Philippa (Friarsgate Inheritance #3)

Epilogue

T he wedding of Banon Meredith to Robert Neville took place on a warm late September day. As Banon was Thomas Bolton’s heiress to Otterly the celebration took place there. Helping her sister to dress, Philippa had difficulty drawing the laces on Banon’s pale blue satin bodice closed.

“Are you gaining weight already?” she teased her sibling.

Banon turned her head and grinned at her senior. “I am with child,” she said proudly.

“But you aren’t wed!” Philippa gasped, shocked.

“I will be in another hour,” Banon laughed. “It was a lovely summer here, sister. Rob and I enjoyed ourselves immensely. And Uncle Thomas was kind enough to turn a blind eye, bless him.”

“What if your Neville had cried off?” Philippa said primly. “Remember the cow and the cream?”

Banon laughed again. “Rob loves me, and his family loves the fact that I am wealthy, and likely to grow wealthier as the years go by. No one will be surprised by an early spring bairn, Philippa. Just pray I deliver a son, for I want a son for Otterly, and I know Uncle Thomas would be as pleased as anyone should that bairn be a lad.”

Philippa shook her head. “You are too wild a girl, sister. I hope you will temper your ways now that you are to be first a wife, and then a mother. You want no gossip.”

“Always the perfect courtier,” Banon replied, and then to Philippa’s surprise she kissed her sister’s cheek. “Who know, sister, I may have a child who falls in love with the court even as you did. And if I do I shall send that child to my sister, the countess of Witton, who will introduce her nephew or niece into the exalted ranks of the aristocracy”

Philippa smiled, and then she grew wistful. “I cannot believe that we are both wed, and you to be a mother. Our girlhood is indeed over.”

“Ah, but we still have Bessie, don’t we?” Banon said. “Or I should say our younger sister, Elizabeth, the heiress of Friarsgate.”

“Who would have thought it would all end up like this,” Philippa noted. “Me a countess, you the heiress to Otterly, and Bessie the next heiress of Friarsgate. She is a wild child, I fear, but as you are nearer to her than I, Banon, you must see she learns some manners and graces, or God only knows who will have her as a wife. Certainly no gentleman, and mama would not like to see Friarsgate in the hands of the wrong man one day.”

“Shows how little you know or understand about B—Elizabeth,” Banon replied. “She’ll never allow any husband to tell her how to manage Friarsgate. She’d sooner go to her grave a maiden. And her manners and graces are everything you would expect of a lady, sister. She just doesn’t choose to display them regularly. And she particularly enjoys annoying you, for she thinks you are too high and mighty for a lass reared in Cumbria. Watch her today. You’ll see. Now get those laces as best you can. I’ll not keep my Neville waiting at the altar. When is your bairn due?”

“The middle of March, mama says. Crispin says once we get home we must remain home,” Philippa told her sister.

“And my bairn will come at the end of March or the beginning of April,” she said. “Does that mean you won’t go to court for the Christmas revels?” Her hand touched her auburn hair, which was unbound. Then she set a circlet of Michaelmas daisies upon her head.

“Nay,” Philippa replied. “We will remain home at Brierewode, but I am not unhappy. The thought of spending the autumn and the winter with Crispin makes me happier than I ever thought to be. I will return to court one day. But not right away.”

“You do love him,” Banon said softly.

“Aye, I do,” Philippa admitted with a small smile. Then she said, “Shall I call Uncle Thomas now? Are you ready?”

Banon nodded. “I’m ready,” she responded.

And Lord Cambridge came, and proudly led his heiress from his house to the little church at Otterburn, his village. The villagers lined the road waving and cheering as the bride made her way to the church where she was united in holy matrimony to her Neville. And afterwards at the wedding feast Banon’s stepfather, the laird of Claven’s Cam, danced a sensuous Scottish dance with his wife, and seeing the intensity between them Philippa wondered if, despite her mother’s good intentions, there would be another Hepburn son born sooner than later.

Crispin, seated next to her, took her hand in his. “A few more days, little one, and then we go home,” he told her.

“Aye,” Philippa agreed. “I look forward to the months to come.”

“I look forward to the years to come,” he said with a slow smile. Reaching out he put his hand on her belly. “Is it a lad, little one?”

“Only God knows the answer to that, but if it is not, we shall make another, and another, until we get it right, my lord,” Philippa told him with a mischievous smile. “And if it is, he will need brothers and sisters. Our duty is clear, my lord.”

“I can see you have our life together well planned,” the earl told his countess. “But what of the court, Philippa? Will you go back?”

“One day,” Philippa said, “but the queen was right when she told me that my duty was to make a family. Family is the greatest gift God gives us, Crispin.”

And in the spring of 1521 the countess of Witton presented her husband with their first son who was called Henry Thomas St. Claire. And three weeks afterwards Banon Meredith Neville bore a daughter who was christened Katherine Rose. And at Friarsgate Elizabeth Meredith celebrated her thirteenth birthday on the twenty-third of May knowing that when she turned fourteen her mother would formally turn Friarsgate over to her. She wanted no husband, no man to tell her what to do. She had already made Friarsgate her own domain, and it was all she ever wanted. But Elizabeth Meredith was yet young, and though she knew it not, fate had already planned her future.