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“But what about Elizabeth, my dear?”
“What about her? She proved that she can manage very well without my services.”
“You haven't forgiven her!” he said with amazement.
“Of course I've forgiven her; forgiving comes easily to me. Forgetting, however, is something I shall never do.”
“Bess, I love you so much. I shall miss you dreadfully.”
“Will, I want you to think seriously about retiring from Court and coming with me. Cavendish died from the stress of overwork; don't delude yourself that it cannot happen to you.”
“Bess, the queen needs me.” St. Loe's words were so sincere, they almost brought tears to her eyes. Within the hour of your death, a dozen others will rise up to replace you. Elizabeth will give you a state funeral if she's feeling generous that day, and that will be that. Bess could not bring herself to destroy his ideals. “The decision is yours, Will, but promise me you'll think about it?”
Bess, along with her two sons who were on summer holiday from Eton College, departed for Chatsworth. When they arrived at Nottingham, she put them up at the best inn, along with their body servants, and proceeded to Holme Pierrepont with her maid Cecily. Her fears about Sir George and Lady Pierrepont shunning her because of her arrest were groundless. Up here in Nottingham they did not concern themselves with the Court affairs of London and knew very little of the sad business of Lady Catherine Grey.
Lady St. Loe and Sir George dealt very well together. After she regaled him with horror stories of what the Court of Wards could do to his heir unless young Henry was wed, she told him the generous amount of her daughter Frances's dowry and that the young couple would receive the deed to one of Bess's manor houses once the marriage was solemnized. The betrothal documents were signed, and Lady Pierrepont invited Frances Cavendish to stay with them for the summer so the espoused couple could get to know each other better. By the time she left, Bess congratulated herself on a clever piece of business.
When Bess arrived at Chatsworth, she was greeted with open arms, not only by her children, but by her mother, Elizabeth, and her aunt Marcy. Bess kissed Francie, then scooped up young Elizabeth and Mary and swung them about, trying to listen to them all at once.
“How dare that wicked bitch imprison you for thirty weeks?” Marcella demanded, her jowls quivering in outrage.
“Thirty-one weeks,” Bess corrected her, then laughed. “Queens have to be wicked or they would soon lose their thrones. At any rate I am out of my cage now and intend to exercise my freedom like never before!”
Bess's mother kissed her. “It's good to have you home, darling.”
“I hope you mean that, Mother, for I'm here to stay. Have you selected a new husband yet?” Bess teased.
“Speaking of freedom, I've decided not to saddle myself with anyone as burdensome as a husband. Not that Ralph and I weren't devoted, but there is definitely something to recommend widowhood.”
Bess stared at her mother in disbelief. Her own widowhood had been the nadir of her life, and she still did not know how she had survived it.
“Oh, darling, I could bite my tongue!”
Bess embraced her mother. “I'm never going to live in the past again—carpe diem.”
Marcella made a moue with her lips. “All these fancy French phrases—you cannot deny Court gave you a sophisticated polish.”
Bess wrinkled her nose. “I think that one is Latin, but I'm not sure. I might have a bit of polish, but I'll never be an intellectual, thank God!” She surveyed her daughters with pride. Elizabeth, now seven, was definitely the beauty of the family. She loved pretty dresses and had a sweet, obedient nature. Little Mary, on the other hand, looked exactly what she was: a red-haired imp of Satan with a stubborn mind of her own.
“Your brothers are no doubt at the stables reacquainting themselves with their horses and dogs. I want you to join them for a little while, because I have something very important to discuss with your sister Frances.”
Hand in hand, mother and daughter strolled out into the vast garden and sat down beside a lily pond. As Bess gazed fondly at her daughter Frances, she couldn't get over how like her father she was. Dark, with laughing eyes, Frances was a Cavendish down to her fingertips.
“Francie, I've finalized the espousal between you and Henry Pierrepont. You haven't changed your mind about Harry, have you?” Bess watched her daughter's face carefully to see her true reaction and saw a smile of pure delight suffuse it.
“I think he's in love with me,” Frances confided.
“But what about you, Francie? I've been in love, and I've been in like, and believe me, love is better.”
“Well, I think I might be in love, but I have more good sense than to let Harry know,” Frances said with a wink.
“Lady Pierrepont has invited you to stay with them for the summer so that you can get to know them and they you. But you must promise me that if you have doubts about spending the rest of your life with Harry, you will come to me immediately. Years ago I made a promise to your father that I would see you made a good marriage. Henry is heir to the Pierrepont estate, and you will never want for anything, but as well as material wealth I want your happiness above everything else.”
“I promise. Thank you for being the best mother in the entire world. May I have some new clothes?”
“We will dazzle them with your wardrobe, Francie. A woman cannot have too many gowns, or riding habits.”
“Hunting clothes!” Frances giggled, as her mother laughed at the pun she made.
Bess could hardly believe her daughter was fourteen. A lump came into her throat as she remembered how afraid she had been when she first found out Cavendish had made a baby in her. Thank God and all his Apostles that I did nothing foolish to rid myself of this precious child, whom I love and adore!
