Philippa (Friarsgate Inheritance #3)

Chapter 7

“ T here she is,” Lord Cambridge said quietly. ”There is my darling girl, and her younger sister, who is my heiress. She sits by the queen’s knee. Her highness is most fond of Philippa Meredith. She looks much like her mother, and I believe she reminds the queen of her youth. Of course that youth was not always a happy one, but Philippa’s mother, Rosamund Bolton, always remained steadfast in her loyalty to the queen.”

“The girl in green?” the earl asked, to be certain.

Lord Cambridge nodded. “Aye. Tudor green,” he said and he chuckled. “Not yet even sixteen, and Philippa is a consummate courtier. What do you think? I offer you wealth, the land you desire, and a very pretty girl for your wife, dear boy.”

Crispin St. Claire looked while attempting not to stare. She was lovely. Her features were delicate, and while not of noble blood she could not be considered coarse by any stretch of the imagination. “She is fair enough,” he acknowledged, “but I will want more in a wife than just beauty.”

“She has both manners and education,” Thomas Bolton said.

“But has she wit, my lord?” the earl asked.

Thomas Bolton felt a slight stab of irritation prick at him. “Come, sir,” he said rather more sharply than he had intended to. “If she were of a more baronial family would you be quite so fussy? Those lasses have a tendency to die young, and be poor breeders. For a family such as yours to survive it is necessary for you to wed outside of your usual realm every few generations. However, if you care not to have my young cousin to wife you have but to say so now, and we will part friends.”

“I need a wife with whom I may carry on an intelligent conversation now and again, my lord,” the earl said in defense of himself. “I would sooner not marry at all, and allow my earldom to disappear, than marry a woman who can speak of nothing but children, and her household. Do not tell me a woman like that would interest you.”

Lord Cambridge could not help but laugh. “Nay, sir, a woman like that would not interest me. But you need have no fear. Philippa is a girl of many and varied opinions. While she may drive you to distraction, she will never bore you. She may anger you; she may make you laugh; but you will never, ever be bored by her, or with her, I guarantee it, my lord. Now, are you interested in meeting Philippa Meredith, or shall we go our separate ways, my lord?”

“You tempt me with your words, sir,” the earl admitted. “You make this girl seem most intriguing. Aye, I should like to meet her.”

“Excellent! I shall speak with her, and we will arrange it. I think a less public venue than the babbling court, eh?” Thomas Bolton said.

“Not now?” The earl of Witton was surprised, and perhaps a little disappointed.

“In matters of so delicate a nature,” Lord Cambridge said, “it is best to go carefully, and prepare the way. Philippa was quite angered by Giles FitzHugh’s decision. It placed her in a most embarrassing position, and her feelings were hurt. She even considered taking the veil, but her great-uncle, the prior of a small monastery, thought it not wise, and spoke with her on the matter. However, she has come to distrust men, I fear.”

“Did she love him that much then?” the earl asked.

“She did not love him at all, although she was certain that she did. She hardly knew him,” Lord Cambridge said, and then he explained. “She met him as a child, and fancied herself in love with him from that moment onward. He was the older brother of her best friend, and young Cecily innocently helped to feed Philippa’s dreams as best friends are wont to do. Then Giles came home, announcing he was being ordained into the priesthood when he returned to Rome, and all of Philippa’s girlish dreams came crashing loudly down around her. Everything she had planned her life would be was gone. I think it would have been better had the lad died rather than desert her for the church.”

“Is she still angry?” the earl asked.

“She says nay, but I think she is,” Lord Cambridge replied. “But it is now eight months since the unfortunate incident, and it is time for Philippa to move on with her life, my lord. Wouldn’t you agree?”

The earl nodded slowly. “When may I meet her then?”

“In a few days’ time. You must stay with me, dear boy. A cubicle in Cardinal Wolsey’s residence sounds appalling. We will not be caught unawares. Philippa and her sister live at court as maids of honor. She comes to my house now and again for fresh wardrobe, as the space assigned her here is very slight.”

“Agreed,” the earl responded, “and I thank you. Were I still in service to the king I have no doubt my accommodation would have been better, but it was grudgingly given, and it is without a fire. And of course I am not invited to Wolsey’s table either.”

Lord Cambridge shuddered. “The man may be clever, and a cardinal, but blood will tell in the end. He has no manners, nor does he have any common sense. His palaces at York Place and Hampton Court are larger and grander than any the king possesses. One day Henry Tudor will stop to consider that. No man, even a cardinal, should put himself above the king. One day the cardinal will make a slip, and his enemies will be quick to point it out to the king. He is not a well-loved man though he be useful to the king. His rise has been great. His decline will be greater.”

“But he is extremely intelligent, and crafty,” the earl said. “While I served the king my instructions always came through Wolsey. Some say he manages the country while the king plays, but knowing both men I see it differently. The king uses Wolsey as anyone would a good servant. The king takes the glory, and the cardinal the contempt.”

“Ah, you have surprised me, my lord earl,” Thomas Bolton said. “You are obviously more astute than I would have taken you for, and I find that pleasing. Now, however, I am going to join a few friends. If you wish to leave before me just send the barge back, and I will do the same.” Lord Cambridge bowed, and moved off into the crowd, smiling and greeting people as he went.

An interesting man, the earl of Witton thought. Odd, but interesting. He moved into a recessed alcove, and looked for Philippa again. She was no longer seated next to her mistress, but dancing a boisterous country dance with a young man. When he swung her up and around with great vigor she threw her head back and laughed. The earl smiled. It was obvious she was having a good time, and why not. She was young, and fair. His interest was piqued further when the next dance began, and the king partnered Philippa Meredith. The king only danced with those he considered the best dancers in his court. Consequently his partners were limited, as many young women were afraid to dance with him lest they displease him. But Philippa Meredith wasn’t one bit afraid of Henry Tudor. Holding her skirts up she pranced daintily next to her monarch while the musicians played. She was graceful, and the smile on her lips never wavered. When the dance was over and done with, the king kissed the girl’s hand and she curtseyed, then backed away to rejoin her mistress. She was flushed, and a single tendril of auburn hair had slipped from beneath her elegant French hood. He found it charming.

Before he left court that day Thomas Bolton sought out his young cousin, and begged a moment of her company from the queen who graciously gave it, smiling warmly at Lord Cambridge. He took Philippa’s small hand in his, tucking it in his arm, and they left the great anteroom where the king and the court were now amusing themselves. Walking quietly through a gallery hung with magnificent tapestries, Lord Cambridge began to speak.

“My darling girl, we have had the most incredible piece of luck!”

“Were you able to obtain the property you sought, uncle?” Philippa asked him.

“Aye, and it is already in your name, but that is not the half of it. There was someone else who sought the property. A gentleman whose lands match with Melville. He is the earl of Witton, and he is unattached, and seeking a wife.”

Philippa stopped. “Now, uncle, I am not certain I like where this is going,” she said nervously.

“You can be the countess of Witton, darling girl! Think on it! Your husband would be an earl, of an old and illustrious family,” Lord Cambridge gushed.

“What is the matter with him, for there must be something wrong with an earl who would take a plain knight’s daughter to wife,” Philippa replied suspiciously.

“His name is Crispin St. Claire,” Lord Cambridge said. “He has been in service to the king as a diplomat. His father died last year, and he has come home to take up his responsibilities. There is nothing wrong with him.”

“Then he is old, uncle. Do you want me shackled to some graybeard?” Her look was almost fearful.

“He is thirty, Philippa, and I could not by any stretch of the imagination call him a graybeard. He is a mature man, and ready to take a wife. Can you not see what an incredible piece of good fortune this is for you? He wants Melville, and it is a part of your dower portion, darling girl.”

“He must be desperate to have it then, that he would offer to wed me,” Philippa replied.

“He did not,” Thomas Bolton said, deciding that his young cousin needed a bit of cold water thrown upon her fine opinion of herself. “He tried to buy Melville from me, but I paid a ridiculous price for it in order to get it when I learned this earl was wife hunting. I told him if he would have the land he must have you to wife to get it.”

“Uncle!” Philippa’s pretty face grew red. “You deliberately ensnared this man?”

“I wanted the estate for you. It is within an easy distance of London and the court. When I learned afterwards that the earl wanted it too I simply took advantage of the situation. You mother would fully approve my actions,” he responded.

“Your audacity, you mean,” Philippa said. “What must this earl of Witton think of you? Of me? I cannot believe you would do such a thing, uncle!”

“Nonsense, darling girl!” he said, unaffected by her criticism. “The earl of Witton’s is an old and an honorable family, but they are not a great family. He is not poor, but neither is he wealthy. Your father was a knight, Philippa. Your mother is a woman of property. Your connections here at court are impeccable. Even without Lord Melvyn’s property you are a most respectable prospect. A marriage with this man gives you a title. It ennobles your children. And in return he gains the lands he wants to add to his own, and a wife with a large purse. It is a perfect match.” He smiled at her.

“But where is the love, uncle? If I must be shackled to this man should there not be something between us other than money and property?” She was very pretty in her concern, her hazel eyes thoughtful.

“First you must meet him,” Lord Cambridge said. “I would not force you into any marriage, darling girl. Let us see if you and the earl are compatible, for if you are not you shall not be his wife. I want you happy, as does your mother. But think, darling girl! An earl instead of the second son of an earl. All the advantage would have been for Giles FitzHugh had you wed him. What advantage would you have gained by such a match? Oh, once I thought it a good possibility, before you came to court, but this prospect is so much better. And you are in the queen’s favor, and the king’s. I saw him dance with you this evening, Philippa.”

“Oh, that was because he could not dance with Bessie, and she said he should dance with me. That I was a fine dancer,” Philippa explained.

“Why would Mistress Blount not dance with the king?” Lord Cambridge was curious at this turn of events.

“She does not feel well, uncle. She says her belly makes her ill these days,” Philippa answered innocently.

He debated a moment, and then he said, “You know the rumor, darling girl?”

Philippa bit her lower lip, and a blush suffused her cheek. “That she is the king’s lover, uncle? Aye. I have heard it, but if it is so, what am I to do? I love the queen, but I do so like Bessie Blount.”

“You continue on as always, my dear. You are respectful and loving of your mistress, but you are also kind to Mistress Blount. You would be foolish not to be, for she is in the king’s favor without a doubt. And something else you should know, darling girl. It is most likely that Mistress Blount is expecting the king’s child. She will shortly, I am certain, disappear from the court, for the king will not embarrass the queen by allowing his mistress to parade her big belly about, especially now that it has been determined the queen will conceive no more.”

“I had heard the whispers, uncle, but I could not believe them. Who will have Bessie Blount to wife now that she has disgraced herself?” Philippa wondered.

Thomas Bolton smiled to himself. Philippa’s naivete was sometimes charming, and it reminded him of how truly innocent she was. “The king will be generous to Mistress Blount, darling girl, and particularly if she births him a son. She will have a husband as a reward, and a pension, I have not a doubt. And the king’s child will be given certain honors, particularly a son.”

“I feel almost guilty retaining my friendship with Bessie in light of the queen’s distress,” Philippa said slowly.

“Do not make the mistake so many at court do of taking sides, darling girl,” he warned her. “Royalty are changeable as the winds, and it is best to blow with the wind rather than against it. The king favors Mistress Blount, who behaves with respect and discretion towards the queen. Both king and queen behave as if naught is amiss between them. And that is how you will behave. Does the queen show any anger towards Mistress Blount?”

“Nay,” Philippa said, “although others of the queen’s women have begun to shun her, uncle. And some are outright mean.”

“Do not follow their example, Philippa. Behave towards both Bessie and the queen as you always have. No one knows what tomorrow will bring.”

Philippa nodded.

“Now, darling girl, let us get back to the subject of the earl of Witton. I have asked him to stay with me at Bolton House. I will ask the queen to allow you home in a few days, and you will meet each other then. Will that please you?”

“A countess,” Philippa mused. “I would be the countess of Witton. Millicent Langholme would be pea green with envy. She is only just wed to Sir Walter Lumley. And Cecily would be certain that Giles knew. And Giles’s parents, who forbade me my best friend’s wedding, would certainly be impressed, especially if Witton has better estates than Renfrew. Imagine, Renfrew offered to help me find a husband. He could not have found a husband such as you have found for me, uncle.” Philippa was beginning to consider the situation, and it was not unpleasant.

“Nothing is graven in stone, darling girl,” Lord Cambridge warned her. “He must like you, and you must like him.”

“He wants my land,” Philippa said dryly. “Is there any doubt that I should not please this earl of Witton?”

“He wants Melville, it is true, darling girl, but he is a man of honor,” Lord Cambridge said. “He will not marry just for the land.”

“Neither will I, uncle,” Philippa told him.

He grinned at her. “Darling girl, I suspect you will enchant Crispin St. Claire. This is a great coup, should you manage it. An earl. A diplomat. And a man who will enjoy coming to court every bit as much as you do. But of course you must do your duty by the man first, and give him an heir.”

Philippa stopped. “Children,” she said slowly. “I had not thought about children, uncle. But, aye, if I am in any way like my mother it is that I know my duty.”

Lord Cambridge smiled and nodded. “Aye, you will delight the earl, darling girl. Of that I am absolutely certain.”

“I shall come home in two days’ time, uncle. May I explain to the queen that you are negotiating a match for me?” she asked.

“Mention no names,” he advised her. “The queen will understand.”

“Of course,” she agreed. They had come to the end of the gallery. “I must get back, uncle,” she told him. “The queen is a kind mistress, but I should not take advantage.”

“Tell me quickly how Banon does?” he said.

“She has found favor, but like mama she longs for the north, and is anxious to return to Otterly,” Philippa told him. “The Neville boy’s grandfather was a first cousin of our Bolton grandmother, who was born a Neville. Such a liaison seems promising, uncle. You should speak with Banon.”

“I shall,” he promised her.

She stopped, and kissed his cheek. “I must fly,” she said, and hurried away back down the gallery.

Suddenly Thomas Bolton was exhausted, and felt every bit of his forty-nine years. He sighed. He was surprised to realize that he did not enjoy the court any longer. He wanted to be home at Otterly, snug by his fire and heedless of the Cumbrian winter outside his windows. While the business of seeing that Banon and Philippa were well matched interested him, it was the cloth trade that he and Rosamund had created that was of more interest to him. How could he watch over their commerce in London? And Rosamund was at Claven’s Carn awaiting the birth of her child. Would she be paying attention to their endeavor as she should?

“Lord Cambridge?” William Smythe had appeared from the dim recesses of the gallery. He was soberly dressed in a black velvet midcalf-length coat which Thomas Bolton noted was a bit worn, and dusty in color.

“Ah, Master Smythe,” he greeted the younger man.

“I did not want to disturb you when you were with your cousin, my lord,” William Smythe began. He offered Lord Cambridge a smile.

Why, what a pretty fellow, Thomas Bolton thought suddenly, and he smiled in return. “Most thoughtful,” he replied.

“I have been considering what your lordship intimated when we last met. Perhaps I misunderstood your lordship, but were you implying that I might benefit from a change of employment?”

“You would have to reside in the north,” Lord Cambridge said. “And there would be occasions when I would require you to travel. Our cloth trade grows larger, and more profitable. My cousin and I can no longer manage without help, but of course I would want someone sophisticated in the ways of business to aid us. You would live at Otterly. At first in the house, and later on if you decided to remain in my service I would see you had your own cottage in the village. You would be paid fifty gold guineas each Michaelmas for your year’s service, and you would have a space in the church cemetery.”

William Smythe could not keep the surprised look from his usually emotionless face. “My lord! ’Tis most generous. More than anything for which I could have hoped.”

“You must consider my offer carefully,” Lord Cambridge said. “ ’Tis an honor to be in royal service. And what of your family?”

“I have no family left, my lord. And I am merely one of many here, with little chance for advancement. I know my own worth. I am a clever man with little chance to show off my talents. Yet you saw them, and are willing to offer me this opportunity.” All the haughtiness of their previous encounter was gone. “I need not consider any further. If your lordship will have me in his service, I will be content, and I will work hard for you.” He knelt, and grabbing up Thomas Bolton’s hand, kissed it.

“Give your notice, William,” Lord Cambridge said. “Then come to me at Bolton House. I do not know when we shall be ready to return home to Otterly, but you should begin your new duties as soon as possible.” He reached into the purse beneath his ornate doublet and drew out a coin which he handed to the younger man. “Pay your debts,” he said. “You must come into my service unencumbered.”

The secretary arose, saying nervously, “One thing, my lord. I have a cat. She has been my most faithful companion for several years now. I would bring her with me.”

“A cat?” Lord Cambridge laughed aloud. “Of course you may bring the cat. I can see that you will get on quite well with my young cousin, Bessie Meredith.” He laughed again. “I like cats myself. It is a good mouser, William?”

“Oh, yes, my lord. Pussums is an excellent mouser,” he answered.

“I will send my barge to bring you to Bolton House when you are ready. You and Pussums.” Lord Cambridge chuckled, and then turning away, he continued down the gallery. He was tired, but this visit to court was proving quite entertaining in the most unexpected ways.

Philippa had returned to the queen’s side now.

Katherine looked up. “Everything is alright, my child, is it not?”

“Aye, madame. My cousin wanted to tell me that he may be ready to make a match for me, but first he would like me to meet the gentleman in question. In two days he would like me to come to Bolton House, if your highness can spare me.”

“Can you tell me the name of the gentleman in question?” the queen asked softly.

“My cousin has said until the arrangement is agreed upon he would prefer I say naught, madame. He hopes your highness will understand,” Philippa ventured nervously. She could not imagine saying no to the queen, her mistress, but in effect that was just what she was doing.

“Of course,” the queen agreed, to Philippa’s surprise. “You do not want to embarrass the gentleman in question, or yourself, my child.” Then she smiled a small conspiratorial smile. “I shall not even tell the king.”

That night Philippa lay with her sister in the bed they shared in the Maidens’ Chamber. Banon was filled with excitement, for her Neville suitor’s father was going to speak with Lord Cambridge regarding a betrothal between his son and Banon Meredith.

“Uncle Thomas will say yes, of course,” Banon confided. “Robert may be a younger son, but he is a Neville.”

“So was our grandmother. Uncle will not necessarily be impressed,” Philippa said. It galled her somewhat that her younger sister was to be betrothed before she was.

“Do you know that small lake that borders Otterly lands?” Banon replied. “It belongs to the Nevilles. Robert’s father has said he will give it to Robert, and a strip of land on its far side. It will belong to Otterly if we wed.”

“Lord Neville loses nothing by that gesture,” Philippa told her sister. “After all if Robert marries you, then Otterly becomes his.”

“Otterly will belong to our eldest son,” Banon said.

“Who will be a Neville, not a Bolton or a Meredith,” Philippa countered. “The Neville family will increase their holdings by their younger son’s marriage to you.”

“But I will be happy!” Banon said. “Why do you always make everything so difficult, Philippa? You are just jealous because I am to be betrothed, and you are not.” She turned away from her older sister, dragging the coverlet over her shoulders.

“Uncle Thomas has found a possible husband for me,” Philippa replied. “And I shall not have to leave the court if I marry him.”

“Who?” Banon did not change her position.

“I cannot say yet,” Philippa responded. “I could not even tell the queen, but in two days I will go to Bolton House, and meet the gentleman.”

“He won’t be a Neville,” Banon said.

“No, he won’t. He will be someone who loves the court even as I do, sister. You had best hope that we suit one another, for mama will never allow you to marry until I am married. I am the eldest, and I must wed first.”

Banon sat up in their bed, and glared at her sister. “If you spoil my chance at happiness I shall never forgive you, Philippa Meredith!” she cried softly.

“You like Robert Neville, Banie. I must like this gentleman as well. I shall not marry simply to facilitate your plans,” Philippa snapped.

“Ohh, you are sometimes so hateful and spiteful!” Banon said angrily.

“You had best pray for me, little sister,” Philippa teased her sibling. Then she turned away from her sister, and fell into a dreamless sleep, while beside her Banon lay fuming and angry.

Two days later Philippa made her way to her uncle’s barge which had been sent for her. She was dressed in a golden brown velvet brocade gown with a tightly fitting bodice. The neckline was low and square, and filled in with a soft natural-colored linen pleating. The sleeves were tight, with cuffs of rich brown beaver. A silk girdle embroidered in gold and copper threads hung from her trim waist. Upon her head was a matching gable hood with a golden silk gauze back veil, and about her shoulders a beaver-lined brown velvet cloak.

Lucy grinned. “Well,” she said, “he ought to be impressed with you, mistress.”

“What do you mean he?” Philippa said nervously.

“The gentleman that Lord Cambridge wants you to meet with an eye towards marriage, mistress. That is why you’re going to Bolton House, isn’t it? Mistress Banon says that’s what it’s all about.”

“ ’Tis true that Uncle Thomas would introduce me to a gentleman, but there is nothing been discussed yet. We are just to meet away from the curiosity of the court.”

“Aye,” Lucy agreed. “Too many gossips and sharp eyes here, Mistress Philippa.”

“You will say nothing, Lucy,” she said, and her tiring woman nodded in agreement.

Philippa was glad that she was wearing several heavy warm petticoats beneath her gown. The day was cold, and dreary. There was the hint of snow or an icy rain in the air. The barge was rowed up the river with the tide, and it seemed no time until she could see Bolton House coming into view. She was frozen despite the fur lap robe upon her knees and the flannel-wrapped hot bricks at her feet. And her mind was racing madly.

What would he be like, this earl of Witton? At thirty he was just about twice her age. Would he still want to come to court? Would he permit her to come to court? Or would she be expected to remain in Oxford producing heir after heir for him? She had to wed sooner than later. She was facing her sixteenth birthday. Cecily had not returned to court. She was expecting a child, she had written Philippa. They would remain at Everleigh until after the child was born, as Cecily wanted to be near her mother now. Even the obnoxious Millicent Langholme was with child. Sir Walter had arrived at court on Twelfth Night to brag on his prowess. Bessie Blount was with child, although that was hardly something spoken about. Her baby would be born in June, she had told Philippa. She would be leaving court shortly, before Lent, in fact. I shall be alone but for my sister, who will certainly marry as soon as she may. But I must wed too. Philippa sighed, and then started as the barge bumped the quay of Lord Cambridge’s house.

Immediately a footman was there to help her from the vessel. “Your cousin is awaiting you in the hall, Mistress Philippa,” he said, ushering her up through the gardens, Lucy following. Inside he took her cloak, and she hurried off, knowing the way well.

“Uncle,” Philippa called, entering the lovely room. It was warm, and welcoming, and the dreary day did not seem quite so bad now. She held her hands out to him.

“Darling girl!” Lord Cambridge greeted her, coming forward to take her hands in his and kiss her on both cheeks. “Come now. There is someone whom I should like you to meet.” He led her down the chamber to where a tall gentleman awaited them by the fireplace. “Mistress Philippa Meredith, I present to you Crispin St. Claire, the earl of Witton. My lord, this is my young cousin Philippa, of whom we have spoken.” He released his grip on the girl as he spoke.

Philippa curtseyed politely. “My lord,” she said, eyes lowered, but dying to get a look at him. There simply had not been enough time to decide if he were handsome.

Aye, she was even prettier close up, the earl thought as he raised Philippa’s hand slowly to his lips, and saluted it with a light kiss. “Mistress Meredith,” he said.

His voice was deep, and had a slightly rough edge to it. Philippa felt a small shiver race up her spine. She snuck a quick peek at the man still holding her hand, and as she did she said, “May I have my fingers back, my lord?”

“I am not certain yet if I wish to return them,” the earl said boldly.

“Well, well, my dears, I see you will get on quite famously without me, and so I will leave you to become better acquainted,” Lord Cambridge murmured, and turning about, he left them. It was going to work out! He sensed it.

As Thomas Bolton had spoken Philippa’s startled gaze had met that of the earl.

“Ah,” Crispin St. Claire said, “you have hazel eyes. I wondered when I saw you at court from a distance what color eyes you would have. Your auburn hair was visible, but I wondered if you might have brown eyes like so many with reddish hair.”

“My mother’s eyes are brown,” Philippa replied. “I have my father’s eyes.”

“They are pretty eyes,” he told her.

“Thank you,” Philippa said, blushing.

It was then he realized that while Philippa might have thought to marry the FitzHugh lad, she had never been courted. He was still holding her hand, and now he led her to one of the window seats overlooking the Thames. “So, Mistress Meredith,” he began, “here we be, in an awkward situation. Why is it that those who seek to do us kindness never realize that by doing so they place us in a difficult position?”

“You want Melville,” she said frankly.

“Indeed I do. I have pastured some of my herds on that land for several years. I need it. But not enough to wed where I would not be happy. Nor the lady either,” he told her as candidly. “Now for pity’s sake, Mistress Meredith, look at me, for you have wanted to ever since you entered the room. I am not the king who cannot bear to be perused by a direct glance. Do you know my age? I am thirty. I am sound of both limb and mind, I believe.” He released her hand, and stood up. “Look upon the earl of Witton, mistress.”

Philippa looked up. The man before her was tall and slender. He could not be called a handsome man, but neither could he be said to be ugly. His nose was too long, and narrow. His chin was pointed, and his mouth too big. But he had fine gray eyes edged in deep brown lashes. His hair was an ash brown. He was elegantly but simply dressed in a medium blue velvet knee-length pleated coat with flared and fur-lined sleeves. She could see a fine gold chain beneath lying upon his blue brocaded doublet. They were the clothes of a gentleman, but not necessarily a courtier. Still, his manner was if anything too assured. For some reason it irritated her.

She stood up. “You tower over me, my lord.”

A slight smile touched his lips, but was quickly gone. “You are a petite girl,” he told her. “Is your mam as delicately made, Mistress Meredith?”

“She is, and has birthed seven children, six of whom are living, and is expecting to give birth any day now to her eighth,” Philippa replied. “I, too, am capable of bearing my husband an heir, my lord.”

“Some women who prefer court life do not enjoy children,” he remarked.

“I am the eldest of my siblings, my lord, and I can assure you that I like children,” she told him. “If it should be decided that a match between us would be suitable, my lord, then I am prepared to do my duty.”

“And who would raise your children, mistress?” he probed.

“I serve the queen, my lord. I must be at court some of the time else I lose my place,” she told him.

“But if you wed,” he said, “you will no longer be a maid of honor. Have you considered that? Would there be another place for you among the queen’s women?”

She had not thought of that. It had not occurred to her until he had said it that her place among the queen’s maids would be gone. None of the girls with whom she had grown up at court had returned once wed. “I had not thought...” she began, and suddenly found herself close to tears.

He quickly took her hand again to comfort her. “I would not keep you from the court if you were my wife, Philippa Meredith, but I would expect you to be at Brierewode enough to oversee any children we would have. Many among my class are content to have their children raised by servants, but I am not. We might come to court to hunt in the autumn, and then return for the Christmas revels. We would remain in Oxford for the winter, and then join the king in the spring before going home for the summer. While you were at court you might offer your services to her highness, but for the first time in your life you might enjoy just playing.”

“You make it sound most pleasant, my lord,” she told him.

“It could be,” he replied, and then they sat together again.

“To be your wife would be a great coup for my family,” Philippa said, “but while some might think me foolish, I must know the man I wed before I wed him.”

“I agree,” he said, “for I must know the woman I would wed before we take vows. Still, I believe we have made a good start today, Mistress Meredith.”

“And I believe that under the circumstances in which we find ourselves, my lord, you may call me Philippa,” she told him.

“Who are you named after?” he asked, “For I am certain it is a family name.”

“My mother’s mother, Philippa Neville, though I never knew her,” the girl replied. “She died with my grandfather Bolton and their son when mama was three.”

“Neville is a well-known name in the north,” he noted.

“They were a less distinguished branch of that family,” Philippa quickly said. She would not have him thinking she sought to make herself better than she was.

“You are scrupulous in your history, Philippa. It is a quality I like in both men and women,” he told her.

“Women can be honorable, my lord,” she responded stiffly. This was a difficult conversation, Philippa thought. They were both being so formal and polite. Did he know how to be any other way? He was, after all, thirty. Yet there were men at court his age and older who possessed a sense of fun. The king was older, and he did.

“What are you thinking, Philippa?” he asked her.

“That this meeting between us is strained,” she admitted.

He chuckled. “Do you always answer a question so truthfully?” Her small hand was cool in his. “It is difficult,” he admitted. “We are strangers, and it is proposed that we marry.” He rubbed the little hand between his two big hands to warm it. “It has been a long time since I paid court to a woman, Philippa. I suppose I am clumsy at it, for the truth is I was never very skilled at courting.”

“Is that why you have never married?” she inquired.

He nodded. “And there was no time, for my service to the king was primary in my life, Philippa. I know you understand that kind of duty, for you too give faithful service to the monarch as did your late father, I am told.” Her hand was now warm in his.

“Tell me about your family,” she said.

“My parents are dead. I have two older sisters, both married, and both sure that they know what is best for me,” he told her.

Now it was Philippa who laughed. “Families are strange things, my lord. You love them always, but there are times when you wish they would be silent, and evaporate away so you might be alone to live your life in peace.”

He chuckled again. “You have old thoughts for a girl so young.”

“I am not young!” she declared. “I shall be sixteen at the end of April.”

“Will you? Then we must consider the possibility of a match between us quickly before you grow much too old for me,” he teased her.

“Oh, you do have a sense of humor!” Philippa cried. “I was so afraid you would be an old sobersides, my lord. I am certainly relieved that you are not.”

The earl of Witton laughed aloud. “Lord Cambridge promised me that you would never bore me, Philippa, and from this brief encounter today I can certainly see that he did not prevaricate. So now we have met, and we have spoken together. Shall we continue on, or would you prefer not?”

“I must wed, and you must wed,” she told him. “If you be willing, my lord, then I am content that you court me. But might we wait just a little while before any formal betrothal is settled between you and my family?”

“Of course,” he agreed. “But I shall ask the queen’s permission to take you to visit my home in Oxfordshire, Philippa. I will want Lord Cambridge and your sister to come as well. And you will want to see Melville, the property that is now yours, I am sure.” He raised the hand he had been holding all this while to his lips, and kissed it again. “Now,” he told her, “you may have the return of your pretty fingers.”

And she blushed again, not looking at the hand. “Will you remain in London long, sir?”

“Just long enough to speak with the queen, Philippa, and then I will want to return to Brierewode to see that it is prepared to show at its best when you come to visit me,” he told her. “The winter is coming to an end now, but it would be best to travel before the roads become waterlogged. Brierewode is beautiful even in the late winter.”

“If we agree upon a match, my lord, I should not want to be married until after the court visits France in early summer. I have never been to France, and while I am certain that our king and queen are the brightest stars in the firmament, I should like to be able to tell our children that I have also seen the king and queen of France.”

“If we agree, then of course you may serve your mistress a final time in France, but I will come with you, Philippa. You are young, and despite your veneer of sophistication you are an innocent. I do not want you eaten up by a handsome French courtier. They are sly, the French. I will come with you, and protect you from harm.”

“I do not need to be protected, my lord. I am quite capable of fending for myself,” Philippa declared indignantly.

“Have you ever met a Frenchman?” he asked her.

“Well, no,” she admitted. “I have not, but they cannot be any more crafty than an English courtier, I am certain.”

“They are far craftier, and will have your gown off you before you are even aware of what is in their mind. French courtiers, both male and female, are the masters of seduction. I cannot have the future countess of Witton’s reputation compromised in any way, Philippa. You must trust to my experience in these things.”

“You will make me look the fool,” she cried unhappily.

“What then, do you seek to be seduced? For if you do, I will be most happy to oblige you,” the earl of Witton said, his gray eyes narrowing dangerously.

Philippa shrank back from him. “Oh no, my lord! I simply do not wish to appear the baby. I promise you I will be most careful.”

“Aye, you will, for I shall be by your side, my lass, and all will know that you are to be my wife, that none attempt to tamper with your virtue,” Crispin St. Claire told her.

“As if I should allow such a thing!” Philippa said sharply. “Do you assume that, having been a part of the court for three years, I have allowed myself to be compromised, my lord? Fie, and shame!”

“Can you tell me that you have never kissed any of the young men at court?” he demanded of her.

“Of course n ...” Philippa stopped in midsentence. Sir Roger Mildmay. But how could she explain that to the earl of Witton? “I was not kissed until last spring,” she finally said. “I had saved myself for Giles, and then he rejected me. Cecily said I should at least have been kissed at my age, and so I allowed a friend that privilege.”

“You acted from anger then,” he said quietly. “You must learn never to allow your emotions to dictate your actions, Philippa. Such behavior could lead to a fatal mistake, I fear. Who was the gentleman in question?”

“Sir, I do not kiss and tell! It was only Sir Roger,” she exclaimed. “And ’twas just kissing. He took no other liberties. He is a friend. But Cecily said he was her first kiss, and he is considered the best kisser at court.”

The earl of Witton didn’t know whether to laugh, or scold her. The queen was obviously not in complete control of her maids, although given her difficulties, poor lady, it was a wonder there were not more scandals. “Before we wed, if we wed, you will cease your experimentation in kissing. If you wish to be kissed, I shall kiss you.”

“I don’t know why,” Philippa pouted. “What harm is there in innocent kissing?”

“Your reticence but arouses my curiosity, and I cannot help but wonder why you would deny me,” he told her.

“Because you will make a fool of me. You can’t call out this man for the simple act of a few kisses last year before you and I even met,” Philippa said.

“Call him out?” The earl was astounded. “Why would I call him out?”

“Do you not think my behavior has dishonored you, and you wish to restore your family’s honor?” she asked him naively.

“Nay, Philippa, I do not wish to call out a young man for offering to console a disappointed girl with a few kisses before I even met this girl. I am sorry if you misunderstood me.”

“Oh,” Philippa responded, feeling both foolish and disappointed. “Then why would you insist on being by my side if I go to France?”

“If you are to be my wife, Philippa, I cannot leave you to yourself if we accompany the court to France. It simply is not done. I must be by your side to escort you as your future husband.”

“What if we are not formally betrothed until we return from France?” she asked him slyly.

“If we are not betrothed before you go to France, Philippa, then I expect we will not be betrothed at all. You say you are to be sixteen in April. Well, I shall be thirty-one in early August. Neither of us can wait. I will want an heir as soon as possible. I am willing to allow you the latitude of going to France with the court, but if you are to be my wife I must be by your side. And we will wed as soon as we return. If you cannot agree to that here and now, then I see no reason for our acquaintance to continue further.”