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EPILOGUE
Summer 1567
The Earl of Shrewsbury had taken his mining engineer to Hardwick to find out if the land held any more valuable coal deposits. Bess lingered in front of her beloved old home, which was now empty. As her husband rode up the dusty path, his eyes were drawn to her. She was almost forty, but in her pale green muslin, she still looked like a young girl. He knew he loved her more every day.
“Who are you talking to, my beauty?”
“I'm talking to Hardwick Manor.”
“Do you suppose it can hear you?” he asked quizzically.
“Of course. I'm telling it all the fine plans I have for it.”
Laughing, Shrewsbury bent down and lifted her before him in the saddle. “Suppose you tell me,” he suggested indulgently, slipping possessive arms about her.
“I'm going to make Hardwick the most beautiful house in all England. It will be the envy of all who see it!”
“What about Chatsworth?”
Bess laughed. “Oh, I just built that for practice. Hardwick Hall will eclipse it in every way.”
“Hardwick Hall, is it?” he teased. “What about poor old Hardwick Manor?”
“Oh, I shan't pull it down. It will be the heart of the new house. I want Hardwick to be a glorious celebration of light and happiness. I intend to build a fairy-tale palace of glass, with its towers touching the clouds!”
“Towers?” Shrewsbury was bemused.
“Yes … six of them! I was six when my family was evicted from Hardwick.”
Shrewsbury suddenly realized the motive that was driving her to transmute the shabby manor into an elegant palace that would be beyond compare. It was the same passionate ambition that had transformed a farmer's daughter into a countess. His arms tightened about her. She was vibrant, self-confident, invincible almost, and yet the seeds of insecurity still lay buried within. Suddenly, more than anything in the world, he wanted to make her laugh. “Of course, you intend to emblazon your noble monogram across this great mansion?”
“Oh, Shrew, what a marvelous idea! On top of each tower I shall have my initials in six-foot-high solid stone.”
Shrewsbury laughed. “My darling, I was jesting!”
“Don't you dare laugh at me. The queen puts her bloody Elizabeth Regina on everything in sight. I'm a Talbot now, and everyone knows the Talbots are far more noble than the Tudors—we are descended from Plantagenets, don't you know?”
Her husband shook with laughter, but Bess blithely ignored him. “I see nothing amusing about letting future generations know that Hardwick Hall was built by Elizabeth, Countess of Shrewsbury.”
He nuzzled her neck, and his thumbs moved up to stroke beneath the swell of her breasts. “I am reputed to be the wealthiest man in England, but I can see you are determined to beggar me before you are done.”
Her sultry laugh rang out happily. “I shall certainly try my very best, you black devil!”
