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NINETEEN
During the second week of August, Bess was kept busy uncrating, unpacking, and rearranging the furnishings at Bradgate. The modern red-brick palace was massive, with twenty bedchambers, so there was plenty of space to accommodate the pieces Frances had purloined from Chelsea.
Bess took a chamber high in the east wing, away from the family, where guests were usually accommodated. Because she was kept constantly busy, the days flew by swiftly, but her nights were almost unendurable. Alone in her bed, her body ached for William, and it took hours before she could fall asleep. Then, when she did sleep, her dreams were filled with his laughing face and his powerful body. She loved him and hated him at the same time. She silently cursed him, reviled him, and condemned him, yet all the while she longed for him.
Bradgate was set among orchards and pleasure gardens, with ornamental bridges across a trout stream, a wishing well, huge shade trees, and a long terrace filled with cushioned chairs. As Bess sat in the garden in the sun-filled August afternoons, she kept putting off making a decision about what to do. She went over and over her options, knowing her mind was running in circles that accomplished absolutely nothing. She knew the time had come when she must face facts.
She thought about ridding herself of the child and recoiled from that course of action. Yet Bess knew that in order to keep her position with the Greys, she would have to give up the child in one manner or another. She could have her baby in secret and pay to have it brought up in the country. Or she could swallow her pride and go home. Her family would help her; she could leave the child with them, where she knew it would be loved and where she could see it from time to time.
Suddenly Bess knew her pride wasn't the sticking point. It was her towering ambition that was making her decision so difficult. Her hands went to her belly. This wasn't her baby's fault. A fierce protectiveness gripped her. She loved it with a passion. Her child was part of her, mayhap the best part! She knew they were inseparable. She could no more farm it out than she could get rid of it. She realized that she was just as ambitious for her child as she was for herself.
She had achieved so much, climbing the social ladder one rung at a time, and just as she was about to reach her goal, fate had snatched away the ladder. For the second time all she had worked for in London would be lost. Her glorious plan for the future lay in ruin, and she would be plummeted back to where she had started. Well, she had survived before, and she would survive again, Bess told herself fiercely.
Her energy was so sapped, it was an effort for Bess to get up out of her chair. She had become so lethargic, she felt as if she were dragging one foot after the other. Somehow she managed to get through dinner, but as she sat playing cards with Frances and her guests, Bess began to yawn her head off. She felt so weary that all she wanted was to escape into blissful sleep.
Frances laughed at her. “ 'Tis this country air, darling; it is positively soporific. You've lost every single hand, Bess. Do retire and get some sleep.”
In her chamber Bess undressed slowly, opened the window wide, and climbed into bed. Tonight she was so drained, she fell asleep almost immediately.
Bess awakened, terrified. The room was empty, stripped bare. She ran downstairs and found the bailiffs carrying off everything she possessed in the world. She begged, pleaded, and cried, all to no avail. Outside, her meager belongings were being piled on a cart. She had been put out of the house and had nowhere to go. Fear washed over her in great waves. Panic choked her. When she turned around, the cart was gone, the Greys were gone, even Bradgate had vanished. Bess had lost everything she had in the world. The terror mounted until it engulfed her, the waves of fear almost drowned her. The hollow, empty feeling inside her belly was like ravenous hunger, only worse; her baby was gone! She was overwhelmed with helplessness, hopelessness.
Bess sat up in bed, awakened by her own scream. The darkness closed in about her, terrifying her. Her hand flew to her belly in a protective gesture, then with trembling fingers she lit the bedside candles. Relief washed over her; everything was as it should be. It was only the old recurring nightmare. She drew up her knees and put her head down, waiting for her heart to stop hammering, waiting for the fear to go away.
Bess lifted her head as her door slowly opened. Her heart slammed against her ribs as Cavendish came in. Was she still dreaming? A great tide of anger swept through her, dousing her fear. “Get out! How dare you enter my chamber? Get out, you swine!” She looked for something to throw at him, and her hand closed about the candelabra.
He saw her intent and closed the distance between them. “Bess, it's me, it's William.”
“I know who it is, for Christ's sake; only you would have the bare-faced gall!”
“What the devil is the matter?” he demanded, reaching out a comforting hand to stroke her hair.
Bess jerked her head away. “Don't touch me!” she cried.
Cavendish stood staring down at her. What in God's name had made her change her mind? It could only be the age difference. She was barely nineteen, while he would never see his fortieth birthday again.
“It is the middle of August!” she flung at him. “I haven't seen you since the last day of June! Once I yielded to you, you abandoned me!” She was panting with fury.
“Abandoned you? My own love, how could you think such an absurd thought? Surely, you never doubted me, Bess? I swore on my life I would never let you down again. I thought our trust in each other was absolute. It has been only seven weeks—hardly a decent mourning period, and I've been so busy, the days have flown past. I sold the old house and bought you a new one from our friend William Parr. I assumed you and Frances would be up to your eyes in plans.”
“Plans?” Bess said angrily.
“You have such definite ideas about the way you want things. You have a mind of your own and so much strength of purpose, I didn't dare make wedding plans for you.”
“You never once asked me to wed you!” she accused.
“Well, I'm asking you now. Would you like a festive Christmas wedding, sweetheart?”
“Christmas?” Bess was so dismayed, she slapped his face and burst into tears.
He took her into his arms and held her close. “Bess, what's wrong?”
“I'm having a baby,” she whispered.
His powerful arms tightened around her. “Oh, my precious love, no wonder you feel abandoned.” He rocked her gently and stroked her hair. He always thought of her as so self-assured, yet beneath her confident facade she was a mass of insecurities. He drew aside the covers. “Come on, get dressed.”
“Why?” She pulled away.
“We're going to get married.”
