Philippa (Friarsgate Inheritance #3)

Chapter 8

Y ou would not believe what he said to me!” Philippa told Lord Cambridge, and then she repeated the conversation she had just had with the earl of Witton. His declaration had surprised her so, she had run from the hall.

“I agree with him, darling girl,” Thomas Bolton said.

“He behaves as if he didn’t trust me, uncle! I cannot wed with a man who does not trust me,” Philippa said angrily.

“Even if Crispin knew you well enough to trust you, Philippa, he would still not allow you to go to France unescorted. It is unseemly. Now let us go back into the hall, and straighten this matter out.”

“Uncle!” she protested, pouting.

“Philippa, this is an amazing match for you. If indeed you have not put the earl off with your childish behavior. We shall return to the hall immediately!” His voice was stem, and she looked surprised. In all her life she had never heard Thomas Bolton speak in such a sharp, commanding tone.

“Did you ever speak to my mother like that?” she demanded of him.

“I never had to speak to your mother like that,” he told her. “Now, girl, to the hall!” And he gently pushed her from his library, through the corridor, and into the hall again where the earl of Witton stood staring out at the river morosely.

The earl turned as they entered.

“Philippa has come to apologize for her behavior,” Lord Cambridge said, “and she will gladly agree to your escorting her to France this summer. Philippa?”

“Oh, very well,” Philippa grudgingly muttered. “I apologize, my lord.”

“There,” Lord Cambridge said, almost purring. “Now you two will be friends again. Being of an independent turn of mind you must both learn to compromise, eh?”

“I agree,” responded the earl, looking towards Philippa.

“I am sorry I left you so precipitously,” Philippa allowed stiffly. “I was upset that you did not trust me, my lord. No one has ever questioned my veracity.”

“And I did not mean to, if indeed that is what I did,” he replied. “I am simply concerned for your good name, Philippa. I am happy we are to be friends again now, and that you will accept my company in France without complaint.”

She nodded. “We are, and I will,” she told him.

“Excellent, excellent!” Lord Cambridge said, smiling broadly. “Now, my dears, I am absolutely ravenous, and you have both been so busy arguing that you never noticed that the board is set and ready for us. Philippa, you will remain the night. There is an icy rain falling outside now, and I do not wish to compromise your health by sending you back to the palace this evening. The morning is time enough.”

They sat down to an excellent meal. Lord Cambridge’s cook was a true artist. They began with salmon, sliced wafer thin, and lightly broiled with dill. There were fresh oysters, and large prawns steamed in wine and served with lemon. Next came a fat duck dripping its juices, and swimming in a gravy of rich red wine; a rabbit pie; a platter of chops, and another with half of a country-cured ham. Philippa’s eyes widened as a silver platter filled with lovely plump artichokes was offered.

“Uncle! Where did you get these?” she asked him. “I thought the king kept them all for himself. You know how he adores artichokes.”

Lord Cambridge smiled craftily. “Why, darling girl, I have my little ways as you well know. I, too, adore artichokes.”

“It is not the season for them,” the earl said, helping himself from the platter.

“Nonetheless I manage to obtain them,” Thomas Bolton said, tearing off a piece from the warm cottage loaf, and buttering it lavishly before taking a large bite.

“Miracles are born in Uncle Thomas’s kitchens wherever he may be living at the time,” Philippa said.

“You have more than one house then?” the earl asked.

“Here, and at Greenwich, and of course Otterly in Cumbria,” Philippa responded before her cousin might. “And each house is identical both inside and out, for Uncle Thomas does not like a great deal of change.” She laughed. “Is that not correct, uncle?”

“It is,” he agreed. “My life is far less complicated that way. It matters not where I may be living, everything is in exactly the same place.”

“But the upholstery is different,” Philippa put in, smiling.

“One must have some small variety,” Lord Cambridge said drolly.

Their meal ended with a tartlet of winter pears and a bowl of clotted Devon cream. The goblets had been kept filled, and all at the board were feeling mellow as outside the rain poured down, a certain indication of the spring to come.

“Philippa plays a fairly good game of chess, Crispin, dear boy,” Lord Cambridge said. “I taught her myself. As for me, I am exhausted, and must seek my bed.” Arising from the high board he bowed to them, and departed the hall.

“He is not very subtle,” Philippa said when he had gone.

“But most hopeful, I think, that you and I will not quarrel again,” the earl replied.

She smiled. “As a child my mother ruled me. These past few years at court I have felt as if I were the mistress of my own destiny, although I know it to be not fully true. Now I face the prospect of a husband who will be master over me. And while I know that is how it should be, it is something with which I must come to terms. Does that make any sense to you, my lord?”

He nodded, thinking that taking a wife was much like taming a wild creature, at least where Philippa was concerned. “I shall try not to prick you too hard, Philippa,” he promised her with a small smile. Then he arose from the board. “Come, and play chess with me, madame. ’Tis a game I very much enjoy.”

She fetched the board and the pieces from their place within the sideboard. Then she set them up neatly on a small game table she had instructed him to bring to the fireside. “White or black, my lord?” Philippa asked him as they seated themselves.

“Black,” he said. “I have always enjoyed being the black knight.”

“And I the white queen,” she quickly parried, and moved her first pawn.

He laughed, then studying the board carefully for a moment, he too moved a pawn.

They were, he quickly found, quite equally matched. She did not play like other women, filled with emotion, and weepy when she lost a piece. Philippa played coolly and with a sharp intellect. She was careful with each move she made, and he was quite astounded when she checked his queen. They spoke virtually not a word, and not easily did he finally defeat her, checkmating her king.

And she laughed when he did. “Ah, at last I have found a worthy opponent,” she told him. “I shall not allow you such leeway the next time we play.”

“Ahh,” he replied with a small smile, “then you think you can beat me, eh?”

“Perhaps,” Philippa hedged. Men, as she recalled, did not like being bested by a woman. She had foolishly allowed her tongue to run away with her.

“Only perhaps?” he taunted gently, wondering why she had suddenly drawn back.

“Nothing is ever certain, my lord,” Philippa said quickly in reply.

He laughed again. “You think you can beat me, but you have decided to spare my masculine feelings, Philippa. Is that it? Well, do not bother. If you think you can beat me, then let me see you do it.” He did not believe she actually could, but he was very much enjoying teasing her, seeing the range of emotions play across her lovely face.

Without a word Philippa set the chess pieces in their proper place again, and then playing with intense concentration she proceeded to beat him in a far quicker period of time than he would have imagined. When she checked his king, and set it next to his queen, his knights, and his bishops, she looked across the table at him. There was not even the hint of a smile upon her face when she spoke.

“You were correct, my lord. I sought to spare you. You cannot live at court as I do, and serve the monarchs as I do, and be a total ninny. Neither the king, the queen, or those who surround them in their more private moments during the day would tolerate a bad chess player. And while I have carefully held back with his majesty so that he always wins our matches, I play hard enough with him that he believes he has actually bested me. It delights him, for I have bested his brother-in-law, the duke of Suffolk, and others of his favorites on many occasions. I have even played and beaten the cardinal twice.”

The earl of Witton nodded slowly. “Lord Cambridge said it. You are a consummate courtier, Philippa. I am most impressed by your acumen.”

“But am I the sort of girl you would want for a wife, my lord? Unlike others of my sex I am a poor dissembler,” she responded. “What you have seen this day is what I am. I have a temper. I have a passion for beautiful things. But I am not a giggling or silly turnip head.”

“Will you always obey me if I am your husband?” he asked her candidly.

“Probably not,” she told him so quickly that he smiled.

“You are honest, Philippa. I count honesty among the greatest of virtues along with loyalty and honor,” Crispin St. Claire said. “Well, I can always beat you if you are truly disobedient. And there are other more pleasurable means of bringing a fractious wife to her husband’s will.”

“Are you flirting with me, my lord?” she asked. Her cheeks felt warm.

“Aye, I am,” he replied. “I like to make you blush, Philippa. To find that I can discommode you reassures me that I will have some small advantage.”

“You speak as if the matter between us is settled, my lord,” she responded, feeling a small prick of irritation. There was an arrogance about him that troubled her.

“Can you find a better match than an earl of Witton?” he asked seriously. “I could probably find a girl with better bloodlines, but as Lord Cambridge has reminded me, an over-bred girl would be a poor breeder. If you are like your mother you will prove more than worthy, Philippa. Aye, it is settled between us, and you will be my wife.”

“I have not said it!” she cried, jumping up from her chair so suddenly that the game table between them shook, and several chess pieces fell to the floor.

“But you will, Philippa,” he taunted her. “You will agree to be my wife.”

“It is the land you want,” she flung back at him.

“In the beginning, aye. But not now,” he told her. “I beheld you for the first time at court the other night, and decided the matter then and there.”

“Do not dare to say you love me!” she cried.

“Nay, I do not, for I barely know you,” he responded. “Perhaps we shall learn to love each other one day, Philippa. But few go into a loving marriage. You are not a fool, as you have so carefully pointed out to me. You know that marriages among people like us are arranged for a variety of reasons. Land. Wealth. Status. Heirs. We will respect one another, Philippa. We will make children together. And if we are very fortunate the love may come. But you will make me a good wife, and I will make you the countess of Witton, and a good husband. Do you find me unattractive, or unpleasant to be with, Philippa?”

“Nay,” she admitted. “You are not a beautiful man, but neither are you an ugly one. And you have wit, and intellect, both of which I value far more in a man than a handsome face. But I think you arrogant also, my lord.”

“Aye, I can indeed be arrogant, but nonetheless I believe we have made a good beginning, Philippa.” Then reaching out he drew her from behind the table, and wrapped his arms about her. “I want the betrothal papers drawn up soon,” he said, looking down at her, his fingers tipping her face up to his. “I find I do not choose to wait long for you.”

He had taken her by surprise when he enfolded her into his embrace. She felt herself blushing once again. Worse, her heart raced at the proximity of their two bodies, though her skirts protected her from too great an intimacy. He was going to kiss her, she realized. His head was descending. Her eyes closed slowly of themselves. Her moist lips parted slightly. She sighed as his mouth touched hers, and her head spun with the pleasure the kiss offered. It had certainly not been anything like this with Roger Mildmay. Philippa was astounded. And then his lips were gone, and she felt a sense of deep loss. She almost cried out a protest as her eyes flew open.

“There,” he said. “The bargain between us is sealed now, Philippa.”

“But,” she protested once again, “I have not said it!”

“You will,” he promised her in his deep voice, and he released his hold on her.

Philippa almost stumbled when he did, but she recovered herself quickly. “I must go to bed,” she told him. “I will have to arise early to be back at the palace in time for the early mass. The queen always expects her maids to attend the first mass of the day with her. Good night, my lord.” She curtseyed to him, and almost ran from the hall.

He watched her go, and then walking to the sideboard he poured himself a silver goblet of rich red wine from the decanter there. Seating himself by the fire he considered the evening that they had just spent together. Was he mad to wed such a young girl? Perhaps a girl of twenty would suit him better, but nay. He wanted Philippa Meredith. And he was not of a mind to wait the next several months or a year to wed her. She had admitted to kissing another, and yet the touch of her lips on his had sent his senses reeling. Her mouth had not the experience of a courtesan. Indeed there was a charming innocence about it. He would let her go to France, but while she could not know it yet, she would go as his wife. Tomorrow he would seek an audience with the cardinal, and offer Wolsey his services for this great meeting that was to take place in the coming summer between King Henry and King Francois. Crispin St. Claire knew there would be a need for skilled diplomats at this endeavor. The cardinal knew what was needed, but he had not the patience to work out all the tiny details that would need to be settled. A minuter of details that would decide where each king’s pavilion would be set; how many horses each man would have; how much, and what kinds of foods and wines; how many courtiers each king would bring with him. And then there would be the similar preparations for Queen Katherine and Queen Claude. Nothing would be left to chance. Each of these kings was filled with his own self-importance. Each considered himself the first among rulers. Each would have to be catered and cosseted equally. It would require much patience, and a great deal of planning. And not just before the event transpired, but during the event and afterwards, as both Henry Tudor and Francois Premiere sought to claim that they were the greater of the duo and had gained the upper hand at this event.

Philippa departed early the following morning before either Lord Cambridge or the earl was up. She did not want to see or speak with either of them until she had had time to consider all that had happened in the few short hours she had been with the earl. She had slept badly. Her time with Crispin St. Claire had left her somewhat confused. He was a strong-willed man, she quickly divined. He was used to having his own way. So was she.

Her father had died when she was so young, Philippa thought. She had been raised in a house of women. Edmund Bolton was a quiet man, and while the management of Friarsgate was left to him, in the hall he was relatively silent while her mother and Maybel had ruled the roost. And Uncle Thomas never interfered with her mother. Indeed, if anything they had been close companions and confidants. And while she had been at home when her mother had wed Logan Hepburn, her stepfather never interfered with her mother’s rule at Friarsgate, and Philippa had rarely gone to Claven’s Cam with them, as she was considered the heiress to Friarsgate.

She was simply not used to having a man tell her what to do, and how to do it. But he really hadn’t, she reconsidered. He would simply exercise his rights as the man of the house. His house. Why was she chafing like an unbroken mare at her first bridle? This was an incredible match for a girl like her. And when he had kissed her ... Philippa felt herself grow warm with the memory of it, and she smiled to herself. She had enjoyed kissing him. She had almost wished he would kiss her again, and perhaps not stop for a brief time. She wondered what Crispin St. Claire would have thought of that.

The earl of Witton entered the hall at Bolton House that morning to find it empty but for the servants. Lord Cambridge would not make an appearance until afternoon, the earl knew. But where was Philippa? Certainly she hadn’t returned to the palace this early? He stopped a servant.

“Where is the young mistress?” he inquired of him.

“Gone back to Richmond, my lord,” the man replied. “It were barely first light when she called for her barge. May I bring you breakfast, my lord?”

The earl nodded. He had hoped to speak with her before she left. Had she fled him? Or was it that she really did want to be back in time for the first mass of the day? Would the queen really have minded if she had not been there this one time? He ate the meal placed before him, and then spent a restless morning until Lord Cambridge finally made his appearance dressed to the nines, and obviously preparing to return to court himself. The earl had noted that the Bolton barge had returned, and was bobbing in the river waters by its quay.

“Dear boy, how long have you been up?” Thomas Bolton asked his guest, taking a goblet of watered wine from the tray a servant was holding.

“Several hours, Tom,” he answered.

“Did you see my darling girl before she departed back to her duties?”

“She was long gone when I came down into the hall. A servant told me it was barely first light when she left,” the earl answered his host.

“So faithful in her duties, my young cousin,” Lord Cambridge murmured.

“I want the betrothal papers drawn up as soon as possible,” the earl began. “Philippa will accompany the queen in a few months’ time, but I have decided I would prefer it if we were man and wife before we leave for France. I am going to Wolsey this morning to offer my services for the event. The king will take only a chosen few, so I must put myself in the cardinal’s service if only for a brief period of time.”

“And is Philippa as eager to be wed as you are, dear boy?” Thomas Bolton asked.

“I have not discussed it with Philippa. It is not her decision when we wed,” the earl told Lord Bolton.

“Tch, tch, dear boy!” Lord Cambridge clucked, shaking his head. “You cannot simply announce to my cousin that you have set your wedding date. I will have the papers drawn up for you, and I will seek the king’s permission for the match, but you must tell Philippa that you desire to wed before the summer progress to France. Surely you learned last night that she is not a meek creature whom you may treat like a little ewe lamb. I believe you will have to use all your diplomatic skills to get her to agree, but then I will remind her that Banon cannot wed until she is wed. And Banon and Robert Neville want to marry soon. If Philippa will settle herself, her sister can be married at Otterly in the autumn or early winter. You, of course, will wed my cousin here. Her mother will be disappointed not to be with her daughter at such an auspicious time in her life, but Rosamund will understand. Besides, she will have delivered her child by now, and not be fit to travel so far from Claven’s Cam.”

“Can you act on the lady of Friarsgate’s behalf?” the earl asked.

“I can, and the king is aware of it. Still, my dear Crispin, I will not force Philippa into marriage with you. Her mother would never allow it. Rosamund was brought three times to the altar by others. Her fourth husband was her own choice, and she has always said she wanted her lasses to have the choice as well. Would she approve of you? Oh, my, indeed she would! But it is not Rosamund whom you must convince. It is her daughter, Philippa. Be assured that I will speak in your favor, and I am not against a marriage before the summer journey to France. Actually I believe it would be better for Philippa to have the protection of a husband.”

“Will you go with the court?” the earl inquired.

Lord Cambridge shook his head. “This is an enormous undertaking, the meeting between England’s king and France’s king. Only the crème de la crème will be invited. I have wealth, and am considered amusing by my betters, but I will not be asked to accompany Henry Tudor and his queen. I am simply not important enough. Nor will Philippa’s sister go. I will return north with Banon Meredith and young Neville. My heiress’s betrothal agreement will be executed, and the marriage celebrated sometime in the autumn. Perhaps you will be able to come north then to meet Philippa’s family. I know that she will want to be at her sister’s wedding.”

“You are certain that Philippa will be invited to go with her mistress?” the earl said. “I should not want to offer my services to Wolsey only to find myself separated from my wife for the next few months.”

“Philippa is an especial favorite of the queen’s despite her own humble birth,” Lord Cambridge said. “The queen will want her by her side. She cherishes that link with her past, and Philippa is very good with her when the queen grows sad. She soothes her. Oh, yes, I can be certain that Philippa will be invited to go with the court to France. And what an adventure it will be for her, my dear Crispin! She has visited Scotland with her mother, and God only knows that is a foreign enough place, but to go to France! Ahh, dear boy, that is something she will never forget. The memory of it will surely sustain her during her first confinement, eh?” He chuckled. “Now, however, all you must do is convince the little wench to wed you before the summer progress. Do you think you can do it?” Thomas Bolton smiled. He knew Philippa far, far better than Crispin St. Claire. The task that the earl had set himself was almost Herculean, but he would support him, for he did believe it was better Philippa wed before the journey.

“I don’t know,” the earl admitted in a moment of rare candor. I have not said it! He could hear her voice in his head. How was he to approach her? Directly? Stealthily?

“If the decision were mine,” Lord Cambridge suggested, “I think I would woo the lass with all the skills at my command. Poetry. Little gifts. But most of all, passion. Virgins are skittish, but they are curious, and rarely immune to passion, dear boy.”

“Surely you aren’t suggesting that I seduce Philippa,” the earl said slowly.

“If it were me,” Lord Cambridge murmured, “I would do whatever I had to do to gain the fair maid’s consent, dear boy. A skillful seduction is a marvelous way around a stubborn lover.”

“I think,” the earl said slowly, “that Cardinal Wolsey has lost a skillful and wickedly clever servant in you, my lord.”

Thomas Bolton barked a sharp laugh. “I would think, dear boy, that I am far too wise to involve myself in the political dealings of any nation or government. I leave that to those others who need to enhance their own self-importance.”

Now it was the earl of Witton who laughed. “Are you a cynic or a skeptic, Tom Bolton?” he asked.

“Neither,” Lord Cambridge responded. “I believe I am a realist. And so must you be if you are to win Philippa over in time to go to France. Court her, but do not underestimate her, dear boy.”

And just how was he going to do that, the earl asked himself as he prepared to join Lord Cambridge at court that day? And next to Thomas Bolton he looked like a sparrow beside a peacock. But then, so did most of the court but for a very few.

“I shall seek appointments with both the king and the queen,” Lord Cambridge said as they exited his barge at Richmond.

“Won’t that take time?” the earl replied.

“Under normal circumstances it would, but I have a new friend among the ranks of the king’s secretaries, and a fat purse. Both will gain me a few minutes with the monarch and his spouse today, so we may not have to wait.”

“Then I shall go and offer my services to the cardinal,” the earl said.

The two men separated, each going in a different direction. The earl of Witton found his way to Cardinal Wolsey’s apartments. There he told one of the cardinal’s men that he wished to speak with his old master. “Today,” he emphasized strongly. “I come to offer my services for this great meeting to be held between our good King Henry and the French king.”

The cardinal’s second secretary to whom he spoke knew who the earl of Witton was, and of his service to his master. “You do not need much time then,” he said, his gaze anxiously scanning the earl’s face. “He is frightfully busy with all of this.”

“Five minutes,” the earl told the second secretary.

“You will have to wait, but I will get you in,” was his reply.

Crispin St. Claire sat down in a tall-backed chair, and waited. Having been in the cardinal’s service before, he was more than well aware of how busy Wolsey was. Wolsey served a hard master in the king. It was no easy task to do his bidding, to keep ahead of him, to be seriously useful to Henry Tudor, to dodge his detractors. And Thomas Wolsey had more against him than stood for him. A brilliant and hardworking man, he had an unfortunate inability to tolerate fools. But worse, he was arrogant, and thought nothing of keeping the high and the mighty cooling their heels in his antechamber. Even the earl of Witton now waited, more patiently than most.

Finally the secretary beckoned to him, and rising quickly he followed the man into the cardinal’s sanctum. “My lord, the earl of Witton,” the secretary said, and then scuttled back through the door where they had entered.

Thomas Wolsey did not bother to look up from the papers on his desk. “I am told you wish to offer me your services once again, my lord.”

“Only briefly,” the earl said. “I want to go to France with the court, but know I am not important enough to be invited merely for my charm.”

“Why?” Wolsey snapped.

“I am planning on marrying one of the queen’s maids of honor. Hopefully the nuptials will be celebrated prior to the summer progress. Whether they are or not, I do not wish to have Philippa in France without me, my lord.”

“Philippa?” The hooded eyes looked at him briefly.

“Mistress Philippa Meredith, my lord,” the earl responded.

The cardinal thought a long moment, and then he said, “Her father was Sir Owein Meredith, and her mother a Cumbrian heiress.” He stopped, then continued. “Rosamund Bolton, I believe she was called. The Venerable Margaret arranged the marriage. This is their daughter? Surely you could do better, my lord?”

“The girl suits me, my lord cardinal. She has beauty, wit and intellect.”

“That in itself would recommend her to a lesser man, Witton, but certainly there is something else that has attracted you.” Thomas Wolsey was no fool.

The earl smiled briefly. “Her dower contains land that matches mine, and that I would possess,” he answered truthfully. “Her family will not sell.”

“Hah!” the cardinal responded. “How did a northern family like hers gain such land? Wait! I see the fine hand of Thomas Bolton in this. Of course! He would be a dangerous fellow if he chose to enter the political arena seriously, and God will bear witness that I have difficulty enough with the king’s minions as it is. He arranged this match, didn’t he?”

Again the earl of Witton nodded truthfully.

The cardinal was silent for a time, and then he said, “Very well. I could use a pair of eyes and ears among this summer progress. One that would not be suspected of me. There are always plots, and plotters abound. This is an enormous, an incredible, and a dangerous undertaking, but his majesty would meet with the French king, and Francois would meet with Henry Tudor. You must wed the girl before we depart in May. The queen is most fond of this maid, and will have the girl with her. I will perform the ceremony myself for you. Choose a date. I will convince the queen that while she may certainly have her favorite with her, we cannot separate newly wed lovers. There is your excuse to be with the court.”

“Thank you, my lord cardinal. You do me honor,” the earl said. “I will report anything of interest to you.”

“Of course you will, Witton. You were ever the consummate diplomat while you were in our service.” He waved his hand at the earl. “God bless you, my son.”

He was dismissed. The earl bowed, saying, “Thank you, my lord cardinal,” as he backed from the cleric’s presence. In the antechamber he placed a coin upon the table where the secretary sat. Then saying nothing, he departed, as the sound of the coin scraping across the wood reached his ears.

Choose a date. The cardinal’s words echoed in his ears. I have not said it! Philippa’s words rang in his head. He almost laughed aloud. How was he to get her to accept their betrothal, and agree to an almost immediate marriage? It would take a miracle, and he had never before asked God for a miracle, but now was as good a time as any. He sought out Lord Cambridge, but he could not find him. He did see Philippa, however, in her usual place by the queen’s side. He walked towards her, and when she looked up and blushed he was hard-pressed not to chuckle, but he didn’t.

Instead he bowed to Queen Katherine. She nodded, giving him permission to address her. “Your highness, might I steal Philippa away from you briefly?” he asked.

The queen smiled. “I am told there is to be a betrothal, my lord,” she said.

“There is, madame,” he answered her.

“I am well pleased by such a match,” the queen told him. “Philippa Meredith is a most virtuous maid. She will be a good wife to you, my lord. Aye, you may walk with her for a short time.” The. queen gently pushed Philippa forward off her stool. “Go along with your betrothed, child.”

Philippa stood, and curtseyed meekly to the queen. She did not flinch openly when the earl of Witton took her hand and tucked it into his arm as they moved away.

“Go into the gardens,” the queen called after them. “You will have some privacy if such a thing is possible at court.”

“It is March,” Philippa murmured low. “I hardly think the royal gardens conducive to a romantic ramble in March.”

“It is not romance I seek at this moment, Philippa,” he replied softly. “We need to speak with one another, and for that privacy is essential.”

“The day is chill, and I have no cloak at hand,” she responded. “Come, the chapel will be empty.”

“What if someone comes to pray?” he asked her.

Philippa laughed. “At court? Most of them go into the chapel for the morning mass, and then only to be seen by the king and queen. The chapel will be empty even of the queen’s priests, who are usually napping or gambling, and in some rare cases bent on seduction at this time of day.” She directed their steps.

He was surprised by her acumen once again. She might be untried in the ways of love, but as Lord Cambridge had pointed out, Philippa was a consummate courtier. She was a female, and a young female at that, but he decided he must take her into his full confidence from the start. She would not be fooled by half-truths. They had reached the chapel. It was, as she had predicted, quite empty. He watched with astonishment as Philippa peeped into the confessional to make certain it was empty. Then she chose the exact middle of the room to seat herself.

“It will be difficult to be overheard from either end of this chamber if we are here,” she told him.

He sat down next to her. “You are amazing,” he told her, and he kissed the hand he still held.

To his surprise she did not blush this time, but she gave him instead a genuine smile. “Since your purpose is not romantic, my lord, and you wished privacy, I can only assume you have a more serious matter to discuss with me.”

He nodded, and then he said, “I must know I can trust you, Philippa, and you are really still a girl in many ways.”

“I have learned how to keep a confidence, my lord,” she told him quietly, “but the decision you must make is yours alone. If you require me to be silent, you have but to ask it of me, and I will be silent.”

“We need to marry in haste,” he told her, and wasn’t at all surprised when her eyes grew wide.

“Why?” The single word was tinged with both curiosity and trepidation.

“I must go on this progress, but I am not important enough to be asked, and so must have an excuse. The queen will want you with her. You are her favorite among the maids though you are yourself unimportant. If we are newly wed she will make certain we are not separated, for she is a romantic lady at heart. I will be able to accompany you and the court to France.”

“As an agent of the cardinal, I take it,” Philippa said.

“Aye,” he admitted. “He wants someone no one will suspect, with eyes that are trained to see and ears sharp enough to hear. He did not say it, but I know him well from my many years of service. He thinks he smells a plot of some sort on the wind, though he has yet to learn exactly what it is, or if it even really exists, but his instincts have always been infallible. By chance I came to him at the right time to offer my services, but of course no one must learn I am in his service. And none will suspect that the bridegroom of the queen’s favorite maid is in France for anything more than a summer of love.”

Philippa giggled. She simply couldn’t help it. “A summer of love, my lord? Gracious! You make it sound most salacious, but then that is nothing new at this court.”

He smiled back at her. “Perhaps I did not phrase it properly.”

“Oh, I quite liked your phrasing, my lord,” she assured him, grinning up at him.

He was very tempted to kiss her adorable mouth, but he did not. “The cardinal has said he will marry us himself.”

“Thomas Wolsey would perform the ceremony? Nay, my lord, I think it not a good idea. It will draw attention to us, and if you wish not to be noticed I think it better the great cardinal show no favor to two unimportant people lest others ask why. I am certain that one of the queen’s priests would, with her gracious permission, perform the sacrament of marriage uniting us,” Philippa said.

Again he was surprised by her. “You are right, Philippa!” he said. And then he realized that she had not protested the idea of a quick marriage. “You are willing?”

She nodded. “My lord, I needed time to consider all that has happened. A match between us is a good thing. I ask only one favor of you.”

“And that would be?” What could she possibly want of him?

“I do not really know you, my lord. While I see the advantages to us both in this match, I am inexperienced in the ways of love. I cannot yield myself to you wholly simply because we are man and wife. I would not deny you your rights, my lord. I just want some time to learn more about my husband before we unite our bodies. Can you understand that?” She had looked him directly in the eye while she had spoken.

“Aye, I can understand, Philippa. And I am willing to give you a certain amount of latitude in this matter. We will wed first, and then we will court as lovers do. But the marriage will be consummated on our wedding night for obvious reasons.”

“I do not really understand the nature of courting,” she told him.

“There is kissing, and touching,” he replied.

“Oh, I have heard that, but what else is there to courting?” she wondered. She was purposefully ignoring his statement regarding consummation.

“I am not certain myself,” he admitted. “I have never paid serious court to a girl before, Philippa. We shall explore this mystery together. Now, when shall our wedding day be? I shall leave it to you to choose the date.”

“The queen’s nephew, the emperor, is coming to England at the end of May, and then we depart for France in early June. My birthday is the twenty-ninth of April. Let us wed the day after, on the last day of April, my lord. It will give me time to prepare properly. Would that suit you?”

“Tom says your mother will not be able to come,” he said. “Would you not prefer to go home for your marriage?”

“There is no time. Mama will have a new bairn, and knowing my stepfather, he will not want her to travel even to Friarsgate with it. She nurses her own children, you see,” Philippa explained. “We shall, with your permission, my lord, go north for my sister Banon’s wedding in the autumn. If you are content with that, then so am I.”

“I am content,” he agreed.

“One thing I must tell you before the betrothal is signed, and the marriage celebrated,” Philippa said. “I am my mother’s heiress to Friarsgate, but I have told her I do not want it. Her lands and her flocks are great. She has a commercial enterprise in cloth that she and Lord Cambridge manage. I don’t want any of it. I should have to live in Cumbria, and while I find it beautiful there, I do not want to live there. And an estate like Friarsgate must be watched over by its mistress or master. That is why Uncle Thomas purchased Melville for me. And in addition I have a most exceptional dower portion in gold and silver coin, as well as plate, jewelry, and all the possessions that a respectable girl would have. I am very well dowered, my lord, as you will see. But I renounced Friarsgate, and you must know it before this match is settled between us.”

“I should have little use, Philippa, for a large northern estate that requires tending,” he told her. “You will find Brierewode is more than enough for me.”

“Do you have sheep?” she asked him.

“Cattle and horses, only,” he told her.

“Thank God,” Philippa exclaimed, “for I cannot abide the stink of sheep!”