Philippa (Friarsgate Inheritance #3)

Chapter 10

T he twenty-eighth of April dawned wet. The court was preparing to leave for Greenwich on the twenty-ninth. The betrothal ceremony would be held at Bolton House, and the papers signed there. The great hall had been decorated with flowering branches. A small feast would be held following the formalities, although neither the king nor the queen would stay for the festivities. They would drink a toast to the couple and then return to Richmond.

Philippa had been sent home to Lord Cambridge’s house the previous evening so she might sleep in her own bed. The queen had learned from the mistress of the maids that she was not resting well. Bridal nerves, both women had concurred. But she had slept no better at Bolton House. Her soon-to-be sisters-in-law could not, it seemed, stop chattering, and she found them irritating. Both Lady Marjorie Brent and Lady Susanna Carlton adored their younger brother, and insisted on imparting to Philippa what they considered good advice on the care and feeding of Crispin St. Claire. Philippa felt near to screaming, and seeing it, Banon took charge.

She arose from the high board, smiling as she said, “Philippa must really go to bed now and get her rest, my ladies. We share a bed at court, and I can tell you that she has hardly slept at all these past few weeks with all her duties. I do not know why the spring should seem more busy than the winter, but it does. You will excuse us, please.” And she took her older sister’s hand in a firm grasp, leading her from the hall.

“What a charming girl,” they heard Lady Susanna say, and they giggled as they hurried up the staircase, sharing a conspiratorial glance as they went.

“Thank you!” Philippa said to Banon as they reached her bedchamber. “I do not know why, sister, but I find Crispin’s sisters annoying. And they are both really good ladies.” She sighed. “I don’t know what is the matter with me lately.” She opened the door to the chamber, and they entered together.

“You are being married in two days,” Banon replied in practical tones. “You are merely suffering an attack of nerves. I would be nervous too. Why, you hardly know the man, and I have watched you go out of your way to avoid him at court these past weeks. I do not believe you have been alone with him once. The papers are not yet signed, Philippa. You do not have to marry him if you do not want to marry him. You yet have the opportunity to cry off.”

Philippa shook her head. “No. It is an incredible match for me, and an honor for the family that I enter the ranks of the nobility. And if I cried off now you could not be wed in the autumn to your handsome Neville. Do you love him, Banon?”

“I think so,” Banon replied. “I am not certain really what love is, or is supposed to feel like, sister. But I like being with him. I like the thought of having his children. I suppose I shall ask mama about love when I see her in a few weeks.”

Philippa looked agitated, but then she said, “Have you kissed many times? Has he touched your breasts?”

Banon was about to protest so intimate a question, but then she realized that her older sister was not asking for prurient reasons. For some reason she needed to know. “Aye, we have kissed a great deal,” she said. “Robert loves to kiss me, and I must admit to enjoying his kisses. And aye, he has caressed my breasts, and I have caressed him. It gives us pleasure, Philippa. Does it not give you pleasure to kiss and caress with the earl?”

“We have kissed but a few times, and I have resisted his caresses,” Philippa admitted. She was very pale. “I did not want him to think me a bawd, behaving as so many of the young girls and women of the court do. And now I am terrified, for I must bed a stranger in two nights’ time. I do not want to cry off. Yet I am afraid, Banie.”

Banon Meredith shook her head. “Philippa, you may be the oldest of us, and you may know how to do your duty, but even Bessie has more sense than you would appear to have. I have watched you avoid the earl these past few weeks, and I will wager he has not once found you alone. What were you thinking, sister? This man is to be your husband. You had precious little time in which to get to know him, and you wasted it. Crispin does not seem a monster to me. Indeed he appears to be a kind man. I can offer you no advice, Philippa, but to trust to his kindness.”

“I don’t know what I am supposed to do!” Philippa wailed.

“Well, neither do I,” Banon said. “How could I?” Then she grinned. “Ask Lucy. She will have some knowledge, you may be certain.”

“Lucy?” Philippa was genuinely surprised. Her tiring woman seemed always to be there for her. How could she know of men and women?

“The serving women at court always know such things. They are freer with their favors than we should be,” Banon explained. “Lucy,” she called, and the young woman came into the bedchamber from the wardrobe where she had been seeing to her mistress’s gown for the morrow.

“Yes, Mistress Banon?”

“My sister needs knowledge of what transpires between a man and a woman. Since mama isn’t here, you must tell her what you know.” Banon’s blue eyes were twinkling with mischief.

“And what makes you think I would know such a thing?” Lucy demanded, her hands on her broad hips.

“Oh, you know,” Banon replied. “I’ve seen you with that manservant at court. Will you tell me that you were simply meeting to discuss the weather and the latest fashions?” She giggled.

“Oh, you’re a bad ’un!” Lucy scolded her. “Well, I’ll tell my mistress what she needs to know, as her own mother can’t do it for her, but you’ll have to go to your own bedchamber, Mistress Clever, for you ain’t being married in two days’ time, and you don’t need to know until you are wed, and your mam will tell you what you must know then. Shoo now!” And she pushed Banon from Philippa’s chamber. Then she turned back to her mistress. “Let’s get you ready for your bed, and I’ll tell you what you need to know.”

Philippa nodded. “Will there be time for a bath in the morning?”

“Aye,” Lucy said. “We must arise early, for the king will be very punctual in his coming as his days are always busy.” She unlaced her mistress’s bodice and unfastened the tabs holding it to her skirts. She untied the ribbons holding her petticoats up.

Philippa stepped from the pile of velvet and silk while Lucy put the bodice away. She sat down, and Lucy took her dainty slippers off and, rolling her stockings down, removed them. Standing, Philippa walked over to the oak table where a basin of scented water was set. She washed her face, hands, and neck, then scrubbed her teeth with a rough cloth. Clad only in her chemise she walked over to her bed and climbed into it.

Lucy had finished putting away Philippa’s garments and shoes. She had emptied the basin out the window. Now she came and sat down on the edge of the bed. “Tell me what you do know,” she said.

“I know nothing,” Philippa admitted. “Banon has scolded me for not kissing the earl more, or letting him touch my breasts. I think she is right.”

“Well,” Lucy said in practical tones, “that may be true, but you didn‘t, and now you are faced with bedding a husband, mistress. However, there is little to it if you wants my opinion. He’ll be happy you’re ignorant. Tells him he’s the only one to get between your legs. These lords like their wives to be pure when they first has ’em, or so I am told. You’re unique, mistress. Most of your companions has been naughty and lewd with the courtiers. But your reputation is chaste.”

“But what do I do?” Philippa asked her tiring woman.

“Why, you do nothing, mistress. He’ll lead the way, and that’s as it should be for a good lass like yourself. The way it’s done is that your husband will put you on your back and get between your legs. There’s a hole deep between your nether lips into which he’ll fit his manhood. He’ll move it back and forth for pleasure’s sake. There ain’t nothing more to it. When he’s emptied his love juices into you he’ll withdraw from you.”

“What about the kissing and the touching, Lucy?”

“Depends how eager he is for you. That will determine the kissing and the cuddling.” Lucy chuckled. “One thing you should know, though. There might be pain for a brief moment that first time. If your maidenhead is lodged tightly you will feel it more. And there will be a little bit of bleeding when he breaks your maidenhead. Don’t be frightened by it.”

Philippa nodded. It all sounded very pragmatic. Having heard Lucy’s explanations, she didn’t understand what all the fuss was about. “Thank you for telling me, Lucy. I did not want to appear the ninny before the earl.”

“Mistress Banon says you ain’t been sleeping well,” Lucy replied. “I expects this has been weighing on you.” She arose and tucked the coverlet about Philippa’s shoulders. “Now there’s nothing to be frightened of, mistress. You just close your eyes and go to sleep. You’re safe in your uncle Thomas’s house.”

After Lucy had tiptoed away to her own cot in her little chamber next door, Philippa thought she would again be awake the night, or most of it. Her mind raced with her concerns. She had never been to Brierewode. What kind of a house was it? Would it be easy to manage? Would the servants resent her, or would they be happy for a new mistress? Would she be a good wife, a good countess of Witton? How could she balance her duties as Crispin’s wife with her duties at court? But then to her surprise Philippa felt herself growing sleepier. Why was she torturing herself with questions? Everything was going to work itself out perfectly. It always did. And she wouldn’t see Brierewode until sometime in the autumn anyway. Her eyes grew heavier. There was nothing to worry about. Nothing at all. She slept.

When Lucy gently shook her awake Philippa could hear the sound of rain outside of her window. Well, it was April. She lay quietly hidden behind the curtains in her bed while her tub was set up, and the male servants, each carrying two buckets apiece, trekked in and out of the chamber with hot water for her bath. Finally they finished, and Lucy closed the door firmly. Philippa heard her pouring oil into the water, setting the towel rack by the fire, and then her bed curtains were opened.

“Come along, mistress,” Lucy said. “ ’Tis all ready for you, and piping hot just as you like it.” She helped Philippa from her bed and quickly drew off the girl’s chemise.

Philippa climbed into her tub, sighing as the heat penetrated her body. “Ohh, that feels good,” she said. “Let’s do my hair first, Lucy.” Then she sat quietly as the tiring woman washed and rinsed her hair with the scented water. When Lucy had finished she wrapped her mistress’s head in a towel, as Philippa took the soap from her and began to wash herself. She was quick, for the morning was chilly, and she wanted to mop herself off so she would not catch an ague while she brushed her hair dry. Wrapping herself in a bath sheet, she sat by the hearth and began to ply her hairbrush.

Lucy hurried to the kitchens to fetch her mistress’s breakfast. She returned with a tray with a slice of ham, a hard-boiled egg, a small cottage loaf, and a Spanish orange that had been peeled and sectioned and placed in a little bowl, along with butter and jam. “Cook apologizes for the meal, but he is busy preparing for your betrothal feast, mistress.” She set the tray down on the oak table. “Come and eat now. I must do your hair before you dress. What a lovely gown it is too!”

Philippa felt her mouth turn up in a small smile. It was a lovely gown. Pinning her almost-dry hair up, she put her brush down and came from the fireplace to sit down. “The meal is suitable to the occasion, for I am not that hungry,” she told Lucy.

“Well, eat it anyway. There’s no romance in a rumbling belly,” Lucy replied. “And cook sent up some of that nice cherry jam you like too,” she coaxed.

To her surprise Philippa ate everything on her plate and downed a small goblet of breakfast ale. She remembered how her mother would not let her have ale at breakfast until she was twelve. Until then she was only allowed watered wine. Her favorite cherry jam was most tasty on her tongue. She finished most of the cottage loaf and the butter with it. Clean, rested, and well-fed now, Philippa felt she could face this important day in her life. She rinsed her mouth with minted water. “Let us begin my toilette,” she said to Lucy.

Lucy brought forth a clean chemise of pale ivory silk. It had full sleeves, and the cuffs were edged with delicate lace. The neckline was round and sat upon the collarbone. The tiring woman slipped the gown on over her mistress’s head, guiding her arms into the sleeves.

“I love the feel of silk against my skin,” Philippa purred. She drew on the stockings that were handed to her. They were plain creamy silk. She attached simple ribbon garters to them.

Lucy smiled, and setting a shake fold with two silk petticoats layered over it upon the floor, she helped her mistress to step into them. Then she drew up the undergarments, tying them neatly. Next she drew the skirt of the gown over Philippa, settling it atop the petticoats and the shake fold. Philippa smoothed her palms over the rich violet brocade. Lucy offered her mistress the gown’s bodice, drawing it on and carefully lacing it up the back. The squared neck was banded with gold embroidery. The upper sleeve of the bodice was fitted, but the lower part of the sleeve had a wide turned-back cuff of violet satin and velvet brocade. The chemise sleeve with its lace-ruffled cuff shone. Lucy fastened a gold and violet embroidered girdle about Philippa’s waist.

“There!” she said in satisfied tones. “Now you have but to step into your slippers, and I will do your hair. The master says it must be brushed and loose. He has given me this to sprinkle in it.” She held out a small box to show Philippa.

Philippa chuckled. “It is gold dust,” she said, “and most rare. How extravagant of him. Use but a little. I will want some on my wedding day as well.” She slipped her feet into her soft violet leather slippers, which had been embroidered in pearls.

“Stand still now,” Lucy instructed as she climbed up on a small footstool, hairbrush in hand. She brushed her young mistress’s clean hair until it shone with its auburn lights. When she was at last satisfied she sprinkled some of the gold dust upon the brush, and worked it into Philippa’s hair. “Well, if that don’t beat all,” she said. “That gold dust adds just enough sparkle. We should save it, and use it again at the Christmas revels this year,” Lucy opined. “You would create a sensation, mistress.”

“I do not know if married women are supposed to create a sensation,” Philippa laughed. Then she turned about and stepped back. “How do I look, Lucy?”

“You are even more beautiful than your mother,” Lucy replied admiringly.

There was a knock upon the door, and before they might answer it Lord Cambridge entered the bedchamber, his face wreathed in a smile. Reaching into his doublet he drew out a long rope of perfectly matched ivory-colored pearls and matching earbobs. “For you, darling girl,” he said, and dropped the pearls over her head with one hand as he handed her the earbobs with the other. “And wear the gold and pearl chain with the gold and pearl crucifix,” he advised as Philippa fastened the two fat pearls into her ears. “I obtained these pearls specifically to go with it.”

“Has the king arrived?” Philippa asked.

“Gracious no, darling girl. You and I must personally greet him as he steps across the threshold. I do not believe he has ever been to Bolton House. Thank God it is small and simple, lest I be classed with the cardinal and find myself giving Bolton House to the monarch to keep his jealousy at bay.”

“Uncle Thomas,” Philippa giggled. “What a wicked tongue you have, and so early in the morning as well. Have the chatterboxes been fed yet?”

“Your tongue is as sharp as mine, darling girl,” he chuckled. “Aye, they have filled their bellies from my bounteous board, and are already in the hall. Both are atwitter with the thought of meeting the king. Neither ever has. And I cannot seem to stop bragging about the Bolton family’s long association with the Tudors.” He grinned. “The more I gossip with them the more suitable this match becomes to them.”

Philippa shook her head, and then she said, “As if they really have anything to do with it. Crispin will have Melville, and were I one-eyed and snaggle-toothed we would still be wed. I refuse to allow myself any illusions about this marriage. I shall not be disappointed then.”

“I think you do your earl an injustice, darling girl. I know he is a man of honor. Aye, it was Melville that brought you to his attention, but I firmly believe he would never marry you just to have the land. Have you not noticed how he stares at you when he thinks no one is looking?”

“You are imagining it,” Philippa said.

Lucy hurried to answer a new knock on the door. Outside of the portal William Smythe stood, soberly garbed in his usual black.

“My lord, the king’s barge is approaching the quay,” the secretary said with a bow.

“Thank you, Will. Come along, darling girl,” Lord Cambridge said, and he took his young cousin’s arm. “Is the hall ready, Will? Are the sisters close to swooning?”

“Indeed, my lord, they are,” the secretary said with a small smile. “I believe only the arrival of the young mistress and you will calm them down. The earl is looking most uncomfortable and nervous.”

Philippa and her cousin hurried downstairs and through the corridor leading to the door that opened onto the gardens. They watched from the open door as the royal barge was docked, and the king stepped out. He turned to help his wife and, sheltered from the rain beneath a canopy held by Lord Cambridge’s servants, the royal couple made their way through the gardens to where Lord Cambridge and his cousin waited to welcome them. The royal couple were followed by one of the queen’s priests.

Thomas Bolton bowed low as Philippa curtseyed, her lovely skirts blossoming about her like the petals of a flower.

“My liege, I cannot tell you what an honor it is to have you here,” Lord Cambridge said as he ushered the king and the queen through the door.

“From the river it is a jewel of a dwelling, Tom, if small. It suits you.” The king’s voice boomed. Then he turned an approving eye to Philippa. “Your mother would be most proud of you, my dear. Raising your family to the ranks of the nobility is quite an accomplishment, especially considering your stepfather, but then neither you nor your sisters have any Scots blood in you. I have heard that your sister is to marry a Neville.”

“Aye, your majesty Banon will marry Robert Neville in the autumn. His grandfather and my grandmother were related by blood.”

“You have the church’s permission?” The king turned to Lord Cambridge.

“Indeed, my liege, we do,” Thomas Bolton said. “The cardinal himself has obtained the permissions from Rome.”

“Excellent!” the king said. “Well, let us get on with this betrothal. Both the queen and I have a long day ahead of us. We leave for Greenwich tomorrow.”

Lord Cambridge and Philippa led the royal couple into the hall where the earl of Witton and his sisters awaited them. Lady Marjorie and Lady Susanna were introduced to the monarch and his wife. Both were overwhelmed, and seeing it the king was kind, gently teasing them, and giving each a hearty kiss upon their rosy cheeks. Queen Katherine was gracious, and the earl’s sisters were much taken with her gentle manner.

The servants quickly brought wine. They had all from the humblest kitchen boy to the majordomo himself gathered in the back of the hall to catch a glimpse of their king and their queen. William Smythe brought the betrothal papers and spread them carefully and neatly upon the high board. He set the inkwell, the sand shaker, and the quill by them. Two great gold candlesticks had been set on the board, each with a thick beeswax candle. The hall fires burned high and warm so that the flowering branches gave off their scent. And outside, the April rain beat against the windows.

“It is time, my lord,” the secretary said.

Lord Cambridge nodded. “Come,” he invited them, “to the high board where we will formalize this betrothal between my cousin, Philippa Meredith, and Crispin St. Claire.”

They gathered around the board, and William Smythe carefully offered the pages first to the earl, handing him the inked pen. The priest stepped forward.

“Crispin St. Claire,” he said. “You agree to this betrothal?”

“I do, holy father,” the earl responded.

“Sign here,” the secretary said, pointing.

The earl of Witton signed, handing the pen back to William Smythe.

The secretary inked the quill and offered it to Philippa as he put the papers before her.

“Philippa Meredith,” the priest spoke again. “Do you agree to this betrothal?”

“I do, holy father,” Philippa replied, and swallowing hard, she signed her name. Then she handed the quill back to the secretary, who sanded both signatures so the ink would not be smeared, rendering the signatures illegible.

The priest then signaled the pair to kneel, and blessed them.

“It is done then,” the king said jovially as the earl helped Philippa to her feet. “Let us have a toast to the bride and her bridegroom!”

The wine was quickly brought, and a long life and many children was toasted.

“Her mother is a good breeder,” the king said with a meaningful glance at his wife. “You’ll probably have an heir within the year.”

The queen bit her lip with her distress, but then she said, “I have asked Frey Felipe to perform the sacrament in my chapel at Richmond on the thirtieth. You will come to Greenwich afterwards to join us.”

“Nonsense!” the king boomed. “We do not leave for France until early June. You can be spared one maid of honor, Kate, for a few short weeks. Philippa and her husband will go to his seat in Oxfordshire and then join us at Dover on the twenty-fourth of May. They have had little time to themselves since this arrangement between their families was made. Did we not have a sweet honeymoon all those years ago, Kate?” And he gave his wife a kiss upon her lips, causing the queen’s sallow skin to grow rosy momentarily.

“Yes,” she agreed. “Of course, Henry. Why did I not think of it myself?”

“But, your highness,” Philippa protested weakly. “Do you not need me?”

“Do you see?” the king boomed again, pleased. “She is devoted to her duty even as her father, Owein Meredith, may God assoil his noble soul, was devoted to his.” He turned to the earl’s sisters. “Did you know that Sir Owein served the Tudors from the time he was six years old? He was a page in my great-uncle Jasper’s household. He was knighted on the battlefield.” He turned back to Philippa. “Nay, sweeting, you must spend some time privily with your new husband. I command it, and there is an end to it.”

“Yes, your majesty,” Philippa said, curtseying. Spend time with the earl? They hardly knew one another. What would they talk about? Her heart sank. It was her own fault. She had deliberately avoided him these last weeks when she could have been getting to know him. Now she would be this stranger’s wife in two days’ time.

“It is time for us to leave,” the king announced. “Since I will not be at the wedding I shall kiss the bride now.” He took Philippa by her shoulders and bussed each of her blushing cheeks in turn. “God bless you, my dear! We will see you at Dover.” Then he turned, shaking the earl’s hand and that of Lord Cambridge, kissing the hands of Lady Marjorie and Lady Susanna as the queen bid first Philippa and then the others a farewell. Then, escorted by Thomas Bolton, the royal couple and the priest departed.

There was a long silence, and then Lady Marjorie and Lady Susanna both began to speak at once.

“Blessed Virgin, he is so handsome!”

“His beard tickled me when he kissed my cheek!”

“The queen doesn’t like his beard,” Philippa said. “He has grown it because King Francois has one, and he wishes to honor him.”

The sisters looked fascinated at this piece of information. They had seen how the king and the queen had treated their new sister-in-law. It had been with a familiarity they would have thought reserved for the high and the mighty, not a girl from Cumbria. They each had children who would one day need an ingress into court. Could Philippa possibly provide them with such a service? This marriage was indeed fortuitous.

“If my ladies would enjoy seeing the royal barge,” William Smythe said, “it is now departing from my lord’s quay.”

Lady Marjorie and Lady Susanna rushed to the windows overlooking the river, and at once began ohing and ahing. The royal barge with its rowers all in their Tudor green livery was quite magnificent.

“I’ve never seen its like before!”

“Nor are we apt to see anything like it again!”

“Can you see the king, Susanna?”

“Nay,” came the disappointed reply. “They have drawn the draperies.”

Lord Cambridge reentered the hall and, coming over to Philippa, kissed her soft cheek. “You look exhausted already, and the day is yet new,” he told her. “You must go into the gardens with Crispin and get some fresh air, darling girl.”

“In the rain?” she asked him.

“The rain has stopped. There are even just tiny rays of sunshine peeping through the clouds,” he said. “It is two days until you are formally wed, and it is past time, Philippa,” he advised her meaningfully.

“How is it you know me better than I know myself?” she asked him, and he gave her a small smile and a wink. Then turning, he said to the earl, “A quiet stroll would be just right now, I think. I will send a servant for you when the feast is ready to be served.”

Without an utterance Crispin St. Claire took Philippa by the hand and led her from the hall. “Bring me a cloak, and have Lucy fetch her mistress one,” he told the servant in the corridor. As the servant scuttled away the earl took Philippa by her shoulders and kissed her gently. “We did not kiss to seal our betrothal,” he said with a gentle smile. “In fact we haven’t kissed in some days, Philippa. Do you find kissing me distasteful, little one?” His gray eyes were staring directly down into her eyes as he tipped her face up.

“Nay, my lord, I like kissing you,” she admitted softly, “but I would not have you think me a brazen girl.”

“You are many things, I can see, Philippa, but brazen is not a word I would apply towards your behavior,” he told her, his arms tightening about her. He liked the feel of her petite form against his body.

“Because you were told of the unfortunate episode of the Canted Tower ...” she began.

“I know what was involved in that incident, Philippa. I have already told you that I found it amusing. You are reputed to be the most chaste of the queen’s maids,” he said.

“How would you know such a thing?” she wondered. What was that scent emanating from his velvet doublet? He looked so elegant this morning in his burgundy velvet, and his hose was a most fashionable parti-colored black and white.

“I asked,” he said simply. “I have learned in my thirty years that the best way to discover the answer to your query is to ask.”

“Oh,” Philippa responded, feeling slightly foolish.

“Your cloaks, my lord.” The servant was at their side holding the requested garments. He handed the earl Philippa’s as he set the cloak meant for the earl about his shoulders. Then he retrieved Philippa’s cape and set it about her shoulders.

The newly betrothed couple walked out into Lord Cambridge’s garden. The rain had indeed stopped, and the sun was beginning to peep through the clouds.

“Oh, look!” Philippa cried, pointing. “A rainbow! ’Tis good fortune to see a rainbow. And on this day of all days!”

He looked to where she was pointing and saw the broad arc of color bridging the river Thames. He smiled. “Good luck on our betrothal day is more than welcome.”

“Are you afraid?” she asked him as they walked.

“Of what?” he countered.

“Of marriage. Our marriage. We don’t know each other,” Philippa remarked.

“We would have known each other better had you not avoided me these past few weeks, and do not cry it was your duty, or deny it. Your actions were deliberate, and I do not understand why,” he replied. “You have agreed to this marriage from the beginning.”

Philippa sighed. “I know,” she said. “I agreed, and then I became afraid. You are nobility, my lord. And I fear that you cannot love me, that it is only the land you seek.”

“If it were practical, Philippa, I should give up Melville to prove to you that it is not just the land. But I need those grazing pastures. Besides, all marriages are arranged for sensible reasons. The emotion called love has little to do with most matches. But we could come to love one another someday, little one. For now, however, we are finally betrothed, and in two days will be wed. Let us become friends. The king has graciously allowed us some time alone. It is a few days’ journey to Brierewode, and I would show you your new home.”

“But we are going to France!” she said. “I would go with the queen, my lord.”

“And so we shall, Philippa. We shall be at Dover on the appointed day. We shall spend the summer in France with the court before returning home to visit your mother, and then wintering at Brierewode.”

“We must join the Christmas revels,” she told him.

“If you are not with child, we will,” he said.

“With child?” Philippa swallowed hard.

“The purpose of our union is children,” he told her gravely. “I need an heir. If you prove to be as good a breeder as your mother I shall sire several sons on you.”

Philippa stopped dead, and then she stamped her foot at him. “Do not speak as if I am some superior breeding stock,” she cried angrily.

“Whether you are superior breeding stock or not remains to be seen,” he replied dryly, his gray eyes suddenly cold.

“You promised me that you would wait,” she said.

“And so I have, for almost a month, while you have gone out of your way to escape my company, Philippa. Not a kiss or a cuddle have I been allowed. But in two nights’ time, little one, you will do your duty because you will be my wife. Do you understand me?”

“You are the most arrogant man I have ever met!” she declared furiously.

He laughed. “I probably am,” he said agreeably. Then he reached out and yanked her into an embrace, wrapping his arms tightly about her. “That mouth of yours, Philippa, would be put to better use in this manner rather than sparring with me.” His head descended, his lips meeting hers in a hungry kiss.

At first her knotted fists beat against the embroidery on his burgundy velvet doublet. The kiss had rendered her weak, and her head was spinning. But she liked it. Oh, yes! She liked it very much. Her mouth softened beneath his, and she sighed. Her fists ceased their tattoo.

He raised his head, looking down at her through silver slits. “You are so ready to be loved, Philippa. Why do you fight it? I will not be unkind to you.”

“I need to know you better before I offer myself body and soul,” she murmured against his mouth.

“You have these two days, little one. There is no more time,” he told her, pulling her into the shelter of a large pruned bush, and drawing her down onto a marble bench. Then he began to kiss her again, and one kiss fed into another until she was certain that her lips would be visibly bruised. His fingers loosened the laces on her bodice. His hand pushed beneath her neckline reaching for, finding, fondling a sweetly rounded breast.

Philippa couldn’t breathe. Her heart was beating furiously. His hand was warm and gentle as he cupped the captive breast. Her head lolled back against his shoulder. His touch was the most exciting thing she had ever experienced. “You mustn’t,” she feebly protested. “We are not wed yet.”

“The betrothal legalizes our union,” he groaned low.

“The queen says a woman must be chaste even in the marriage bed,” Philippa whispered.

“Bugger the queen,” he said, half angrily. “Is it she who is responsible for your reticence these last weeks?”

“My lord!” Philippa was shocked by his words. “The queen is an example of wifely perfection to all of her women.”

“Mayhap that is why the queen has borne no live son,” he responded, and his thumb rubbed the nipple of the breast he was fondling. “Healthy children come from passion, not saintliness, Philippa!”

“I cannot concentrate when you do that, my lord,” she protested.

“You are not meant to, little one,” he said, laughing low. Then he began to kiss her again even as he continued caressing her breast. “You are meant to lose power over your composure, and yield yourself to the delicious feelings coursing through your veins at this moment.” His lips touched her forehead, her cheeks, her throat with heat.

Philippa pulled her head away from him. “Oh, my lord, you must not assault me so sweetly. My head is spinning with your caresses and your kisses. I cannot think! ”

He laughed, and then he smiled at her. “Very well, little one, I will cease momentarily. I suspect from this brief encounter that there is a deep well of unexplored lustful passion within your innocent soul. I shall very much enjoy awakening it, Philippa.” His hand removed itself from her bodice.

“My lord,” she said disapprovingly, “such speech is unseemly in a gentleman. My mistress, the queen, would never approve of the words you so freely use.”

“Your mistress, the queen, is a good woman, and she has struggled to be a good wife to the king. But your mistress, the queen, is a prude, Philippa. She cannot help it. She was raised in Spain to have a devotion to her duty. A strict piety to the church first and foremost. A fidelity to her position as a Spanish infanta, and secondly as England’s queen. And her last allegiance is to her husband. Duty does not belong in the marital bed, Philippa.”

She gazed up at him, obviously puzzled.

“A man wants a woman in his bed who enjoys being there,” he explained. “A woman who opens herself to their shared passion and trusts that her lord will lead the way to a pleasure they may both enjoy. I know you are a virgin, Philippa. It pleases me that you have been chaste. But the time for purity is past. For the short time we have before our marriage you will yield yourself to my will, little one. And you will not regret it. That I promise you.”

“The queen ... ,” Philippa began, but he placed two fingers against her lips.

“You are not the queen, Philippa,” he told her. “Now I want you to say, ‘Aye, Crispin. I will do as you say.’ ” His gray eyes were dancing with his amusement.

“But you have to understand ... ,” Philippa tried again, and the two fingers were again pressed across her mouth.

“ ‘Aye, Crispin,’ ” he gently prompted her.

“I will not be spoken to as if I were a child!” she protested.

“But you are a child where passion is concerned,” he told her. “And I am he who will teach you and make you the most skilled pupil, Philippa. Now your first lesson is to kiss me sweetly, and say, ‘Aye, Crispin, I will do as you say.’ ”

The hazel eyes glaring at him were most definitely mutinous. She compressed her lips together into a straight, narrow line. She stood up from the bench. “No, Crispin, I will not say it! You are an arrogant horse’s rump!” Then she turned and ran back into the house, the laces of her bodice trailing behind her.

The earl of Witton burst out laughing. Marriage to Philippa Meredith was going to be anything but dull, he decided.