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TWENTY-FIVE
On New Year's Day George Talbot was ushered from the Privy Chamber into the queen's private rooms the moment he arrived. Elizabeth was sitting at one of her desks. “By God's precious blood, you took your own sweet time getting here, my Lord Talbot!”
He grinned at her. “It's lovely to see you too, madam. You make it sound as if you cannot manage without me.”
“Well, I can! What the devil do I need you for now that I am queen?”
“Apart from my moneybags, I can't think of a thing.” His grin was infuriating.
“Why would I need your moneybags?” she demanded imperiously.
“Because the treasury is bankrupt, because you have to pay for the war with France, the upcoming war with Scotland, and this bloody fancy coronation you are planning.”
Elizabeth began to laugh. “You are an insolent hound, Talbot; you will never make a courtier, but God's death you speak the truth, Old Man. There won't even be a coronation unless we can find a Catholic bishop with enough guts to crown me.”
“They've all refused?”
“Yes, plague take them!”
“I'll send immediately for Oglethorpe, Bishop of Carlisle.”
“You think he'll be willing?”
“He had better be; he owes his living to Shrewsbury.”
“Thank you, my lord, that's a blessed relief. Cecil was at his wit's end. How is Shrewsbury?”
“My father is frail. I'm acting lord lieutenant and acting chief justice, in the north. It's too much for him these days.”
“I'm very sorry, George, but you'll have to take his place on the privy council as well. I have dismissed over forty councillors who served Mary. I need men I can trust.”
“Stick the broom up my arse and I'll sweep the throne room too.”
Elizabeth laughed. She liked a man whose salty vocabulary matched her own. “Oh, I know you are a rarity, George, and the most enterprising industrialist in the realm, but you couldn't run your vast financial empire without a competent staff to conduct business in your absence.”
“That is only because I chose them, I trained them, and I rule them with an iron hand. I advise you to do the same, Your Majesty. Start out as you mean to carry on.”
“At last you give me my due title, you hound. Does that mean you will pay for my coronation?”
“I will speak to Paulet,” he conceded, without committing himself. “The treasury is in chaos, the coffers empty. His staff is completely incompetent, Your Majesty.”
“I am keeping Paulet as lord treasurer only because he has held that post since my father appointed him, but I will take your advice and dismiss everyone else in the treasury. Is there anything else you would advise?”
“Lady Cavendish owes the Crown five thousand pounds. It would be most generous if you reduced her debt.”
“But the treasury needs money, you said so yourself!”
“Your Majesty, Bess Hardwick is our friend. Cavendish not only left her a widow with six children, he left her in financial ruin. Her back is against the wall. Reduce her debt to a thousand pounds and I'll pay for your bloody fancy coronation.” He knew Elizabeth down to her fingertips. He was quite aware that she would add the four thousand to the coronation bill, and that suited him well enough. Bess would never accept the money from him.
During the next two weeks, Bess was much relieved that Lord Talbot did not pursue her openly. Even in the Privy Chamber, where only intimates were allowed, he did not flirt with Bess or engage in titillating banter. He always addressed her as Lady Cavendish and showed her every respect.
But if he was masked at a ball or if he came upon her alone in a distant part of Westminster Palace, he behaved quite differently with her. His manner became intimate and intense. He closed the distance between them swiftly and took possession of her hand. Once he even touched her hair. Whenever she was poised for flight, he held her fast. “Bess, stop ignoring me; I don't dismiss so easily.”
“What is it you want, Lord Talbot?” she demanded in desperation. It was the third time he had caught her in an empty chamber in as many days.
“I want to make love to you.”
His words were so direct, they shocked her. His fierce blue eyes darkened with desire, and Bess felt her knees turn to water as she gazed up into his dark, handsome face. And then his mouth came down on hers in a kiss that was so demanding, she reeled from its impact and yielded her lips until he drank from them. She slowly came to her senses. “No!” she said against his mouth and brought her fists up to beat against his chest. It was so hard, she might have been pounding the stone walls of the palace. He was all male, rugged and virile—like Cavendish, Bess told herself wildly; that was the only reason she responded to him!
