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THIRTY-THREE
The next sennight was the busiest time Bess had ever known in her life. She entertained Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth and the courtiers who had accompanied her north. Chatsworth was a raging success and the envy of every single one of her guests. She took this opportunity to ask the queen to excuse her from her Court duties for at least a year and heaved a sigh of relief when Elizabeth gave her permission.
Before Syntlo returned to London with the queen, Bess spoke to him about her two eldest sons. “Will, this is Henry's last term at Eton, and of course his future is set. He will inherit all my Cavendish holdings, so I needn't worry about him, other than finding a suitable heiress for him to wed. It's William's future I'm concerned with. I'd like him to go into the law; it's the most lucrative profession in England. I should know—a great deal of my income has gone into their coffers over the years.”
“I think that's an excellent idea. William will have to attend Cambridge, of course. The tuition will be no problem, but I believe it's devilish hard to get in there.”
“Will you make inquiries, my dear?”
“Of course I shall, and let me know the moment you set a date for Francie's wedding.”
“And what if Her Gracious Majesty has conflicting plans?” Bess asked archly.
“I shall be at Holme Pierrepont for Francie's wedding, come hell or high water, I promise you.”
Bess knew he was the most devoted stepfather in the world and thanked God for it. She bade him a tender farewell and begged him not to make himself ill with overwork.
“Don't worry about me, my dearest. Marcella has packed me a year's supply of everything from calf's jelly to syrup of figs.”
Bess rolled her eyes. Marcella believed if the bowels were kept open, the rest of the body would be right as a trivet.
With all her company gone, Bess retired early. She did her best thinking in bed these days, where—unfortunately—there were no distractions. She thought about the notes she had received from Shrewsbury telling her that Gertrude's speech had returned somewhat, and with bed rest her doctors hoped she would soon be walking. There was nothing improper about the letters, except for the greeting. Both had begun My Dear Nun.
The corners of Bess's mouth lifted with irony. She was, indeed, living a nun's life, and Shrewsbury's reminder told her clearly that this need not be so. Bess put carnal longings aside and thought about her children. An idea had been bubbling in the back of her mind and she decided this was the perfect time to examine it closely. If the Herberts had married two of their offspring to Talbots, why couldn't she do the same? Bess had five children who were unespoused and Shrewsbury had four.
Of course, blood-proud Talbot, descended from Plantagenets, would likely die of apoplexy if she suggested such a thing. Her children were all Cavendishes and none of them titled. But her daughters could become titled through marriage, if she reached high enough and played her cards right. Bess pictured young Gilbert Talbot. He could very well become Earl of Shrewsbury someday, making whomever he married a countess. Then there was Charles Stuart, the Countess of Lennox's son, whom her daughter Elizabeth had sat with at the wedding banquet. He was cousin to the queen and in line of succession to the throne! Bess tucked these ambitious thoughts away for the present and sighed. If wishes were horses, beggars would ride! The first order of business was setting a wedding date for her daughter Frances and getting the newlyweds settled close by at Meadowpleck on the River Dove.
The wedding of Frances Cavendish and Henry Pierrepont took place at Holme Pierrepont the first day of September. It was not a large wedding, because the groom's father, Sir George, was in ill health. When Sir William St. Loe, the bride's stepfather, arrived from London, it was obvious to all that he, too, was a sick man.
With a heavy heart Bess took her husband home to Chatsworth. Both of them knew he would never return to Court. All that autumn she nursed him and mothered him, knowing full well that his days were numbered.
Whenever Syntlo was strong enough, he sat in Chatsworth 's magnificent library, wrapped in a lap robe, occupying himself with correspondence. Bess sat with him doing her accounts at her carved oak desk.
He looked up from a letter he had just reread, which he had received a week ago from Cambridge University. “I'm sorry, my dearest, it looks hopeless for getting young William into Cambridge. This is the second time I've applied and the second time they've turned him down. It seems all the places are filled.”
Bess threw down her quill and took a turn about the room. “It's not your fault, Will. 'Tis the bloody class system. If he were a young lord or heir to an earldom, they'd be standing on their bloody heads to find a place for him, but plain Master William Cavendish doesn't stand a chance!”
“I wrote to Shrewsbury a couple of days ago, asking if he could help.”
Bess's hand flew to her throat. “Ohmigod, Will, you shouldn't have done that!”
“Why not, my dear? He's the best fellow in the world, and his influence is so far-reaching that if anyone can help it's Lord Talbot.”
“I don't want to be obligated to him,” Bess tried to explain.
“Don't be upset, my dearest. He is lord lieutenant of Derbyshire, as well as chamberlain of the royal exchequer. He's also a close personal friend of yours. I don't think he will mind in the least using his influence on our son's behalf.”
Bess's cheeks flushed, and she moved over to one of the tall windows to keep him from seeing the agitation on her face. Suddenly her pulse began to race as she watched the tall, unmistakable figure of Shrewsbury ride in. She turned from the window. “He's here now! Are you sure you're up to this, Will?” Bess wasn't at all sure she was.
Shrewsbury removed his heavy riding cape and gloves and handed them to the butler. “I'm here to see Sir William.”
“Yes, Lord Talbot, they are expecting you. Would you follow me to the library, my lord?”
Shrewsbury felt his heart skip a beat at the thought of seeing Bess. So far it had been the longest, dreariest winter he could ever remember, and he hadn't seen her once. A hundred times he had looked for her when riding over the acres of their adjoining property, and scores of times he had almost ridden to Chatsworth to visit her. So when he received the note from Syntlo, he rejoiced because he finally had a legitimate reason to go.
The moment he crossed the threshold of the library, his senses were filled with her. As she came across the room to greet him, he saw that her pale gray velvet gown was embroidered with pearls. Her sleeves were slashed with jonquil silk, making her look like spring sunshine. He imagined her brilliant yellow undergarments, and his body reacted immediately. His eyes fastened on her beautiful face and he knew why his life was dreary. He had been starving for the sight of her.
She held out her hand. “Lord Talbot, it is more than kind of you to come.”
