A Woman of Passion Page 8

  “Ireland!” Henry spat.

  Cavendish let out his breath. Christ Almighty, I will need to be a magician to deal with the bloody Irish monasteries! But nevertheless he was highly flattered that the king thought him capable of such a task. “Ireland,” William repeated. “As you say, Your Majesty, a shade more difficult, but I relish a challenge.”

  “Just so, man, just so! And we will not be ungrateful in this matter. You will be amply rewarded for any results.”

  Henry, truer words were never uttered!

  As the king approached to take his hand, Cavendish pinched his nostrils and held his breath. Then he kissed Henry's rings.

  “Thank you, Sire, you do me great honor.”

  Before Cavendish went to his own residence, he stopped off at Suffolk House to share his news with his friend, Henry Grey.

  “I don't know whether to congratulate you or commiserate with you,” Henry said wryly. “There are some bloody religious fanatics in Ireland, old man.”

  William laughed. “The Irish are all fanatics, religious or otherwise, and since half the English orders I've dealt with were overrun with Irish monks and nuns, I don't believe I'll encounter anything I can't handle.”

  “Well, better you than me. When do you go?”

  “Immediately. Paulet says I'll be gone at least a year, perhaps two.”

  “Two years in Ireland? That's a bloody life sentence! Let's hope there's a title in this for you.”

  “My thoughts exactly.”

  “Well, come to us before you leave. Frances will be beside herself.”

  “Who's taking my name in vain?” Frances asked, sweeping into the salon. “If you are going to be made Sir William Cavendish, I'd better work on Henry to elevate me from a marquess to a duchess,” Frances drawled.

  “She listens at keyholes,” Henry explained.

  “He's telling the truth, that's how I knew it was you, Rogue. I have a letter for you.” She pulled the envelope from her ample bosom and handed it to him. “It's from your ravishing redhead, darling; obviously she missed you sorely.”

  William took the letter and frowned when he noted it was postmarked Derbyshire. He felt annoyance that Bess had run home. He'd fully expected her to be here awaiting his return. Disappointment washed over him. “Thank you, Frances. I'm going to miss you both.”

  “Not half so much as I shall miss you, Rogue,” Frances said, sighing heavily. “Who's going to keep my husband occupied while I go about my indiscretions?”

  William clipped her close and bade them good-bye, promising to spend an evening with them before he departed for Ireland.

  The envelope inside his doublet was burning a hole in his chest. When he arrived home he handed his horse to a groom and, before he left the stable, opened Bess's letter.

  My Dearest William:

  Lady Zouche asked me to accompany Master Robert Barlow home to Derbyshire because he became ill. I now find myself in dire circumstances and cannot extricate myself from them without your help.

  Sadly, Robert's father is dying, and to protect the farm our families are making plans for my marriage to young Rob Barlow.

  William, I am determined to wed none but you!

  I cannot expect you to come all this way but ask that you reply immediately, confirming that you care for me and that we are pledged to each other.

  I would not beg for your help if there were any other course open to me. Please hurry, my time is running out.

  Yours alone,

  Mistress Elizabeth Hardwick (Bess)

  One sentence jumped out at him from the page:

  William, I am determined to wed none but you!

  God's death, how could she possibly be that innocent? Cavendish had taken it for granted that Bess knew he was already married. She was begging him for help, and a protective urge rose up in him. Perhaps he could take her to Ireland with him. He stuffed the letter back inside his doublet. He had other pressing matters to attend to, and it would be later in the day before he could pen a reply.

  The moment Cavendish opened the front door, his daughter, Catherine, was there to greet him warmly.

  “Cathy, how are you, my sweetheart?” He swung her into the air in a huge bear hug.

  “I'm well, Father, but Eliza has been poorly again.”

  “Don't be sad, sweetheart; Eliza won't change. I know she isn't robust, but I've come to suspect she rather enjoys her days in bed.”

  Twelve-year-old Catherine flushed with relief. “Oh, I felt so guilty because I suspected the same thing.”

  William Cavendish found it ironic that he had wed Eliza Parris to care for his motherless daughter, and almost from the beginning she had been the one who demanded care. Cavendish felt no guilt for not dancing attendance on Eliza. It had been a marriage of convenience, and she had never been much of a wife to him. He had provided her with a lovely house and dozens of servants, then looked elsewhere for his pleasure.

  James Cromp had brought his luggage home hours ago, and when William entered his bedchamber, James had arranged hot water for his bath and laid out fresh garments.

  William set Bess's letter beside his bed, and as he did so a vivid picture of her flashed into his mind. The dark eyes, so direct, her full lips, flaming hair, and luscious breasts formed an image that had been with him the entire time he had been in Dover. He heaved a sigh as he removed his clothes.

  William found Eliza in her sitting room wrapped in a lap rug, sipping a tisane of chamomile. “I'm home,” he announced cheerfully, dismissing the two maids hovering about his wife.

  “I couldn't fail to know you were home, William. Your voice is so loud it rattles the dishes, and when you stride about in your riding boots, the floorboards tremble.”

  He bit back a caustic remark that she wouldn't have to put up with him much longer and, instead, set his back to the mantel and said, “I have been given a new post by the Crown, Eliza. It necessitates my traveling to Ireland for a year.”

  She blinked rapidly as she digested how this would affect her. “I don't mind your going, William, but your daughter, Catherine, is getting to an age where she could become restless and precocious and need watching constantly. The responsibility is too heavy for me in my condition.”

  “I have no intention of leaving Cathy here with you.” I don't want my child stifled, and that's just what she will be if I leave her here, entombed with you. “Since Catherine is espoused to Lord Cobham's son, I will arrange for her to join his household until she and young Thomas are old enough to be married in more than name.”

  “An excellent arrangement. Thank you for your consideration, William. Would you put more coal on the fire before you go?”

  William complied, wondering how on earth she could breathe in such suffocating heat.

  He dispatched a note to Henry Brooke, Lord Cobham, to arrange a meeting later in the day, then sought out his daughter so they could spend a few hours together.

  Cavendish enjoyed himself immensely. He and Cathy laughed away the afternoon as he indulged her every whim, buying her a harness with silver bells, for her palfrey, and a new fur cloak and hood.

  “I would simply love a little neck ruff. Will you buy me one, Father?”

  The image of Bess was conjured full blown, and it was brought home to him that Mistress Elizabeth Hardwick was only four years older than his little girl.

  Later that night in the seclusion of his bedchamber, he took up his quill to reply to Bess's letter. During the afternoon hours with his daughter, William Cavendish's perspective had altered. It was wrong of him to seduce a girl who was barely sixteen years of age. The kindest thing he could do for Bess was to let her have her honorable marriage.

  Bess had been up at the crack of dawn each morning, avidly awaiting the post from London. Her stomach was in knots from apprehension. What if William didn't get her letter? What if he got it but didn't bother to reply? A hundred what-ifs chased each other through her mercurial thoughts as day by day her dread increased.


  She had visited the Barlows on two occasions at the urging of her mother, but though Bess was deeply concerned about Rob's health, she couldn't bear to listen to Mistress Barlow urging her to the marriage and issuing veiled threats about having her stepfather imprisoned for debt.

  Bess spent time with her sisters and younger half-sisters, though after Lady Zouche's spacious London house, it seemed they were living on top of one another. Ralph Leche and her brother, James, had little farming to do now that December approached, but they busied themselves going into the forest to cut wood for the fires.

  Finally, the long-awaited post arrived. Bess looked down at the envelope bearing William's bold script, and as her heart leapt with joy, she kissed the letter fervently. She ran upstairs and sat on the bed she shared with Jane. Holding her breath, she tore open the envelope and unfolded the letter.

  My Dearest Bess:

  Please believe me when I tell you that I never had any intention to hurt you. I am deeply honored and flattered that you desire me for your husband, but I swear to you that I thought you knew I already had a wife.

  Bess stopped reading as the words swam together. A wife? No, no, how can that be? The news stunned her as if she had been given a death blow. Slowly, she read the words again. She was not mistaken. I thought you knew I already had a wife. Bess's heart constricted. No! Noooo!

  The letter fluttered to the bed as she wrapped her arms about her body and began to rock back and forth. A deep sorrow engulfed her. Tears she could not stay spilled down her cheeks and dropped upon the parchment. She sobbed on until she was breathless and her bodice was soaked with tears. Sadness seeped along her veins and into her bones. With nerveless fingers she reached for the letter and read further.

  The king is sending me to Ireland to survey Church property, newly seized by the Crown, and I shall be there for at least a year. You could accompany me only as my mistress, so I urge you to make an honorable marriage in Derbyshire.

  William Cavendish

  The letter slipped from her fingers, and in a trance she went downstairs, walked out the front door, and didn't stop until she came to a sturdy elm tree. Bess wrapped her arms about the smooth gray trunk as if she were willing its strength to enter her body. Then all of a sudden her sorrow turned to anger. She smote the tree with her fists and began to curse.

  “Knave, bastard, whoreson … ravisher of virgins! I hate you, Rogue Cavendish! I hate you!”

  If he had been before her, she would have killed him with her bare hands. She was in such a passionate rage, she wished she were a goddess with a fistful of thunderbolts to hurl.

  Inside, they watched through the window, clearly hearing her screaming and cursing. “Can't we help her?” Jane asked in anguish.

  Her mother shook her head. “There's nothing we can do until the storm has blown itself out.”

  Bess remained outdoors, away from everyone. As dusk began to fall, Jane said, “She'll freeze; she has no cloak.”

  Aunt Marcy patted her shoulder. “Bess's blood is too hot to freeze. Her passionate nature will always stand her in good stead. She gets everything out of her system in one fell swoop.”

  Bess didn't come inside until it was full dark, then shortly after, she went upstairs to bed. Bess heard Jane come into the room, felt her climb softly into bed beside her, then eventually heard her sister's breathing change as it quieted in sleep. Bess lay for hours, wanting the oblivion of sleep, until finally, sheer exhaustion crept over her.

  Bess awakened, terrified. The room was empty, stripped bare. She ran downstairs and found the bailiffs carrying off everything she possessed in the world. She begged, pleaded, and cried, all to no avail. Outside, her families' meager belongings were being piled on a cart. They had been put out of their house and had nowhere to go. Fear washed over her in great waves. Panic choked her. When she turned around, the cart was gone, her family was gone, even Hardwick Manor had vanished. Bess had lost everything she had in the world. The terror mounted until it engulfed her; the waves of fear almost drowned her. The hollow, empty feeling inside her belly was like ravenous hunger, only worse. She was overwhelmed with helplessness, hopelessness.

  “Bess, Bess, wake up! You are screaming … you are having a nightmare.”

  Bess opened her eyes and clutched Jane with trembling hands. “I was back at Hardwick again!”

  “Was it the same nightmare you always used to have?” Bess nodded. It was just a dream, she reminded herself. It was over, thank God, but the hollow, empty feeling inside her belly remained.

  Bess was late coming downstairs the next morning. She had barely set foot in the kitchen when she heard a frantic knock on the door and a gray-faced Robert Barlow was ushered into the room.

  “It's Father. He's much worse … we think he's dying.”

  “Sit down, Rob. You are ill; you are white as a ghost.” Bess was alarmed at his lack of breath.

  “I must go to Edensor for Reverend Rufus.”

  Mistress Hardwick took matters into her own hands. “No, James will fetch the reverend. We must all hurry back to your house. We will be needed.”

  Her mother and stepfather, Marcella, and Jane set out at once. Robert lingered behind, waiting for Bess. “I'm so sorry, Rob,” she said helplessly.

  He looked at her, his blue eyes beseeching. “Bess, will you marry me?”

  She couldn't reply; her tongue was stuck to the roof of her mouth. I don't want this marriage! It will ruin all my chances. … It will ruin my life!

  “It won't be a lifetime sentence, Bess. … I have only a few years left.”

  “Don't say that, Robert, please—”

  “I'm not afraid to die, at least not when you're with me. I love you, Bess. Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

  What could she say? How could she hurt him as cruelly as she had been hurt? “I … I'll think about it, Rob.”

  He squeezed her hand and smiled with renewed hope.

  When Robert and Bess arrived, Arthur Barlow was sinking quickly. The death rattle could be heard in his labored breathing, yet incredibly Mistress Barlow was going hammer and tongs at Ralph Leche. “If you don't make her go through with this marriage, I swear I'll have you in the Fleet for the debt you owe us!”

  “Stop, please! Have you no sense of decency?” Bess cried.

  “Decency? There's little that's decent about the Hardwicks! Your father and brother have taken wicked advantage of me. While my man has lay dying, they've had the use of our land with no intention of paying for it! And you, Bess Hardwick, you're too selfish to help us in our time of need!”

  Robert took her arm. “Mother, stop. Bess is the most unselfish girl in the world. I love her.”

  The Reverend Rufus arrived with James Hardwick, which put a stop to Mistress Barlow's accusations. He went to the bedside, then came back to the group. “If I am to perform a marriage, it must be with Arthur Barlow's consent, and the union must be in the life of his father because Robert is a minor. Mistress Hardwick, Mistress Barlow, you know all this; we have discussed it at length.”

  All eyes swung to Bess. She realized that she held her family's fate in the palm of her hand. Then she looked at Robert, who was mutely begging her. Bess was suddenly furious. As usual, everything fell on her shoulders; everyone in the room was weak, forcing her to be strong and decisive. “I want it in writing that you won't press charges against Ralph Leche.”

  Reverend Rufus said, “There's no time; Arthur is dying. All that can be written out later.”

  Bess stood her ground. “Unless I get a signed paper, there will be no marriage!”

  There was an undignified scramble for paper and pen. Bess got her signed paper, as well as a document setting out her bride's portion of one third of the Barlow estate's income, should her husband predecease her.

  Arthur Barlow breathed his last before the vows were completed, but all present chose to pretend otherwise. When Bess whispered, “I will,” she felt completely numb. Surely this wasn't really happening t
o her. Everything seemed totally unreal!

  She looked at Rob across the corpse of his father and suddenly saw that he was near collapse. She straightened her shoulders and addressed her mother-in-law with blazing eyes.

  “Excuse me, please. I'm going to put my husband to bed where he belongs.”

  EIGHT

  In spite of the fact that Robert Barlow had told Bess he was not afraid to die, he was afraid after witnessing how ravaged his father had become before he took his last breath. Yet he had not lied overmuch. With Bess beside him the ordeal would be less frightening. Though his mother would not accept it, Robert feared he suffered from the same malady as his father. It was a chronic distemper of the lungs that steadily debilitated the body until the coughing spasms brought forth black-blooded sputum, which was disgustingly foul.

  It was a fateful day for Robert Barlow; not only had he lost his father to death, he had gained his heart's desire. Tumultuous emotions warred within him, taking him to the brink of collapse. Gratitude toward Bess almost undid him as she helped him up the stairs to his bedchamber.

  Robert was thankful it was a spacious, comfortable room with a fireplace, since from now on it would have to accommodate two. He sat on the bed, exhausted, drained of every drop of his energy. As if Bess knew exactly how he felt, she began to undress him. When she knelt to remove his boots, he felt humbled. Tears flooded his eyes as he looked down upon her beloved red head.

  On a sob he asked, “Bess, how can this be the unhappiest, yet the happiest day of my life?”

  Bess rose, sat on the bed beside him, and gathered him into her arms. “Rob, we have fateful days when both good and bad things can happen … things that alter our lives. There is absolutely nothing more you can do for your father, he's in God's hands.” You, however, are in my hands, she thought with silent resolution. “I want you to rest and regain your strength.” She finished undressing him in her capable manner, tucked the covers about him, then restoked the fire.

  “Bess, don't leave me.”