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“What rubbish,” she scoffed, but as she sat before the crackling fire, she had to admit it was a cozy place to be on such a bleak, cold night. Soon the fire and the brandy worked their magic and put Rob to sleep. When Bess heard his heavy breathing, she removed her gown and slipped beneath the covers on the trundle bed at the foot of Robert's.
The next day, as they lumbered through the countryside from Dunstable to Northampton, Bess entertained Robert with stories about Christmas. Then they sang some merry songs to pass the time, and when Robert became short of breath, she carried on alone, filling the bumpy coach with her rich voice.
The inn that night could accommodate them with adjoining rooms, but when Bess stoked his fire and tucked him into bed, Robert begged, “Please don't leave. Stay with me, Bess.”
“I'll leave the adjoining door open—I'm a light sleeper; I'll hear you if you need me.”
“I need you now, Bess,” Robert avowed. “I can't bear it when you're not close by me.”
She sat down on the bed and took his hand.
“I'm going to die, Bess,” he said hollowly.
“Oh, no, Rob, no. Push those fears away. I heard Dr. Belgrave say you would recover.”
He smiled at her, for once feeling much older than his beautiful companion. “When you're with me I'm not afraid of anything.”
Bess sat holding his hand until he slept, then she, too, curled up on the bed and fell asleep. She roused in the night, and by the light from the fire, she knew Rob was awake and watching her with worshipful eyes.
“I love you, Bess,” he whispered. “You love me because you are grateful to me, Rob.” He shook his head. “No, I mean I have fallen in love with you.”
Bess felt slightly alarmed. “You are only fifteen, too young to be in love.”
“Age has naught to do with it. I'm so lucky to have found you.”
Bess patted his hand. “Go back to sleep; tomorrow will be an exhausting day.”
Bess's prediction proved true. Now that they were so far north, the bone-chilling cold entered the coach, and the pair huddled together to share their body warmth. When they came to the River Trent, the coach and horses had to be transported across by ferry, which took a considerable amount of time.
Now that they were nearing their own county, the coalfields of Nottingham disappeared and were replaced by the moors and peaks of Derbyshire's limestone uplands, filled with tors, fells, and stone-walled fields. Both the Barlows and the Hardwicks lived in Baslow village, where the Derwent widened from a mountain stream into a broad and beautiful river.
The Zouche coachman lifted down Robert Barlow's baggage and was prepared to wait for Bess, but the light was fast disappearing from the late-afternoon sky, so she bade him drop off her small trunk at the Leche house and told him she would walk home from the Barlow farm. Bess knew the coachman had been told to proceed to Ashby-de-la-Zouche and await her return to London in a couple of days.
Robert's mother, amazed at how much he'd grown, seemed pleased to have her eldest son home, if only to unburden her troubles. Bess now wished that she had prepared Rob for his father's ill health.
“I cannot believe Lady Zouche dismissed you because of a cough, Robert.”
“It isn't just a cough, Mistress Barlow,” Bess interposed. “Rob has been very ill. The doctor says he has a chronic distemper.”
“He looks well enough to me. Now, your father is another matter entirely. All hope for recovery is gone. I have to nurse him night and day.”
Robert looked stricken. “Bess exaggerates my condition, Mother. I'll be able to help you with things now that I'm home.”
“In more ways than one,” Mistress Barlow said enigmatically, casting a speculative eye over Bess Hardwick.
“Where is Father?”
“I've set up his bed in the front parlor; he'll never be able to go upstairs again.”
Bess suddenly felt in the way. “My family will be expecting me, Mistress Barlow, but I'll call tomorrow to see if there's aught you need.”
“Yes, we'll likely see you tomorrow—there's business to discuss. Your mother will explain.”
Bess said good night to Robert, knowing he needed his bed after his exhausting day but was unable to voice the thought to his mother. She walked down the lane, past the Barlow fields and through the tiny village to the house that her stepfather, Ralph Leche, leased from his father, Sir Francis.
When she opened the garden gate, the front door flew open and her mother and sister Jane hurried outside to enfold her in warm embraces. “Darling, darling, it's so good to see you after fifteen long months! We had your letter yesterday, but Robert's mother got Lady Zouche's letter two days past, so we knew you were coming.”
Inside, her little half-sisters stared at Bess in awe. “Let's have a look at the fine lady you have become,” Aunt Marcy cried, taking her woolen shawl.
