Blaze Wyndham (35 page)

“When was your last flux, Bliss?” demanded her sister.

“What has that got to do with anything? You know how irregular I have always been. It is the one great difference between Blythe and myself.”

“When?”

“Three, four months ago. I don’t remember!”

“You are breeding,” said Blaze matter-of-factly.

“Oh, no!” shrieked Bliss. “I cannot be! Owen always said that we might stay at court as long as we had no children, but once the babies came, I must remain at home!”

“You are long overdue a child,” said Blaze. “Blythe has two, and is expecting another. I bore Edmund two. It is time, Bliss. Besides, if you give Owen a few sons and daughters, I will wager he will let you return to your wonderful court. He doesn’t like the quiet life in the country any more than you do, and you will not let him get away without you, of that I am quite certain,” laughed Blaze.

“Indeed I will not,” said Bliss firmly. “If I must stay in the country, then so will Owen FitzHugh stay too!”

“Why are we going to the country?” demanded Owen, who had entered his wife’s chamber with Tony and heard but the last of the conversation.

“Because I am going to have a baby,” said Bliss without any preamble.

“A baby!”
The Earl of Marwood’s face almost split with his delighted smile. “We are having a baby, madam? This is wonderful! This is marvelous!” Then he considered. “But why must I leave court if you are having a baby?”

“Because, sir, I shall not leave court unless you leave,” said Bliss sweetly.

“The court is no place for a baby!” Owen insisted.

“I agree,” replied his wife, “but I cannot be happy away from you, my lord, and if I am to successfully bear your son, then I must be happy, must I not? To be happy I must have you by my side at all times, and not playing the bachelor to all the lightskirts here at Greenwich while I, full of your seed, grow plump as a shoat deep in the country!”

“Now, Bliss, my darling . . .” began Owen FitzHugh.

“Now, Owen, my love . . .” returned Bliss.

Blaze moved silently across the chamber, and taking Tony by the hand, drew him from the room. “They are going to fight,” she said softly, and then with some humor, “And we do not need lessons in fighting, my lord, do we?”

“Nay, madam, in that sport we are most proficient.”

“I would say that in that sport we excel, sir,” she replied. “Perhaps it is time we tried to mend our differences.”

“And how do you propose, madam, that we do that?” he asked her.

“I am not certain, my lord, but I know we cannot bring our differences back to RiversEdge. I would not have Nyssa distressed by our anger with one another.”

“You have thought little of your daughter since you left her those nine months ago,” he taunted her.

“She is safe with my parents,” Blaze said through gritted teeth.
I will not fight with him,
she silently vowed.

“Nyssa is at RiversEdge, where she belongs,” he answered.

“You took
my
daughter? How dare you?” Blaze was furious, but mindful of the fact that they were on public view, she kept her voice low.

“Nyssa is a Wyndham, madam, and she belongs at RiversEdge. It is her home, and Edmund would want her there.”

“I would have brought her back,” Blaze said, keeping her voice even. “I, better than you, know what her father would want, my lord. She was content at Ashby with my baby brothers for companions. She was safe at Ashby with her grandmother, whose experience with children cannot be questioned.”

“She is in her own home, and under my mother’s care,” he answered her, surprised that she was not shrieking at him by now.

“You had not the right to order Nyssa removed from my mother’s care, my lord.”

“I am the Earl of Langford, Blaze. The welfare of my predecessor’s child is, of course, my concern.”

“I will not argue further with you, sir,” said Blaze. “Nyssa is safe, but in future remember that I am her parent, not you.”

“I shall remember it, madam, as long as you do,” he replied, and Blaze bit back an angry retort.

Over the next few days, as the date of their wedding drew nearer, Blaze concentrated upon keeping her temper where Anthony Wyndham was concerned. It was not easy. It seemed the more she attempted to find a common ground upon which they might build some sort of relationship, the harder he seemed to work at being deliberately aggravating. The king, however, was most pleased with her. He took her aside one afternoon to stroll with her in the picture gallery as he told her so.

“We are pleased, sweetheart, at your good behavior.”

“I have always tried to please, your majesty,” said Blaze demurely. Henry Tudor chuckled, and the sound held more meaning than anything he might have said. She had never not pleased him, he thought, even in the beginning when she attempted resisting him.

From a corner of the picture gallery Mistress Anne Boleyn bit her lip in vexation at the sight of Lady Wyndham, her little hand upon the king’s arm, laughing up into his face. From another end of the gallery the Earl of Langford watched them come, and wondered if the king was already making him a cuckold. He felt his anger rising.

On November 5th, 1525, Lady Blaze Wyndham, widow, was married in the King’s Chapel at Greenwich Palace by Cardinal Wolsey himself, to Anthony Wyndham, bachelor, the Earl of Langford. The bride wore a gown of rich tawny orange velvet that was heavily embroidered with gold, pearls, and topaz about the bodice, sleeves, and underskirt, which was of the same color. The ruffled cuffs and neckline ruffle of her chemise were of gold lace. Her honey-colored hair was parted in the center, drawn back over her ears, and set prettily into a soft French knot at the nape of her neck. It was looped with pearls, and there were pearls and a chain of topaz about her neck, and pearls in her ears. The bridegroom was more than her equal in his wedding suit of black velvet, its doublet heavy with pearls and gold, his heavy gold chain, each square section set with a fat baroque pearl, his knee-length velvet gown both lined and edged in sable.

The king gave the bride away, a fact which no one dared to laugh publicly about, but privately there were many wry jokes made. The Earl and Countess of Marwood attended the couple, which was only proper since they were related to the bride. The wedding was celebrated first thing in the morning, and afterward the king hosted a breakfast. There were many healths drunk to the couple, and then prior to their departure they were given a final blessing by Cardinal Wolsey.

“Let us hope their marriage lasts longer than the cardinal will,” murmured Mistress Anne Boleyn to her brother, George.

“The king is not yours yet,
petite soeur
,” George Boleyn whispered back.

Anne Boleyn smiled her little smile. “He will be,” she said softly. “Oh, yes, brother George, he will be. Particularly now that I have rid him of the good and sweet Lady Wyndham.”

“You need not have bothered with so elaborate a plot if you simply wished to follow in sister Mary’s footsteps,” mocked George Boleyn.

“I have not preserved my maidenhead all these years to play the whore like our sister,” snapped Mistress Anne.

“You do not mean to be the king’s mistress?” George Boleyn was surprised.

“His mistress?
God’s foot, nay! I most certainly do not mean to ever be
any
man’s mistress!”

“What then, Anne?” demanded George Boleyn.

“I mean to be his wife, George,” said Anne Boleyn. “
I mean to be queen!
It is for this that I have rid the king of Blaze Wyndham!”

George Boleyn threw back his head and laughed aloud. “By God, Annie, you are a rare one!” he chortled.

“Indeed, brother, I am,” Mistress Anne agreed, and then without even seeming to look, she reached up and neatly caught the bride’s bouquet that Blaze had just thrown. Coyly she cradled it in her hands, and pressed her face to it, inhaling its sweet fragrance of violets and late roses.

Unable to contain his mirth, George Boleyn laughed all the harder.

T
hey left Greenwich Palace in midmorning in a party of four carriages. Two of the vehicles carried baggage and servants, but in the first and second coaches rode the earls of Langford and Marwood and their wives. The little convoy was escorted by close to two dozen armed riders. They swung wide, avoiding the city of London, and thereby saving themselves at least half a day’s travel. They would travel together most of the way, separating only five miles from the boundaries of the estate lands, when Owen and Bliss would turn slightly west for Marwood Hall.

The Langford traveling coach was a large and comfortable one with fine padded seats of soft, well-tanned leather and real glass windows that could be raised and lowered. There was plenty of leg room for Tony, who stood six feet in height, to stretch himself. The coach was wide enough so they might sit side by side and still have room between them. The interior of the coach was padded in a like manner to the seats, and bolted into either side of the vehicle wall by the seats were small silver sconces holding two candles each.

Blaze had changed into a traveling gown of rich dark green velvet with a cloak trimmed in gray rabbit fur. The day was cool, but windless and sunny. Here and there along their route brightly colored leaves still clung to the trees. The horses moved along at an even and easy pace. Anthony had sent to RiversEdge for additional animals so the teams might be changed each day, and so that spare horses would be available should one go lame. It would be several days before they arrived at their destination, and arrangements had been already made at the best inns along the road.

They could not seem to find much conversation between them.

“You are as lovely a bride today as you were the first time, Blaze,” Anthony said awkwardly.

Was it really necessary for him to remind her of Edmund? she thought, and then she realized that he had meant his words to be a compliment. He had probably remembered too late that to mention her first marriage was hurtful to her. “Thank you, my lord,” she managed to reply. “You were as handsome a groom as I can ever remember seeing. Several of the ladies looked quite disconsolate.”

Neither of them could think of anything else to say, and so they rode in silence as the miles faded away behind them. At last he said, “Are you warm enough, Blaze?” and she nodded in the affirmative. Silence again. Finally when he could stand it no longer he signaled his coachman to halt and said to her, “I think, with your permission, of course, madam, that I shall ride for a while.”

“Of course, my lord,” she agreed, and he scrambled from the coach as, behind him, she was forced to smile at his haste to escape her. At least, she considered wryly, they were not fighting. Then her amusement faded. Was this what it was going to be like for the rest of their lives? How could they build anything on the yawning emptiness of the gulf that seemed to separate them? The coach began its forward passage once more, and Blaze closed her eyes in an attempt to prevent the tears pricking at her eyelids from escaping down her cheeks.

There had been a basket of food put into the coach with them before they left Greenwich Palace, but though the hours slipped quickly by, Blaze found she was not really hungry. Neither, it seemed, was Anthony; except for a brief stop to rest the horses and relieve themselves, they took no time to eat. Shortly before the final and last light of the day faded away on the western horizon they stopped at a comfortable and welcoming inn called The Swan. She was well chilled by now, and she found the inside of the inn warm and inviting. Bliss, however, was practically pea green in color.

“She has been ill ever since this afternoon,” explained Owen, looking both distressed and uncomfortable.

“I shall never live to reach Marwood Hall,” Bliss pronounced dramatically.

“You are expecting a baby, Bliss, not suffering from a wasting sickness,” Blaze answered her sister, and then looked to Owen. “What have you done for her?” she demanded.

“
Done?
What should I have done? I have been trying to comfort her these several hours past since we stopped to rest the horses,” Owen said. “At one point she vomited in my new velvet cap, and I was forced to hurl it from the carriage,” he finished in an aggravated tone. “It had ostrich tips.”

Blaze burst into laughter at the thought of Bliss emptying the contents of her last meal at Greenwich into her husband’s fine new cap. Only the outraged stares of the Earl and Countess of Marwood brought her humor to a halt. She turned to the innkeeper’s wife. “Elixir of peppermint in hot water for Lady FitzHugh, please.” Blaze next directed her attention to Owen. “Ride with Tony tomorrow, and Bliss shall ride with me in my coach. You meant well, but commiserating with your wife over her queasiness was the wrong thing to do. It only increased Bliss’s attention to her problem, which in turn exacerbated her difficulties. She needed diversion, not sympathy, Owen, but I will care for her myself on the morrow. Now, Bliss, I shall choose a light supper for you.”