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EIGHTEEN
In the bed Bess sat cradled between William's legs, a most comfortable position for talking and sipping wine from the loving cup they shared. Though her body felt replete, her mind was already anticipating and dreading the hour they would have to part. “When must you leave?”
She felt his lips glide down her neck, then felt his warm breath fan her shoulder. “Tomorrow. Bess, it will be for only a short time, then we can be together always.”
“As soon as I get back, come to me at Suffolk House.”
“I shouldn't. I want to protect you from gossip; it can be so vicious. If it was known we were already cohabiting, we could be accused of taking a hand in my wife's death.”
“No one would believe such a thing!” she said, outraged.
“The Court thrives on gossip. Did you not hear the rumor that Catherine Parr poisoned the king?”
Bess turned onto her stomach so she could look up at him. “If I'd been wed to Harry, I, too, would have poisoned him.” Her sultry laugh rang out.
He kissed her to stop her treasonous words. “Never say that outside this bed.”
Bess suddenly sobered. “What if St. Loe spreads it about the Court that we were here together?”
“Sir William St. Loe is a gentleman or he wouldn't have been chosen to guard Elizabeth. He would never besmirch a lady's reputation.”
“It doesn't seem fair that Elizabeth cannot have the man she loves.”
“Tom Seymour wants only the power she can give him.”
“How do you know he doesn't love her madly?”
“Because he asked the council for permission to wed either princess—Elizabeth or Mary.”
Bess was deeply shocked. “My God, how could he? Both the princess and Seymour know about us.”
“Don't fret, my love; they'll all know soon enough.”
“Most of them already know. Frances is probably making wedding plans.”
“Well, I think we should wait a month before we are seen openly together.”
“A month?” she wailed. “Two weeks—promise me you will come to me in a fortnight!”
He gathered her close, stroking her beautiful hair. “A fortnight, I promise—if I can hold out that long.”
The following day neither of them could bear to part, so they stole an extra night together. But despite the powerful strength of their feelings for each other, they could not hold back the dawn. Like a loving wife and dutiful chatelaine, Bess was up and dressed in time to break their fast together and to see William and James Cromp depart for London.
Uncaring of who observed them, Cavendish swept her into his arms in the courtyard. “I have a hundred things awaiting my attention, sweetheart. Thank you for these precious days at Northaw. I adore you, Bess.”
She was devastated at the parting but kept her emotions hidden from him. She gave him a brilliant smile as he took the reins from Cromp and swung into the saddle. Bess stood waving until he was out of sight, feeling utterly forlorn. Then she realized how ridiculous she was. She was no longer a girl, she was a woman, the luckiest in the world, with a lifetime of happiness before her.
Bess swept up the steps into Northaw, thinking of at least a dozen things she must accomplish before she packed for London. By the time she reached the servants' hall she was already humming a merry tune.
“Bess, thank God you are back. I've been trying to pack for Bradgate, but I make such a bollix of everything. You will restore order from chaos. What the hellfire I'll do without you, I'll never know. When is the wedding, by the way?”
Henry protested vigorously. “For Christ's sake, Frances, the woman's corpse isn't cold yet!”
Frances waved her hand dismissively. “ 'Tis the fashion for widows to remarry quickly, and Bess has been a widow for over two years.”
“But Cavendish hasn't been a widower. The funeral was only four days ago!”
“Five, but who's counting?” Frances drawled.
