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The envelope inside his doublet was burning a hole in his chest. When he arrived home he handed his horse to a groom and, before he left the stable, opened Bess's letter.
My Dearest William:
Lady Zouche asked me to accompany Master Robert Barlow home to Derbyshire because he became ill. I now find myself in dire circumstances and cannot extricate myself from them without your help.
Sadly, Robert's father is dying, and to protect the farm our families are making plans for my marriage to young Rob Barlow.
William, I am determined to wed none but you!
I cannot expect you to come all this way but ask that you reply immediately, confirming that you care for me and that we are pledged to each other.
I would not beg for your help if there were any other course open to me. Please hurry, my time is running out.
Yours alone,
Mistress Elizabeth Hardwick (Bess)
One sentence jumped out at him from the page:
William, I am determined to wed none but you!
God's death, how could she possibly be that innocent? Cavendish had taken it for granted that Bess knew he was already married. She was begging him for help, and a protective urge rose up in him. Perhaps he could take her to Ireland with him. He stuffed the letter back inside his doublet. He had other pressing matters to attend to, and it would be later in the day before he could pen a reply.
The moment Cavendish opened the front door, his daughter, Catherine, was there to greet him warmly.
“Cathy, how are you, my sweetheart?” He swung her into the air in a huge bear hug.
“I'm well, Father, but Eliza has been poorly again.”
“Don't be sad, sweetheart; Eliza won't change. I know she isn't robust, but I've come to suspect she rather enjoys her days in bed.”
Twelve-year-old Catherine flushed with relief. “Oh, I felt so guilty because I suspected the same thing.”
William Cavendish found it ironic that he had wed Eliza Parris to care for his motherless daughter, and almost from the beginning she had been the one who demanded care. Cavendish felt no guilt for not dancing attendance on Eliza. It had been a marriage of convenience, and she had never been much of a wife to him. He had provided her with a lovely house and dozens of servants, then looked elsewhere for his pleasure.
James Cromp had brought his luggage home hours ago, and when William entered his bedchamber, James had arranged hot water for his bath and laid out fresh garments.
William set Bess's letter beside his bed, and as he did so a vivid picture of her flashed into his mind. The dark eyes, so direct, her full lips, flaming hair, and luscious breasts formed an image that had been with him the entire time he had been in Dover. He heaved a sigh as he removed his clothes.
William found Eliza in her sitting room wrapped in a lap rug, sipping a tisane of chamomile. “I'm home,” he announced cheerfully, dismissing the two maids hovering about his wife.
“I couldn't fail to know you were home, William. Your voice is so loud it rattles the dishes, and when you stride about in your riding boots, the floorboards tremble.”
He bit back a caustic remark that she wouldn't have to put up with him much longer and, instead, set his back to the mantel and said, “I have been given a new post by the Crown, Eliza. It necessitates my traveling to Ireland for a year.”
She blinked rapidly as she digested how this would affect her. “I don't mind your going, William, but your daughter, Catherine, is getting to an age where she could become restless and precocious and need watching constantly. The responsibility is too heavy for me in my condition.”
“I have no intention of leaving Cathy here with you.” I don't want my child stifled, and that's just what she will be if I leave her here, entombed with you. “Since Catherine is espoused to Lord Cobham's son, I will arrange for her to join his household until she and young Thomas are old enough to be married in more than name.”
“An excellent arrangement. Thank you for your consideration, William. Would you put more coal on the fire before you go?”
William complied, wondering how on earth she could breathe in such suffocating heat.
He dispatched a note to Henry Brooke, Lord Cobham, to arrange a meeting later in the day, then sought out his daughter so they could spend a few hours together.
Cavendish enjoyed himself immensely. He and Cathy laughed away the afternoon as he indulged her every whim, buying her a harness with silver bells, for her palfrey, and a new fur cloak and hood.
“I would simply love a little neck ruff. Will you buy me one, Father?”
