Chapter 14 #3
“We don’t need those,” he said, sweeping them to the floor, and when she went to pick them up to fold them neatly, he caught her in his arms and drew her down on the counterpane, laughing, his hand snaking up her leg.
“I just want you as Dame Nature made you,” he told her.
And then they were pulling each other’s clothes off, and Kate found that she no longer cared about folding anything.
Afterward, they climbed between the sheets and lay facing for a long while, holding each other tightly. “I will always love you,” Francis whispered. “Oh, my loving wife! I feel so blessed.”
“And I do, too,” she murmured, caressing his shoulder and then his cheek. “I never knew that marriage could be so joyous.”
“And we have all our lives to enjoy each other. I do not think I have ever been so happy. The good Lord has been bountiful to us.” He kissed her gently, and then more insistently. “Again!” he said, giving himself up to her once more.
—
They had a few wonderful days together. They rode in the deer park and farther afield; they lay in the woods and made love; they walked in the gardens and made plans for improvements; and they spent quiet, harmonious time in their chamber.
Kate would play for Francis, and sometimes they sang together, although she had to admit that he couldn’t sing, as he had warned her.
They rode to church together to attend Mass, there being no chapel in the house.
And then there were the nights, the precious nights, when the hours flew past because they were so engrossed in each other. It was the most glorious of honeymoons.
Yet through it all, Kate was painfully conscious that their time together was running out.
She could not help counting the days down.
We have five days, four days, three days, two days…
Now we have just one day before Francis has to go back to court.
Oh, if only he could stay with her and they could run the estate together…
But no. He had a strong sense of duty, and the court was his best way to future prosperity and advancement. She had to let him go.
She wondered anxiously how she would fare when he had gone and she alone was in charge of the household.
She had dutifully taken the tour with Bilkins, determined to learn all she could about how Greys Court was run, yet she had sensed his resentment at having to defer to someone so young, female, and inexperienced.
While Francis was here, he knew his place, but how would he behave toward her after her husband had left?
Would the other servants follow his lead?
She prayed not, for she had made great efforts to be kind to them, aware nevertheless that there were marks she should not overstep.
A distance, as Lady Bryan had once explained, had to be maintained. Your servants were not your friends.
And yet Kate had seen with her own eyes King Henry playing at dice with his Master of the Cellar.
He had not concerned himself with keeping a distance, but then, she supposed, he was the sovereign and could honor whom he pleased.
So dare she try to make a friend of Thomasina, the diminutive fair maid who acted as her tirewoman, helping her to dress, plaiting her hair, and looking after her clothes?
Yes, of course she could, and why not? She was the mistress here.
They were much of an age, and there was no one else with whom she could be friends.
Most of the servants were male, and the plump old woman who did the laundry was quite shy with her.
“Francis,” she asked, on their last evening together, “I need your advice.” They were sitting in the solar, having brought up with them a flagon of wine to share. “Would it be appropriate for me to make a friend of Thomasina?”
“I don’t see why not,” he said, “as long as you don’t make a favorite of her or allow her undue influence, which may cause jealousy among the other servants.”
“I won’t,” she said, relieved. “It’s just that I know I will be lonely when…” She could not stop the tears falling, and in an instant he was on his knees before her, grasping her hands.
“Don’t cry, darling. I don’t want to leave you—it’s hard for me, too. But I have no choice. I promise, I will get home whenever I can, and write often.”
“I will write to you, too,” she wept, hugging him as if she could never let him go. “And you must send me news of the court.” She drew back and managed a smile.
“I will regale you,” he said, and kissed her.
—
The parting was difficult, but she did as a loving wife should, standing by the mounting block in the courtyard with the stirrup cup, the entire household drawn up behind her, as Francis mounted his horse.
“God speed you, my lord,” she said, willing back the tears and handing him the cup.
“May He watch over you, my dear wife,” he replied, downing the wine. Then he wheeled his steed around and trotted away, his baggage cart trundling behind. Kate watched him go until she could see him no more. She reminded herself that he was not going very far away, and that she had things to do.
She turned to the servants, looking at Bilkins as she spoke. “Today, I intend to make an inspection of the house. You need not be troubled, as I will do this by myself and decide if I want to make any changes. Thank you. You may return to your duties.”
Bilkins looked as if he was about to say something, but evidently thought better of it. She walked past him and into the hall. She would start in the bedchamber.
She spent the day tidying cupboards and chests, rearranging ornaments, and familiarizing herself with the house.
Handling Francis’s things made her feel closer to him.
She trusted he would be pleased with the small improvements she had made.
At least she was now becoming well acquainted with Greys Court.
At dinner, she sat in solitary splendor at the table on the dais and ate roast chicken in a rich sauce.
It was very good, and she again sent her compliments to the cook before she escaped back upstairs.
Late in the afternoon, her work done, she took off her apron and walked in the gardens, then down to the lower courtyard to take another look at the ruins, which fascinated her.
It was easy to imagine them inhabited by ghosts or fairies or even dragons.
She decided she would not want to be there after dark.
When she returned to the house, she went to the kitchen and asked if her supper might be served in the solar.
Bilkins frowned. “It’s not customary. The master doesn’t eat there.”
“Well, I would like to.” She smiled. “When he is here, we will eat in the hall.”
Another little battle won, she reflected, as she went upstairs to wash her hands and drag a small table across to her chair by the hearth. She was missing Francis desperately. When would he be back? She felt so lonely here in this unfamiliar place.
She told herself that she must find something beside the house to keep her occupied.
Tonight, after supper, she would play her lute and then go to bed and read the romance she had brought from court.
She would find out where she could purchase books around here and buy some more.
She would ask the gardener to teach her about herbs, so that she could tend the herb garden and make good use of her still room.
And she would set aside a part of each afternoon for writing to Francis.
If she kept busy, the time would pass more quickly until his return.