through the snow to catch the eye with splashes of quick color. Perhaps it is my age, dear Philippa, but I far prefer Cumbria now myself, else I should not have sold my house in Cambridge.”

“Yet you kept your houses in London and Greenwich,” Philippa noted.

“I kept them for you, darling girl,” he told her. “I saw what you were from the first time we took you to court.”

“Oh, uncle, I knew you would understand!” Philippa cried. “Mama does not understand, for Friarsgate is her whole life. But it is not mine! I love the court! I want to remain there, but how can I now? I will soon be too old to be one of the queen’s maids of honor. As the wife of Giles FitzHugh I might have been able to remain at court. Now what is to happen to me? The queen will have me back, but for how long? And Cecily is to be wed shortly, and soon all my friends will be gone while I remain, an old maid.”

“Is that the problem?” Lord Cambridge asked Philippa.

“Just part of it, uncle,” she answered him. “How am I to find a husband at court when my estates are so far north as to be practically in Scotland? Giles himself said he would not have been able to live here because it is so far from civilized company. And mama will never approve a match for me if the man does not agree to husband this land one day. And she is right there. Friarsgate is a great responsibility, but I do not want it. I am a creature of the court, and content to be such.”

“You are certain you do not want Friarsgate, Philippa? It may be in a northerly clime, darling girl, but it is a most impressive inheritance,” Lord Cambridge said.

Philippa sighed. “I cannot have Friarsgate and a life at the court. If I must choose then I choose the court. I know mama thinks I am simply speaking out of pique. While her great ardor is for this land, mine is not. I could not wait to get away. I would have gone the day I reached twelve years, and the few weeks she made me wait after my birthday were an agony. I lived in terror that mama would change her mind.”

He saw the difficulty now, and it was going to break Rosamund’s heart, but Thomas Bolton could see that Philippa was as determined in her fervor for the court as Rosamund was and always had been for Friarsgate. He nodded. “I must think on this, dear Philippa,” he told her, “but I will help both you and your mother to resolve what would appear to be an insurmountable problem. Will you trust me to do this?”

“Yes, uncle, I will,” Philippa replied, and she smiled.