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The excitement was back in her eyes. “I'll be ready at dawn!”
“Treasury business keeps me in London tomorrow; the following day will be better.” He slipped his arm about her and hugged her close. “I'm glad to see you are so eager for new experiences.”
Bess blushed, knowing this was another step in the mating dance.
Two days later the small riding party was blessed with late January sunshine on their ride to St. Albans. William's secretary, Robert Bestnay, accompanied them. They took the main road north, and the city of London soon gave way to the patchwork fields of the gentle countryside.
Cavendish was delighted that Bess easily kept pace with him. His job had always entailed long hours in the saddle, and he was inured to arduous journeys. The previous day he had arranged to have a wagonload of choice victuals, game birds, and French wines sent to the Abbot of St. Albans to ensure them a warm welcome. He took Bess directly to Northaw so he could gauge her reaction before he began his negotiations.
In the walled courtyard he lifted her from the saddle and led her through the studded doors of the country manor house. “I want you to tell me what you think of this place.”
Bess stripped off her riding gloves and went into the large hall, where the blazing fire was a welcome sight. As she warmed her hands, her eyes roamed the large chamber with appreciation. Its ceiling was vaulted with carved oak beams, and the tables and benches were carved from matching dark oak. There were two parlors off the hall, one for private dining and one for sitting. Both had linenfold paneling and beautifully carved fireplaces. Behind them was a huge kitchen, gleaming with copper utensils.
Even the staircase was a thing of beauty, curving upward from its ancient, carved newel post. On the second floor were eight bedchambers, whose leaded casement windows looked down onto the gardens.
William came up behind Bess as she looked out a window that faced west. “Those are the Chiltern Hills.” He took her hand and led her into a bedchamber with an eastern view. “Over there, perhaps four miles away, is the Lady Elizabeth's Hatfield.”
“Really? I wonder how she could ever bear to leave such lovely countryside.” Bess sighed and leaned back against him. “This is such a perfect house; I am quite envious of whoever owns it. Why is it vacant?”
“The Abbey of St. Albans leased it out, but the rent wasn't paid, so the lease is in dispute at the moment.”
“What a pity; a house like this should be lived in and cherished,” she said wistfully.
He turned her to face him and ran his fingertip along her cheekbone. “Bess, could you be happy here?”
She drew in a swift breath, and he saw her eyes fill with eager questions. Before she could voice any of them, he covered her mouth with his in a kiss that marked her as belonging to him alone. He captured her hand again, laughing down at her as he saw her eyes dart possessively about the chamber. “Come with me and listen quietly while I secure Northaw as our country manor.”
At the abbey Bess met the abbot, and Sir William did not correct the churchman when he welcomed her as Lady Cavendish. With amused eyes William watched her blush. Over lunch Bess sat quietly sipping her malmsey as William and his secretary, Robert Bestnay, conducted business with a swiftness that took her breath away.
“As you know, Sir Abbot, I am commissioned by the Crown for the dissolution and surrender of religious houses. When I came last week, I was prepared to do just that. I surveyed the lands and took an inventory of the contents of the abbey and its properties, and technically all that remains to be done is transfer the property to the Crown.”
When the abbot threw him a desperate look, William commiserated with him. “Religion is the overriding problem of our times, my friend, but the Throne and the Court are staunchly Protestant, and as a result the Catholic cause must suffer.”
“Can we at least try to recover the rents owed to us on our leases?”
“I'm afraid you owe that money to the Crown also. It amounts to quite a considerable sum.” Cavendish signaled Robert Bestnay, who showed the abbot the tally. The look on the abbot's face turned from desperate to hopeless.
“Somehow this doesn't seem fair,” Cavendish said gravely. “Since I am given considerable leeway in these matters, I could give you a year's grace while you try to recuperate some of your losses”—William paused until hope returned to the abbot's face, then he continued— “though I am well aware how seldom these debts are ever collected.” The abbot looked hopeless once more.
William gave the impression that he was wrestling with his conscience. “I'll tell you what. Write out new leases renting all of St. Alban's lands and properties to the Crown for one year. I shall see that those rents are paid to you personally. When the leases expire after one year, St. Albans will revert to the Crown.”
“The rents will be paid to me personally?” the abbot repeated, not quite believing his good fortune.
“You have my guarantee, Sir Abbot.” William turned to his secretary. “How much is owed on the Northaw manor house, Bestnay?”
“Sixty pounds, Sir William.”
“If you give me the deed to the Northaw property so its ownership can be transferred immediately, I will give you the money owed on it this very day.”
The abbot broke out in a relieved sweat. “Sir William, how can I ever thank you?”
“There is no need for that, my good man. I just want you to feel that the Crown has dealt fairly with you.”
On the ride back to London, the afternoon shadows lengthened and Bess drew her silver-fox cloak more closely about her. “Rogue, explain to me exactly what you did back there and exactly how such a thing can be legal.”
“You look chilled, sweetheart. Come ride with me and I'll warm you.”
Bess gave the reins of her horse to Robert Bestnay, and Rogue lifted her before him. He slipped his arm possessively about her, and she snuggled back against the warmth of his broad chest. His wide shoulders, clad in black leathers, blocked the cool wind, and he put his lips against her ear. “Whether the means I used are legal troubles neither myself nor Henry Tudor.”
