Philippa (2 page)

“Who?” Philippa sniffed. “I am not noble, and while I am considered an heiress, my estates are in the north. Giles’s selfishness has probably rendered me impossible to marry off. Look how long it took your parents to find you a proper bridegroom. And soon you will be married, Cecily, while I shall wither away.” She sighed dramatically. “If your brother has decided to devote his life to God, then perhaps it is a sign that I should too. My great-uncle Richard Bolton is the prior of St. Cuthbert’s, near Carlisle. He will know of a convent I may enter.”

Cecily burst out laughing. “You? A nun? Oh, no, dearest Philippa, not you. You have too great a love of all things worldly to be a nun. You would have to give up all the possessions you so love, like beautiful clothing, jewelry, and good food. You would have to be obedient. Poverty, chastity and obedience are the rules in any convent. You could never be poor, docile or biddable, Philippa.” Cecily’s blue eyes danced with merriment.

“I could too!” Philippa insisted. “My great-aunt Julia is a nun, and my father’s sisters.”

Cecily laughed all the harder.

“Well, what else is there for me now that your brother has rejected me?” Philippa demanded of her best friend.

“Your family will find you another husband,” Cecily said practically.

“I don’t want another husband!” Philippa cried. “I want Giles! I love him, and I shall never love another. Besides, who would want to exile themselves to the north where my estates are located? Even Giles said the thought of having to live at Friarsgate made him miserable. Why my mother fought so hard to retain it I will never know. I don’t want to live there either. It is much too far from the court.”

“You are only saying that because you are disappointed in my brother,” Cecily said. Then she changed the subject. “My father has written to your mother telling her of Giles’s decision. The messenger will leave for the north in the morning. Do you want to send a letter to your mother with him?”

“Aye, I do,” Philippa said. She arose from where they had been sitting together in the queen’s antechamber. “I will ask the queen’s permission to go and write it now.” Without a backward glance to her friend Philippa moved serenely across the room. At fifteen she very much resembled her mother at that age, with her slender carriage and her auburn hair, but her eyes were not Rosamund’s. Philippa had her father’s changeable hazel green eyes.

Approaching the queen, she curtseyed and waited for permission to speak. It was given almost immediately. “What is it, my child?” Queen Katherine asked, smiling.

“Your highness has undoubtedly heard of my misfortune by now,” Philippa began.

The queen nodded. “I am sorry, Philippa Meredith,” she said.

Philippa bit her lip, for she suddenly found herself near tears again. She swallowed hard, and then forced herself to continue. “Lord FitzHugh is sending a message north on the morrow. I should like the courier to also carry a letter from me to my mother. With your highness’s permission I will withdraw to write it.” She curtseyed again, giving the queen a weak smile.

“You have our permission, my child,” the queen said. “And you will give your mother our kind regards, and say that if we may be of help to her in seeking a new match for you we shall be glad to come to her aid, but I remember your mama likes to do everything on her own.” Queen Katherine smiled with fond remembrance.

“Thank you, your highness.” Philippa curtseyed once more, and backed away. She slipped from the queen’s rooms, hurrying to the maidens’ dormitory where she might be alone with her troubled thoughts as she wrote to Rosamund. But the girl Philippa liked least among the maids was there preening as she prepared to join the queen’s ladies.

“Ohh, poor Philippa!” she cried with false concern as she saw her enter the chamber. “I understand you have been jilted by the earl of Renfrew’s son. What a pity.”

Philippa’s eyes narrowed. “I do not need your concern, Millicent Langholme, and besides it is none of your business.”

“Your mother will have some difficulty finding you a decent husband now, and especially as your estates are so far north,” Millicent murmured. “Did I hear aright? Giles FitzHugh is to become a priest? I wouldn’t have thought it of him. He must have wanted to get out of marrying you quite badly to do that,” she tittered. Then she smoothed her velvet skirts, and adjusted her gabled headdress.

Philippa had never wanted to hit someone so much in all of her life, but her situation was bad enough without deliberately bringing disgrace upon her family by assaulting another of the queen’s maids. “I have no doubt that Giles’s vocation is an honest one.” She found herself defending him although what she really wanted to do was pound the wretch who had deserted her with both of her fists. Then she said, “You had best hurry, Millicent. The queen was looking for you.”

Seeing she could not bait Philippa into bad behavior, Millicent Langholme hurried off without another word. Philippa opened the chest that held her possessions, and drew out her writing box. Opening it she sat down on her bed to write, and when she had finished Philippa gave the sealed letter to a page who saw it was dispatched with the earl of Renfrew’s messenger, who rode north the following day.

Reading her daughter’s missive some days later, Rosamund gave a little shriek. “Give me Lord FitzHugh’s letter, Maybel. Quickly! Just when I thought all was well, it would appear we have difficulties again.”

“What is the matter?” Maybel handed the younger woman the packet from Lord FitzHugh. “What does the earl say?”

“A moment,” Rosamund replied, holding up a delicate hand. “God’s foot and damnation!” Her eyes quickly scanned the parchment, and then she set it aside. “Giles FitzHugh has decided to enter the priesthood. There will be no betrothal between him and Philippa. The wretch! Well, I never liked him that much anyway.”

Maybel gave a little shriek of outrage.

“The earl apologizes,” Rosamund continued, “and says he still thinks of Philippa as a daughter, and always will. He offers to aid me in finding another husband for Philippa. I must send to Otterly for Tom. Even though he has been away from the court for several years he will still be wiser than I in this matter. Poor Philippa! Her heart was so set on that boy.”

“A priest,” Maybel lamented. “That fine young man! ’Tis a pity, and now our lass left bereft at her age. That selfish lad might have told her sooner, I say.”

Rosamund laughed. “So do I,” she agreed. Then she picked up her daughter’s letter again, and began to read it completely, shaking her head as she did so. When she had finished she set it aside with the other. “Philippa says there is nothing for her but to become a nun. She asks that I consult with my uncle Richard as to a good convent.”

“Stuff and nonsense!” Maybel said. “The lass is overwrought, although who could blame her under the circumstances. However, I do not see Mistress Philippa taking holy orders at all, no matter what she says.”

Rosamund laughed again. “Neither do I, Maybel. My daughter has too great a love of all things fine to give them up. Tell Edmund to send to Otterly for Tom today. And see that the earl’s messenger is properly cared for, Maybel.”

“As if you should have to tell me such a thing,” Maybel muttered as she made her way from the hall to find her husband. Thank God Rosamund was sending for her older cousin to help in the matter. Tom Bolton would know just what to do, unlike Rosamund’s husband who would simply lose his temper.

Thomas Bolton, Lord Cambridge arrived from his estates at Otterly two days later.

“What is the emergency that I have been summoned to come with such haste?” he asked his cousin. “The children are alright, aren’t they? And where is that reckless Scots husband of yours, cousin?”

“Logan is at Claven’s Cam seeing to a strengthening of the defenses. The border has been unruly ever since Queen Margaret was driven from Scotland,” Rosamund replied. “The children are fine. It is Philippa with whom we have difficulty, Tom. I need your advice and counsel badly. Giles FitzHugh is entering the priesthood.”

“Jesu and all the beautiful angels in heaven!”Thomas Bolton swore. “And now our lass is left high and dry, having just turned fifteen, without prospects. ’Tis a caddish thing to do. Surely the lad might have given us more warning. These churchmen are so thoughtless. All that seems to concern them is God, and amassing great wealth.”

“Uncle Richard should not like to hear you saying such a thing,” Rosamund laughed. Then she grew more somber. “What am I to do, Tom? Oh, I know, another husband must be found for my daughter, but how will I go about that? We had an earl’s son for Philippa. How will we do as well again? And to make matters worse my daughter is threatening to take the veil!”

Thomas Bolton burst out laughing, and he laughed until the tears rolled down his face, staining his elegant velvet doublet. “Philippa? A nun?” He laughed some more even as he brushed away the evidence of his humor. “Philippa has too great a love for the good life and for beautiful things to allow her disappointment to drive her to a convent,” Lord Cambridge finally said. “Of all your daughters, dearest cousin, Philippa was always my best pupil. Her knowledge of gemstones astounds even me, and the finely woven woolen underskirts she wears in the winter must always each be protected by a layer of silk lest her fragile skin be chafed. The rough linen robes of a holy woman would certainly not do for our Philippa. Well, dear girl, there is nothing for it. She must come home until the ignominious fate Giles FitzHugh has left her to can be forgotten. Send a message back to court to that effect, directed to the queen. Certainly Katherine will understand, and be gracious enough to welcome Philippa back to her service at some later date. In the meantime I must think on possible matches for our lass. She is ripe for marriage now, but if we allow too much time to pass her chances will be gone.”

Rosamund nodded. “I agree. Of course when Logan learns of Philippa’s predicament he will begin suggesting all the sons of the men he knows.”

“No Scot will do for Philippa,” Tom Bolton said, shaking his head. “She is too in love with her life at the court of King Henry, and more English surely than you are, cousin.”

“I know,” Rosamund agreed, “but you will have to help me with my husband, cousin. You know how obdurate Logan can get when he sets his mind on something.”

“The trick, dear girl,” Lord Cambridge answered her, “is not to let it get that far with your bold Scot.” He chuckled. “Do not fear. I know how to handle Logan Hepburn.”

“Indeed you do,” Rosamund laughed, “and Logan would be most annoyed if he realized it, Tom.”

“Well, I shall certainly not tell him,” Tom Bolton said with a wink. “In the meantime what does the queen say, other than she will make an attempt to find another husband for Philippa? This is not something I would choose to leave in her hands, cousin.”

“I agree.” Rosamund nodded. “However, if we call Philippa home now I fear it will make her plight more difficult to solve, Tom. Unless the queen sends her home let us leave her where she is. She is no longer a child, and she must learn to handle the difficulties that life will hand her. This is not the last serious disappointment she will face, and the lady of Friarsgate must be strong to hold this land.”

Lord Cambridge sighed. “The court is a very different world from our world,” he reminded Rosamund. “I have come to realize that I should rather face the bitterest of cold winters in Cumbria than the court. I am astounded that I survived it all. Still, if you think it best we leave her there for now I will bow to your motherly instincts.”

Rosamund laughed at him. “Oh, Tom, do not tell me you have come to love Otterly after all these years. And the quiet life as well?”

“Well,” he huffed, “I am not as young as I once was, cousin.”

Rosamund laughed again. “Nonsense,” she said. “I am quite certain that Banon keeps you on your toes. She has always been a lively lass.”

“Your middle daughter is a delightful girl,” he replied. “She has brought life into the house since she came to live with me last year. I was frankly astounded when she asked to come, dear Rosamund. But as Banon has so wisely observed, if she is to be the mistress of Otterly one day she must know all about it, and its workings. A most clever lass. We shall have to find a man worthy of her one day.”

“But first we must consider Philippa’s vicissitudes,” Rosamund reminded him. “We are agreed then? She will remain at court in the queen’s service unless Katherine sends her home. And I will thank the queen for her offer, but assure her that Philippa’s family can handle the matter of finding another husband for her. One to whom the queen and the king will, of course, give their blessing.”

Thomas Bolton smiled archly. “You have not lost your touch, dear girl,” he told her. “Yes, write the queen just that. It is perfect. And tell Philippa when you write to her that I send her my love. Now, cousin, having settled your problems I find I am ravenous. What have you to feed me? And do not drag out a pot of rabbit stew. I want beef!”