A Woman of Passion (48 page)

“She probably just fainted and needs to rest,” Bess murmured.

“Mmm,” Anne Herbert pressed her lips together before she pronounced her diagnosis. “Gertrude's left side was completely paralyzed—couldn't speak, couldn't get up. Looks serious to me!”

“I hope not,” Bess murmured fervently, suffused with guilt.

Her Majesty looked at the Countess of Pembroke. “How fortunate that you are here to take over as our hostess, Anne.”

“Oh, I suppose as the other mother of the bride and groom, that is true.” Anne Herbert lifted her fan and raised her voice. “Everyone, do carry on; the Countess of Shrewsbury simply fainted from the heat. All she needs is a little rest. William, do have the musicians play the grand march so the newlyweds can circle the ballroom before taking their leave.”

“We are in competent hands now,” Elizabeth said with a straight face, while those about the queen were biting their lips to keep from shouting with laughter.

“Syntlo, I think perhaps you'd better order up the carriages. We'll return to Haddon Hall rather than stay overnight at Sheffield. Robin, give our excuses to Shrewsbury and tell him to let us know how poor Gertrude fares tomorrow.”

Sir William St. Loe took leave of his wife and murmured
, “Her Majesty has a horror of sickness. Good night, my dearest. I shall ride over to Chatsworth tomorrow, duty permitting.”

Shrewsbury returned with Dudley to bid Elizabeth and her entourage farewell, then he assured the remaining guests that Gertrude was resting comfortably.

When Bess decided to round up her family, she found her three sons enjoying a wrestling match with Gilbert Talbot, an affable youth who had inherited his father's dark looks. Her eyes turned speculative immediately and a seed of ambition was sown.
It is high time I started thinking about the future of my children.
She turned and saw Shrewsbury watching her from the doorway.

“Bid Lord Talbot good night and thank him for his hospitality,” she bade her sons as they reluctantly stopped their horseplay. She watched them make their bows and leave the room with Gilbert following them. Bess approached Shrewsbury and laid her hand on his sleeve. “Anne Herbert says she cannot talk or walk.”

He nodded. “Her doctor assures me she'll recover, but I don't have much faith in the damned quack.”

“I'm so sorry.” She searched his face. “See how guilty you feel now!”

He covered her hand with his. “You are wrong, Bess. I am incapable of feeling guilt over anything I've said to you or done with you. However, you look racked with guilt, my beauty, so I shall desist in my unseemly behavior toward you while Gertrude suffers this indignity. I promise.”

He sounded absolutely sincere. Could she believe him? Bess lowered her lashes. “Good night, my lord. Please send me word on how she fares.”

T
he next sennight was the busiest time Bess had ever known in her life. She entertained Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth and the courtiers who had accompanied her north. Chatsworth was a raging success and the envy of every single one of her guests. She took this opportunity to ask the queen to excuse her from her Court duties for at least a year and heaved a sigh of relief when Elizabeth gave her permission.

Before Syntlo returned to London with the queen, Bess spoke to him about her two eldest sons. “Will, this is Henry's last term at Eton, and of course his future is set. He will inherit all my Cavendish holdings, so I needn't worry about him, other than finding a suitable heiress for him to wed. It's William's future I'm concerned with. I'd like him to go into the law; it's the most lucrative profession in England. I should know—a great deal of my income has gone into their coffers over the years.”

“I think that's an excellent idea. William will have to
attend Cambridge, of course. The tuition will be no problem, but I believe it's devilish hard to get in there.”

“Will you make inquiries, my dear?”

“Of course I shall, and let me know the moment you set a date for Francie's wedding.”

“And what if Her Gracious Majesty has conflicting plans?” Bess asked archly.

“I shall be at Holme Pierrepont for Francie's wedding, come hell or high water, I promise you.”

Bess knew he was the most devoted stepfather in the world and thanked God for it. She bade him a tender farewell and begged him not to make himself ill with overwork.

“Don't worry about me, my dearest. Marcella has packed me a year's supply of everything from calf's jelly to syrup of figs.”

Bess rolled her eyes. Marcella believed if the bowels were kept open, the rest of the body would be right as a trivet.

With all her company gone, Bess retired early. She did her best thinking in bed these days, where—unfortunately—there were no distractions. She thought about the notes she had received from Shrewsbury telling her that Gertrude's speech had returned somewhat, and with bed rest her doctors hoped she would soon be walking. There was nothing improper about the letters, except for the greeting. Both had begun
My Dear Nun.

The corners of Bess's mouth lifted with irony. She was, indeed, living a nun's life, and Shrewsbury's reminder told her clearly that this need not be so. Bess put carnal longings aside and thought about her children. An idea had been bubbling in the back of her mind and she
decided this was the perfect time to examine it closely. If the Herberts had married two of their offspring to Talbots, why couldn't she do the same? Bess had five children who were unespoused and Shrewsbury had four.

Of course, blood-proud Talbot, descended from Plantagenets, would likely die of apoplexy if she suggested such a thing. Her children were all Cavendishes and none of them titled. But her daughters
could
become titled through marriage, if she reached high enough and played her cards right. Bess pictured young Gilbert Talbot. He could very well become Earl of Shrewsbury someday, making whomever he married a countess. Then there was Charles Stuart, the Countess of Lennox's son, whom her daughter Elizabeth had sat with at the wedding banquet. He was cousin to the queen and in line of succession to the throne! Bess tucked these ambitious thoughts away for the present and sighed.
If wishes were horses, beggars would ride!
The first order of business was setting a wedding date for her daughter Frances and getting the newlyweds settled close by at Meadowpleck on the River Dove.

The wedding of Frances Cavendish and Henry Pierrepont took place at Holme Pierrepont the first day of September. It was not a large wedding, because the groom's father, Sir George, was in ill health. When Sir William St. Loe, the bride's stepfather, arrived from London, it was obvious to all that he, too, was a sick man.

With a heavy heart Bess took her husband home to Chatsworth. Both of them knew he would never return to Court. All that autumn she nursed him and mothered him, knowing full well that his days were numbered.

Whenever Syntlo was strong enough, he sat in Chatsworth
's magnificent library, wrapped in a lap robe, occupying himself with correspondence. Bess sat with him doing her accounts at her carved oak desk.

He looked up from a letter he had just reread, which he had received a week ago from Cambridge University. “I'm sorry, my dearest, it looks hopeless for getting young William into Cambridge. This is the second time I've applied and the second time they've turned him down. It seems all the places are filled.”

Bess threw down her quill and took a turn about the room. “It's not your fault, Will. 'Tis the bloody class system. If he were a young lord or heir to an earldom, they'd be standing on their bloody heads to find a place for him, but plain Master William Cavendish doesn't stand a chance!”

“I wrote to Shrewsbury a couple of days ago, asking if he could help.”

Bess's hand flew to her throat. “Ohmigod, Will, you shouldn't have done that!”

“Why not, my dear? He's the best fellow in the world, and his influence is so far-reaching that if anyone can help it's Lord Talbot.”

“I don't want to be obligated to him,” Bess tried to explain.

“Don't be upset, my dearest. He is lord lieutenant of Derbyshire, as well as chamberlain of the royal exchequer. He's also a close personal friend of yours. I don't think he will mind in the least using his influence on our son's behalf.”

Bess's cheeks flushed, and she moved over to one of the tall windows to keep him from seeing the agitation on her face. Suddenly her pulse began to race as she watched the tall, unmistakable figure of Shrewsbury ride in. She turned from the window. “He's here now! Are
you sure you're up to this, Will?” Bess wasn't at all sure she was.

Shrewsbury removed his heavy riding cape and gloves and handed them to the butler. “I'm here to see Sir William.”

“Yes, Lord Talbot, they are expecting you. Would you follow me to the library, my lord?”

Shrewsbury felt his heart skip a beat at the thought of seeing Bess. So far it had been the longest, dreariest winter he could ever remember, and he hadn't seen her once. A hundred times he had looked for her when riding over the acres of their adjoining property, and scores of times he had almost ridden to Chatsworth to visit her. So when he received the note from Syntlo, he rejoiced because he finally had a legitimate reason to go.

The moment he crossed the threshold of the library, his senses were filled with her. As she came across the room to greet him, he saw that her pale gray velvet gown was embroidered with pearls. Her sleeves were slashed with jonquil silk, making her look like spring sunshine. He imagined her brilliant yellow undergarments, and his body reacted immediately. His eyes fastened on her beautiful face and he knew why his life was dreary. He had been starving for the sight of her.

She held out her hand. “Lord Talbot, it is more than kind of you to come.”

He took her long, slim fingers to his lips, then, before he released them, rubbed the ink stain on her index finger with his thumb. She wore a fragrance of verbena, and he thought he had never smelled anything so intoxicating.

“Forgive me for not rising, Lord Talbot.”

For the first time Shrewsbury realized Bess's husband was in the room. He felt himself staring in shock at the shriveled man beneath the lap robe and gave himself a mental shake. “Sir William, I came as soon as I had your note.” He could not bring himself to ask after Syntlo's health. He could see with his own eyes the man was dying.

“Bess is upset with me because I asked for your help.”

“I could never be upset with you, Will; it just seems such an imposition to expect Lord Talbot to solve our family problems.”

“It is no imposition at all, Lady St. Loe. I've already written to the dean of Cambridge, recommending William Cavendish be admitted to Clare Hall next Michaelmas when the term starts.”

“There, Bess, you see? I told you he was the best fellow in the world.”

“How will I ever thank you, Lord Talbot?” Bess asked stiffly.

Damn it, Bess, don't look at me that way! I am no whore-master ordering you to pay with your body.
He cursed himself. He knew he couldn't even look at her without revealing how much he wanted her.

Bess lowered her lashes. “Would you care for some brandy, my lord, or some hot cider perhaps?”

“No, nothing at all.”

“Oh, please, stay a little while and tell Will how things are at Court.” Her dark eyes implored him, and he suddenly realized Syntlo would have few visitors. His face softened. “All right, I suppose hot cider will keep out the cold on my ride back to Sheffield.”

With a pang he saw the grateful look she threw him before she left the room. He cleared his throat and sat down beside Syntlo. “I was at Court only a month before I was called home. My wife's condition has steadily deteriorated.”
Shrewsbury was an intensely private man who could never reveal the shouting matches that went on between Gertrude and the children. She blamed them for her affliction, and a day did not go by that did not end in her loud recriminations. He knew she was her own worst enemy, and her carping had brought on several small seizures. The young Talbots now avoided their mother whenever they could, and though he would like to do the same, he spent time with Gertrude to take the brunt of her behavior upon himself. He put it down to a mental affliction and tried to treat her with kindness.

Syntlo murmured his sympathy and pursued the subject closest to his heart. “What is Her Majesty up to these days?”

Shrewsbury tried for a light note. “She's not married yet, if that's what you're asking.” When Syntlo didn't laugh, he continued, “The council has proposed Arch-duke Charles of Austria. An Anglo-Spanish alliance would be a balance against the French.”

Syntlo closed his eyes as a spasm of pain cut into him. When it eased he smiled. “Elizabeth plays the marriage card with such adroit skill.”

“It all boils down to religion, playing the Catholics against the Protestants. It's an act she and Cecil perform with ease.”

Bess returned with a footman who carried a heavy silver tray holding steaming goblets of cider. She carried a cup to Will that contained a mixture of chamomile, balm, and opium. He was no longer able to eat, but the posset eased the agony in his belly.

She handed Shrewsbury a goblet of cider and took her own to the fireplace. He watched her push the poker into the glowing coals and wait for it to get red-hot. He took his goblet over to her and held it out. When she plunged
in the hot poker, the cider hissed and the aroma of spiced apples rose up about them.

She looked up into his eyes, and in the firelight he saw the mauve shadows of fatigue beneath hers and thought them beautiful. He murmured low, “The winter
will
pass … spring
will
come.” She nodded her understanding, and he knew a lump had come into her throat to prevent her from speaking.

He sipped his cider, wanting to take her in his arms and ease her anguish. He knew he must put space between them for decency's sake. He gulped down the contents of the goblet and set it on the mantelpiece. He glanced over at Syntlo and saw he was beginning to doze. He put his finger to his lips and quietly made his way to the library door.