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EIGHT
In spite of the fact that Robert Barlow had told Bess he was not afraid to die, he was afraid after witnessing how ravaged his father had become before he took his last breath. Yet he had not lied overmuch. With Bess beside him the ordeal would be less frightening. Though his mother would not accept it, Robert feared he suffered from the same malady as his father. It was a chronic distemper of the lungs that steadily debilitated the body until the coughing spasms brought forth black-blooded sputum, which was disgustingly foul.
It was a fateful day for Robert Barlow; not only had he lost his father to death, he had gained his heart's desire. Tumultuous emotions warred within him, taking him to the brink of collapse. Gratitude toward Bess almost undid him as she helped him up the stairs to his bedchamber.
Robert was thankful it was a spacious, comfortable room with a fireplace, since from now on it would have to accommodate two. He sat on the bed, exhausted, drained of every drop of his energy. As if Bess knew exactly how he felt, she began to undress him. When she knelt to remove his boots, he felt humbled. Tears flooded his eyes as he looked down upon her beloved red head.
On a sob he asked, “Bess, how can this be the unhappiest, yet the happiest day of my life?”
Bess rose, sat on the bed beside him, and gathered him into her arms. “Rob, we have fateful days when both good and bad things can happen … things that alter our lives. There is absolutely nothing more you can do for your father, he's in God's hands.” You, however, are in my hands, she thought with silent resolution. “I want you to rest and regain your strength.” She finished undressing him in her capable manner, tucked the covers about him, then restoked the fire.
“Bess, don't leave me.”
She came back to the bed and once more enfolded him against her breast. Suddenly, he couldn't hold it in any longer. He began to sob out his heart, and Bess held him tightly, giving him her strength, her comfort, and her love.
When Robert slept, Bess went downstairs. It was midafternoon and her family was still there. Marcella had helped to wash and lay out Arthur Barlow, and Ralph and James had gone to the barn to milk the Barlow cows. Jane slipped her hand into Bess's and squeezed. Meanwhile, Reverend Rufus was making arrangements with the widow for Arthur Barlow's burial.
They stopped talking as Mistress Barlow stared at Bess with hard eyes. “ 'Tis indecent—you couldn't wait to get him into bed!”
Bess was shocked at her implication. She looked directly into her mother-in-law's eyes. “Robert is ill. I shall do my best to nurse him back to health. I would like your cooperation.”
Marcella, who had been holding her tongue for hours, declared, “Bess is right. You will be burying your son alongside his father unless you open your eyes.” She turned to Bess's mother. “I'll go back and see that the girls get their supper.”
“I'll come with you,” Bess said. “I must get my things.”
“We'll all go; I think Mistress Barlow needs a little peace and quiet,” Elizabeth Hardwick said firmly.
When they arrived home Bess immediately went upstairs to pack. Rogue Cavendish's letter still lay on the bedside table. Bess snatched it up and tore it in half, then thought better of destroying it completely and placed it at the bottom of her trunk.
She folded her clothes, then, as an afterthought, picked up her long-forgotten doll Esmeralda, who had been passed on to her younger sisters. She realized the doll was a representation of herself. She had named her Lady Ponsonby, hoping someday to become a titled lady in her own right. How naive she had been. Bess put the doll into the trunk, closed the lid, and stared down at it. Everything she owned in the world was in that chest.
Her mother slipped into the room. “Bess, how can I ever, ever thank you? You are so kind and unselfish, I can't believe it.”
I'm not! I'm the most selfish female in the world. Thank God you cannot hear my thoughts.“Don't ever lose that paper Mistress Barlow signed. She can never press charges against Ralph so long as you have it safe in your possession!”
Marcella entered the bedroom as her mother left. “Bess, what can I say, child? You won't get much comfort out of this marriage, except knowing you've given Elizabeth and Ralph peace of mind.”
“It is Robert who needs comfort.”
“And you will give it to him, in full measure.” Marcella drew her close and kissed her brow. “My dearest Bess, sometimes our destinies are played out in strange ways. … All things come at their appointed time. You are so young, you have your whole life before you. Perhaps if you give now, someday you will attain your heart's desire.”
Bess Barlow now had a mission. She set about restoring her young husband's health and making his life more pleasant. She demanded an extra room next to their bed-chamber and turned it into a comfortable sitting room. She spent most of her time with Robert, except for attending her sister Jane's wedding and a weekly visit with her family. She prepared his meals, rubbed his chest, dosed him with herbal possets, and amused him to keep his spirits from flagging.
Bess became everything to Robert: mother, nurse, friend, companion, everything except wife. He never attempted to consummate their marriage, and Bess told herself that it was because Robert was younger than she and his body was not yet physically mature. Although Rob was tall, he was extremely thin and underdeveloped in muscle and other male attributes.
Bess realized that she would never have known this if she had not seen that bold devil, George Talbot, stark naked by the River Thames last summer. She could not help but make a comparison between the two young men. Never would she have believed that two males of approximately the same age could be so physically disparate, if she had not seen them with her own eyes!
Talbot's arms and shoulders were sleekly muscled, as were his slim hips. Dark hair covered his chest. She remembered that his legs—and thighs too—had bulged with muscles. But it was what had risen up from between those thighs that left an indelible impression on her innocence. It had been her first encounter with a naked, aroused male.
Remembering the way the devil had enjoyed shocking her, Bess shuddered. How very thankful she was that her fair young husband represented no threat whatsoever to her. Robert worshiped Bess in every way; he was simply not robust enough to consummate the marriage, and in a way Bess felt relieved that it was so.
It was no secret that Robert adored his beautiful wife, and as a result his mother became excessively jealous. She spoke spitefully to Bess but was careful not to antagonize her daughter-in-law too far. There was something intimidating about the redheaded young woman who was responsible for safeguarding the Barlow estate.
When the Court of Wards had stepped in, they hadn't been able to touch Bess's marriage portion, which consisted of one third of the estate, and the remaining two thirds in question became secure when Godfrey Boswell, Jane's new husband, bought Robert Barlow's wardship.
Robert's health remained poor all winter, but when spring arrived it began to improve. By May he was able to accompany his wife on short rides, and they attended the wedding of Bess's younger sister, Alice, to Francis Leche of Chatsworth, who was the nephew of her stepfather, Ralph. They rested their horses on the summit of the hill before descending to Chatsworth. “Rob, that is the most beautiful piece of land I've ever seen in my life,” Bess declared, filling her lungs with spring air as if it were the elixir of life.
Chatsworth was green and lush, and the River Derwent circled to the west like a glittering, silver ribbon, while Sherwood Forest lay close on the east. “I often came up here when I was a little girl and pretended that someday I would build a fairy-tale castle down there.”
