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“You set too high a price on yourself! You will never become Countess of Shrewsbury.”
“I shall, I shall!” she vowed.
Bess awoke with a start and sat up in bed. She was covered with a fine sheen of perspiration and didn't know where she was for a moment. She lit a bedside candle and saw with relief that she was at Chatsworth in her own beautiful bedchamber. The dream came flooding back to her. She realized it was made up of memories from the past. Shrewsbury had always desired her, but only as his mistress; it went without saying that she could never be anything more. She had deliberately suppressed her deep feelings for him for years, but now that he was a free man, she could deny them no longer. Her heart told her that she loved him. Then, as clearly as if he was in the room with her, Bess heard the man she loved say: You will never become Countess of Shrewsbury.
Bess drew up her knees and wrapped her arms about them. She sat hugging herself for an hour, deep in thought, then slowly the corners of her mouth lifted and she whispered into the flickering candlelight, “I shall, I shall!”
Two weeks had passed since Gertrude Talbot's large funeral, which all the northern nobility, except for Bess, had attended. Her married daughter, Frances, and husband, Henry Pierrepont, had represented her. Bess and Shrewsbury had not seen each other since the afternoon they had ridden alone in Derbyshire's magnificent peaks.
It was the last day of May, and twilight descended in the gardens of Chatsworth. When Bess heard the dinner bell clang, she sent her daughters inside for their evening meal. She lingered in the rose garden, breathing in the heady fragrance produced by a warm afternoon followed by a cool evening. When she glanced up from admiring a full-blown bloom, Shrewsbury was coming toward her.
“How I've missed you,” he said simply.
“How are the children?”
That they were her first concern told him exactly why they spoke of her on a daily basis. The older ones had such deep admiration for her, while little Grace was besotted with her, demanding to know why Bess couldn't be her mother. “They will be all right, I think. We've become closer. Thank you for talking to them. Your understanding words comforted them.”
“I didn't attend the funeral; I couldn't bring myself to play the hypocrite.”
“I understand that, but why are you avoiding me, Bess?”
“Everything has changed.”
“Nothing has changed,” he contradicted flatly.
“Will you take dinner with me?”
“Can we be private?”
“Of course.”
Bess had been waiting for him to come. She had planned exactly what she would say, what she would do. Since she was a young girl she had been taught how to catch a husband, and the lessons she had learned would stand her in good stead now.
Bess's mother and Marcella offered the earl their condolences and politely withdrew. Bess ordered dinner be served in her private sitting room, then she took him directly upstairs. The moment the door closed, he reached for her.
“No, Shrew.”
“Why the devil not?”
“We have to get something clear. Please sit down. This is difficult for me to say, Shrew; please try not to interrupt me.”
He folded his long length in a leather chair and waited.
“I've been avoiding you because your status has changed. You are now a widower, and I want to make it clear from the outset that I won't marry you.” She saw him slant an eyebrow at her but was relieved when he did not interrupt.
“I know that you covet the land I own in Sherwood Forest, and I know you would love to own Chatsworth. I'm fully aware of the benefits you'd reap from a business merger between us. Our land runs together and would not need to be managed separately, but for the first time in my life, I have a considerable income and no debts to speak of. I am a wealthy widow who has already received two proposals of marriage, so I don't want another one from you.”
“Who the devil—” His words were cut short by the appearance of a footman who brought their dinner.
Bess hid her amusement at the perfect timing of the interruption. “We'll serve ourselves. That will be all,” she instructed the footman, who bowed and withdrew.
“Don't ask me who the proposals came from. I don't want you to get angry—you are far too possessive of me as it is.” She indicated the food. “Come and eat before it gets cold.”
He came up out of the chair and took two long strides, swallowing the distance that separated them. “To hell with the food. Was it John Thynne?” he demanded.
“No, it wasn't Sir John, though his correspondence hints at it.” She smiled up at him and laid her hand upon his cheek. “It doesn't matter who it was, for you have all my heart.”
He groaned and enfolded her in his arms. “Bess, Bess, don't do this to me—you know I've loved you forever. I don't want your lands, I just want you.”
