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“I think Bess dresses for other women, mother. She always manages to make them look dowdy by comparison.”
“Thank you for noticing, Jane,” Bess said, laughing.
“Will I line the sleeves with silver tissue, Lady St. Loe? That is always so effective against a deep jewel-toned gown.”
“No, I don't want hanging sleeves. I want puffed sleeves, slashed with cream silk.” Bess took up a sketch pad and a piece of charcoal. “I want the very latest fashion—let me show you.” Bess drew a framed collar that stood up in a flared semicircle behind the head. “I want this in cream color to show off my bright hair. Perhaps it could be edged in blue brilliants to match my sapphires.” Bess sighed. “If only I could sew real sapphires on my gowns, but only Elizabeth can afford such indulgences.”
“Would you like sapphire or cream undergarments, madam?”
Bess thought for a moment, then smiled her secret smile. “How about something totally unexpected, like jade green?”
The seamstress blinked, but did not dare to suggest something less flamboyant. Instead, she changed the subject. “I have the chamois riding breeches ready, madam.”
“Oh, wonderful, I'll try them on. Tell Cecily to fetch my tallest black riding boots and that tight little doublet with the brass buttons.”
Bess donned the male attire and admired the ultrafeminine effect in the polished silver mirror.
“Bess, you don't intend to actually wear those things in public, do you?” her mother asked with disapproval.
“They will be absolutely perfect for riding astride, don't you see?” Bess asked, spreading her legs wide apart and running her hands over the soft buff suede that covered her hips.
Her mother blanched. “Riding astride is something a lady would never do either.”
“Who the devil said I was a lady? And where is it written that a woman cannot wear breeches and sit astride her own horse on her own land?”
A knock on the solar door interrupted her. Bess opened it to find Robert Bestnay.
“I'm sorry to disturb you, ma'am, but Cromp is below and says he must speak with you immediately.”
Bess ran lightly down the broad staircase that led to her office, unmindful of her unconventional attire. “James, is there some sort of trouble?”
“There is, ma'am. A couple of days ago, Tim Pusey had trouble collecting some of your tenants' rents. I sent him back out with instructions to accept no excuses, but it has precipitated some sort of riot.”
“Riot? Which tenants are giving trouble?”
“It's the Chesterfield tenants, I'm afraid.”
“Let's go,” Bess said decisively, taking up her riding gloves and crop from the hall table.
At the stables a groom hurried to saddle her favorite mare, but she stopped him. “No, I'll ride Raven; he's faster. Don't put a sidesaddle on him.” She threw her leg across the black stallion, and before they were out of the stable yard, she urged Raven to a full gallop.
A huge crowd had gathered in the village of Chesterfield, and bloody fighting had obviously erupted, but the arrival of the Earl of Shrewsbury had put a temporary stop to the rioting.
“These are my tenants; what the devil business is it of yours?” she demanded.
His eyes devoured the woman before him astride the stallion. He watched her hungrily as she dismounted, dug her fists into her hips, and planted her legs firmly apart in a stance of confrontation. “I'm making it my business. It's too close to my property of Bolsover for my liking; riots have a way of spreading if they're not nipped in the bud.”
Bess addressed Tim Pusey, who was nursing a black and swollen eye. “What is this trouble about?”
It was Shrewsbury who answered her. “The farmers who work Hardwick haven't had any wages for weeks, so they refuse to pay their rent.”
“How do you know this before I do?” she demanded angrily.
“Bess, there is little that happens north of the Trent that I don't know about.”
She bristled that it should be so. “If they refuse to pay their rents, I'll clear the bloody land and put sheep on it!”
“Bess, they have no money—they hardly have food.”
