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THREE
As Bess helped Lady Zouche dress for dinner, the older woman fretted, “I've no notion what I can wear tomorrow.”
“I packed your riding habit and a pair of your favorite boots, Lady Margaret.”
“You are so competent, Bess. However did you think of it?”
“Your daughters insisted I pack theirs. They said everyone rides at Chelsea.”
“I finally learned the reason Frances moved upriver this week. The king has moved the Court to Hampton, and she was afraid of missing something.”
“Hampton Court Palace,” Bess said with reverence. “How I would love to see it.”
“And so you shall, my dear. We are going there on Thursday. Little Lady Jane Grey has been invited to reside there and be tutored with the royal children. Frances wants to inspect their apartments and living quarters. She isn't sure if she will let her go this year or wait until next.”
“Lady Jane is very young,” Bess said, trying to contain the excitement she felt.
“She's the same age as Prince Edward, and the cousins are very fond of each other. The king thinks his son would benefit from a playmate. Surrounded by adults, he has become far too serious, like a little old man. Frances has confided that there is an understanding between her and the king to betroth the royal children if they seem suited, and of course if Lady Jane is to be Edward's future queen, it makes a good deal of sense to educate them together.”
Bess thought it was a match made in heaven, for Lady Jane reminded her of a little old woman, but she had more sense than to voice such an opinion.
“I think it's acceptable for you to dine with us, Bess. Frances has such liberal ideas, she doesn't expect her ladies to go to the servants' hall.”
“I'll take a tray with the girls, my lady, then see them safely to bed.” Bess knew she would never be able to eat with Cavendish's bold eyes on her. Let him wait and wonder where she was; it would do him good!
Two hours later Bess changed into a dark violet gown and pinned her curls high on the crown of her head. She had no jewels, but she did have a small fan she had embroidered with silk violets. She took the long way downstairs, stopping in each regal chamber to admire the treasures and furnishings displayed so elegantly here at Chelsea.
Bess had a deep and abiding passion for beautiful things. She stood before a medieval tapestry depicting a hunt scene and marveled that it had been lovingly preserved through the centuries. Royalty never let anything out of its clutches once it had been acquired. Bess understood such behavior. If ever she was fortunate enough to possess something of value and beauty, she would treasure it forever and ensure that it would be passed down to her children and her children's children.
She saw that the dining hall was empty and the company had moved into a long gallery lit by myriad candles. Music floated down from a minstrels' gallery. As she paused on the threshold, Bess pretended this all belonged to her … her liveried footmen serving wine, her musicians, her guests.
While Lady Frances was ordering the servants to set up card tables—she knew full well that men much preferred gambling to dancing—William Cavendish came up behind her and fondly slipped his arms around her. She smiled up at him. “What shall it be, whist?”
He put his lips close to her ear and murmured suggestively, “I want to play with her—the little redhead who just arrived. Be a darling and arrange it for me, Frances?”
“She is a rather tempting morsel.”
“She tempts me,” Cavendish admitted.
Frances was willing to indulge him. She liked Bess, the girl was unusually bright and high-spirited, and it would be diverting to watch the byplay and see how well she acquitted herself. Frances watched Bess seek out Lady Margaret, and a sly idea popped into her head immediately. Knowing how much her friend detested cards, Frances pounced on her. “We need a fourth for whist, Margaret.”
“No, no, I dislike the pasteboards. John should be here, somewhere.” She looked beseechingly at Bess. “Has Lord John arrived yet?”
“No, my lady.”
“Come, Margaret, it shall be Henry and I against you and Cavendish.”
Margaret paled. “I couldn't. I would try his patience beyond bearing.”
“Then perhaps Bess will help me out?”
“Yes, yes, Bess, do attend Lady Frances.”
“But I have no skill, my lady.”
“Nonsense, a clever girl like you will pick it up in a trice.” Frances took her arm and led Bess down the salon.
The two men greeted Bess, and Henry Grey, with his impeccable manners, helped her into a chair.
