The Widow's Kiss (38 page)

“Why that one?” Guinevere inquired. It was a gown she wore on the most formal occasions.

Pen didn’t answer and it was her sister who piped the accurate response. “Because Lord Hugh looked very smart when he came this morning. He was wearing that emerald doublet with the gold-striped hose and gown. So you should look as smart when you see him.”

“I see,” Guinevere said dryly. “Nevertheless, I will wear the gray silk. It's quite smart enough for a lodging house in Moorfields.”

Pen looked disappointed but offered no further argument.

Hugh waited until evening before returning. He spent the afternoon in the print shops of Cheapside and eventually he found what he was looking for. A beautifully illustrated volume of Tully's epistles bound in the softest Italian leather, the paper thin as finest silk, the letters illuminated in gold. Mother-of-pearl edged the corners of the cover. It was a lovely thing, quite apart from its content, and he knew it would please Guinevere from both perspectives.

He had the book wrapped in oiled leather and tucked it beneath his cloak as he set out in the dusk once again for Moorfields. The rain had stopped but it was still chill and dank.

Light shone from behind the shutters of the lodging house, smoke curled from its several chimneys, and he fancied that this time the house welcomed him. That it knew he would not this time be turned from its door.

He tethered his horse and knocked firmly.

Crowder opened the door within a very few minutes. “My lord.” He bowed and stepped aside, holding the door open.

Hugh entered the lamplit hallway. A flight of stairs rose at the rear. A door to the right opened a crack and he caught a glimpse of Pippa's eager face. Suddenly she was pulled back inside and the door closed sharply.

Despite his anxiety he couldn’t help a slight smile.

Crowder took his damp cloak and said, “You will find my lady's chamber behind the double doors at the head of the stairs, my lord.”

Hugh nodded his thanks and strode up the stairs, his blood fast in his veins, his heart sounding in his ears. Only once before, when he had feared for Robin's life, had he been so tense, so overwhelmingly anxious. But then as now there were no words for what he had at stake.

He stood for a second outside the double doors. Light shone beneath them. A reassuring golden glow.

He didn’t knock. She knew he was there. Softly he raised the latch and pushed the doors open.

Guinevere was sitting in front of the fire, her slippered feet on the fender. She rose as Hugh stepped inside and closed the doors at his back. Her hands moved against each other, a bare brush of her fingers against her skirts.

“Guinevere.” He came farther into the chamber. It was imbued with her presence. Her scent, her breath in the soft, warm air. He loved her now as he had never loved her before. No … he loved her with the all-encompassing power that until he was about to lose her he’d never admitted to himself.

And now, in the face of the wrong he’d done her, he must find the words to convince her of that love.

Guinevere didn’t move, didn’t speak. It was for him to begin. But her heart was jumping as it always did when he was near her. He had wronged her, but she loved him.

“Guinevere,” he said softly. He watched the firelight glancing across her cheek; he gazed into her deep purple eyes and saw the turmoil of her emotions reflected therein.

He laid his wrapped gift on a small table beside the door. He would not risk her thinking he believed he could buy forgiveness. Later he would give it to her. Later, when …

He crossed the room swiftly, took her hands in his. They were cold. “I do not know how to ask for your forgiveness,” he said, holding her hands to his lips, his breath warm on her fingers. “That I should think such a thing of you.”

Into her silence, he said painfully, the words dragged from him, “I don’t expect your forgiveness. How could I?”

Guinevere looked at him. She read in his eyes the agony of remorse, the desperate need as he waited for her response.

“I had thought Robin my child too,” she said finally, unable to keep the accusation or the hurt from her quiet voice.

“I know it.” He let her hands drop from his. “I have always known it. I have no excuse for what I did, for what I said.”

He took a deep shuddering breath and ran his hands through his hair. “I can’t believe I could have been so blind. I know Privy Seal. I know how he works. Such a simple plan he had. So simple, I should have seen it at once. And yet …”

“And yet you held on to a suspicion … no, a belief … that made Privy Seal's machinations possible.” She spoke softly as she sat down again on the low chair before the fire.

He looked away for a minute, then turned his gaze back to her.
“Did
you kill Stephen Mallory?”

Guinevere turned her hands palm up on her lap. “I don’t think so. I wanted him dead. I made no secret of that. He brutalized me and would eventually have done the same to my daughters. He came at me. The window was open. I put out my foot. He tripped and fell.”

She looked up at him. “Did I intend to cause his
death?” She shrugged. “I don’t know. I will never know.” She rose again from her chair. “Did I kill Stephen Mallory? I can give you no straight answer, Hugh.”

“But why didn’t you tell me this before?”

Her smile was sad. “Because I didn’t trust you to understand the ambiguity. You’re a plain-spoken man, as you take pride in telling me. You have no time for half-truths, for the less-than-straightforward.” She looked down at her hands. “You believed me guilty. If I’d told you the truth, I would have confirmed that belief.”

“Must I carry this guilt alone?” he asked. “When we have loved, there's been trust. Could you not then have told me the truth?”

“Perhaps,” she agreed. “But always there was so much at stake. My life … my children's future. Always that was at stake. And you saved me … saved them. Perjured yourself. But look what you gained as a result. How could I be sure of you?”

“I love you,” he stated, taking her hands once more, feeling them now warm in his hold. “I’ve made grievous errors. I ask your forgiveness.” His eyes held hers but he made no attempt to draw her closer as he waited for her answer.

“The times make it difficult to trust,” Guinevere said. “This place … this city …” She loosed a hand and flung it wide in an all-encompassing gesture of repulsion. “This is a murderous den of deceit.”

“Do you forgive me?”

“I love you,” she said simply.

“Do you forgive me?”

She inclined her head in a helpless little gesture. “How can I not? I too failed to trust.” She went into his arms then, burying her face against his throat, glorying in the feel of his arms tight around her. Only love, it seemed, mattered. Hurt, despair were vanquished by its balm. They would forgive, and soon they would forget.

He held her, breathed in her scent, still hardly daring to believe that she had come back to him. After a minute, she took his hand, laying it upon her belly. “Make the acquaintance of your child, my lord.”

Hugh gazed down at her, amazement and disbelief in his eyes. “You’re with child?”

“Most assuredly,” she said.

He kept his hand on her belly. “And you would not have told me? You would have left me without telling me?”

“No,” she said simply. “I could not do that.”

“Is this why you have come back to me?” His gaze now was anguished with doubt.

“If I did not love you, did not know what it is to be loved by you, I would not have come back to you, not even for the child's sake,” she said.

He drew her against him, his mouth meeting hers. “I love you. I love you so much it frightens me.”

“Then let us face this frightening new world together,” she said, smiling against his mouth. “Now love me, Lord Hugh, as you have never loved me before.”

July 28th, 1540

T
he executioner held the head high for the roaring crowd. Hugh at the rear of the crowd turned his horse away from Tyburn Tree, Jack Stedman and his four men falling in behind, swords drawn. If they moved fast they would clear the crowd before it went wild in its rejoicing.

Privy Seal was dead.

Hugh and his companions were silent as they pushed through the rear of the crowd now pressing forward towards the block. Their horses stepped high, the heavy breastplates on the chargers’ massive chests forcing a path. The herald blew a continuous note, demanding passage. There were shouted insults but for the most part the throng fell back and gave way to the armed party in its rich liveries, the man with his piercing blue eyes and distinguished bearing at its head.

“Home or Whitehall, m’lord?”

Hugh glanced over his shoulder at Jack's question. The king was today marrying Catherine Howard. A careful courtier would show himself at court. But today Hugh of Beaucaire had no mind to play the careful courtier.

He had news for his wife, news that would bear much discussion.

He reached inside his doublet and felt for the parchment with the king's seal. It crackled beneath his fingertips. “Home, Jack.”

“Aye, sir.”

The small troop rode east to Holborn. They met crowds pouring west, hawkers, tumblers, musicians, men leading dancing bears. Today was a day of rejoicing. And not just because the king had taken his fifth queen. The hated reign of Thomas Cromwell, Lord Privy Seal, had ended at Tyburn Tree.

The crowd thinned as Hugh and his men came closer to the house. The party rode up the lane where Privy Seal's man had attacked Hugh on his wedding day. The herald blew his trumpet and the gatekeeper came running. The gates opened and they rode through into the quiet park.

The house at the end of the drive glowed under the sun. There was glass in all of the windows now, and they were ablaze under the mid-afternoon light. The lawns were tended, the shrubs pruned, flowers bloomed.

Hugh dismounted, gave Jack his reins. Jack rode off with the men to the stable yard. Hugh stood on the gravel sweep before his house and cocked his head, listening. A smile touched his mouth as he heard what he’d been expecting to hear. Pippa's high tones came from the shrubbery. Pippa, as usual, was instructing her small sister in some art or craft essential to a proper understanding of the way the world worked.

Hugh walked swiftly towards the voice. Where there were children, there would be Guinevere.

He took the narrow, well-swept, hedge-lined path into the shrubbery. It was a quiet place, heavy with the scent of roses from the trellised arbor in its midst. It would have been peaceful but for Pippa and her sister.

“Papa!” Anna struggled to her chubby legs and ran across the grass towards her father. He bent to lift her. Two years old. Round and bright as a button. Her eyes were a curious blend of blue and purple. Quite astounding, he thought, lifting her high to kiss her fragrant cheek.

“Did Crummock die, Lord Hugh?” Pippa, grown tall but still a hazel-eyed sprite with the basic belief that the world couldn’t manage without her, brushed grass off her skirts and regarded him seriously.

“Aye, Pippa,” he replied. “Where's your mother?”

“Here.” Guinevere spoke from beneath the trellis of roses. “I was taking shelter from the sun. It grows hot in this pesky city.” She was smiling as she stepped out of the shade.

Hugh gave his daughter to Pippa. “Take Anna, Pippa, and ask Pen to come here. Your mother and I have something to discuss with her.”

“Not with me?” Pippa looked hurt.

“Not at this time.”

Pippa, being Pippa, hesitated, but she knew her stepfather and there was something in his demeanor that silenced her instinctive protests. She glanced at her mother who was suddenly looking as grave as Lord Hugh.

“I’ll fetch her then.” Pippa hitched up the baby whose plump legs clutched at her sister's skinny hips, and left the arbor.

“What is it?” Guinevere asked quietly.

Hugh took the parchment from his doublet. “Two things. One of more import than the other. Let us sit in the shade.”

He followed her into the cool shadows beneath the trellis and sat down beside her on the stone bench. He unfolded the parchment, smoothing it out against his thigh.

Guinevere waited and when he did not immediately unburden himself prompted into the silence, “So the long
arm of Privy Seal is gone. Living under his shadow these last three years has not been easy. Hardly a day has passed when I haven’t expected some new plot from him.”

“The king's favor clipped Cromwell's claws,” Hugh said. “Had we lost that favor, then you would have had cause to fear.”

Guinevere laughed ruefully. “Keeping it was a laborious task. The girls did best at it, I believe.”

“Aye. Henry has really taken a fancy to them. They’re always so natural with him. They neither flatter him nor shrink from him.”

He picked up the parchment again and said slowly, “Which brings me to this.”

“It bears the king's seal,” Guinevere said quietly, preparing herself for whatever was coming.

“Aye. The king has seen fit to confer the earldom of Kendal upon me.”

Guinevere smiled. “That's hardly a matter for such gravity. It seems rather to be a matter for congratulation.”

Hugh inclined his head. “Perhaps. But as we know, what Henry gives, he can take away as the whim moves him. I’ve accepted gracefully of course, and we’ll see what happens next. But my real news concerns Pen.”

“Yes?”

“Henry wishes her to take up residence in the Lady Mary's household. It's a considerable honor, now that Mary's made her submission and is restored to the king's favor, if not to legitimacy.” He hesitated and when Guinevere made no response continued, “Pen's of the right age for such a move.”

Still Guinevere said nothing. It was true that Pen at thirteen was at the age when the children of the nobility frequently took up residence in other households where they could make advantageous alliances. Robin, for the last three years, had been in the household of Henry Grey,
the marquis of Dorset, whose wife was the king's niece. It was a good place for the new earl of Kendal's son and it would be a similar honor for the new earl's stepdaughter to enter the service of the king's daughter. The king would take a particular interest in Pen and would consider it his duty to promote a good marriage for her.

But it was not what Guinevere had wanted for her daughter. Pen was surely not ready to find her own way through the devious scheming, the plotting, the lies, the enticements and dangers of life at court. How would she avoid the pitfalls? How would she know who was true and who was false?

“Can we say no?”

Hugh pursed his lips. “At the risk of offending the king's majesty, yes.”

“Not a risk worth taking,” Guinevere murmured more to herself than to Hugh.

“No,” he agreed. “But don’t forget that for as long as we stay in London Pen will never be more than a few miles from us. She’ll be free to come and visit as often as she likes. And she’ll see much of Robin at court. He has some experience now in the ways of that life. He’ll be able to help her clear a path for herself.”

“If she doesn’t wish to go, then I’ll not press her,” Guinevere stated, getting to her feet, her pale silk skirts settling around her. “And the king's favor may go to hell and back. We’ll return to Mallory Hall.”

“If that's what you want, then we will. But at least ask Pen … and without prejudice,” he added with a half smile. “Let her make up her own mind.”

“I always do!”

“You think you do. But Pen can read your mind and she always wants to please you.”

Guinevere considered this and had to admit it was true. And she knew she couldn’t stand in Pen's way just because she couldn’t bear to lose her.

“You be the one to tell her then,” she said. “When you’ve talked to her send her to me in my workroom.”

She left him to await his stepdaughter under the trellis.

Half an hour later as she sat in her workroom, the door ajar, an open book in front of her, she heard her daughter's light step in the corridor outside.

“Come in, Pen.”

Pen came in, quickly, gracefully, and stood in her gown of rose damask poised just inside the door, like a butterfly on a rose Guinevere thought, and then she saw the suppressed excitement in Pen's face and her heart beat fast with dismay. But she smiled and beckoned the girl in.

“Did Lord Hugh tell you?” Pen asked, coming up to the table where her mother sat.

Guinevere nodded. “And what do you think of the king's offer?”

Pen looked searchingly at Guinevere as if trying to read her mind and Guinevere remained quietly smiling, offering no hint of her thoughts.

“I think it would be very exciting,” Pen said, her hazel eyes asparkle. She clasped her hands tightly. “I think it's time for me to do this, Mama, don’t you?”

With a stab of loss Guinevere recognized that her daughter had made up her mind without any recourse to her mother's opinion. It was time to accept that Pen was all but grown-up.

“If you think it's time, sweeting, then it's time.” Guinevere rose from her chair and came around the table. She put her arm around Pen and held her close. “I shall miss you, but you won’t be far away.”

“No, and Lord Hugh says I shall be able to come and visit often. And Robin's in the marquis of Dorset's service and they are great friends of the Lady Mary's so I shall have my brother to guide me and stand my friend.”

Guinevere kissed the top of Pen's head. Robin would take care of his stepsister. Their youthful infatuation had
died a natural death but it had been replaced with a close and abiding friendship. Pen would never lack for comfort and support while Robin was near her.

“You should tell Pippa yourself,” she said. “It will hit her hard.”

Some of the light left Pen's eyes. “I shall miss her most terribly. Even all her chattering.”

“Just think of all the questions she's going to ask you whenever you come to visit.”

They both turned to the door at Hugh's easy tones. He stood foursquare, regarding them with smiling understanding that nonetheless held a hint of anxiety as his gaze rested upon Guinevere.

Pen's responding smile was a little misty. “She’ll talk my ears off. But I expect I’ll be glad of it.”

“I’m sure you will be. You’d better find her now before she bursts with impatience.” He came towards her and kissed her brow.

Pen nodded and lifted her face for her mother's kiss. “You really don’t mind, Mama?”

“I
do
mind,” Guinevere said. “But that's different from saying that I don’t want you to do what's right for you. If I had my way I’d keep you as a child forever, but the world doesn’t work like that.” She caressed the delicate curve of Pen's cheek. “But we shall be here, Hugh and I. You’ll not be alone. Remember that.”

“I know that.” Pen stood on tiptoe to embrace her mother. For a moment they clung to each other, then Guinevere gently drew back, but her hands remained resting on the girl's narrow shoulders.

Pen closed her own hands over her mother's then said firmly, “I’ll go and talk to Pippa now.” She closed the door behind her as she left.

“A new beginning.” Guinevere turned towards Hugh. He held out his arms and she went into his embrace, her
head nestled beneath his chin as he held her until he knew she was strong again.

“A new beginning for the earl and countess of Kendal.” Hugh grinned down at her and the solemnity of the last minutes dissipated. “Should I perhaps give you the house and estates at Kendal as a belated marriage settlement? Since the original settlements
were
somewhat one-sided.”

Guinevere's eyes gleamed. “You mean now that Cromwell is gone there's no need to pretend that you stole all my assets?”

“I would prefer
shared,”
he murmured, lifting her chin on his forefinger.

“Well, since in reality that seems to be the case, I am content to leave matters well alone,” she conceded. “That pot has been stirred sufficiently I believe.”

“There is one that has not.” His eyes narrowed as he licked a finger and traced her mouth with its tip.

She caught his meaning instantly. “Ah,” she said. “Now that pot can never be stirred sufficiently.” She sucked the finger deep into her mouth.

Hugh leaned over her shoulder and threw the bolt on the door.