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When Bess returned to Court, she learned there was to be a masque that night. The theme was “The Forest,” and Mary Sidney helped her with a costume. “With your red hair you will make a perfect vixen. I have a wonderful mask with pointed black ears, and I have a real foxtail too. You will make all the ladies mad with envy, for I warrant most of the men will be hunters.”
When Bess arrived in the ballroom, she was not really in the mood for hijinks, because she knew she would have to face Syntlo and give him her answer. As she exchanged barbs with the Dudleys and the Parrs, she felt quite melancholy. Everywhere there were couples, and Bess seemed to be the only exception. Even the queen kept her possessive hand on Robin Dudley tonight.
Bess helped herself to a third cup of wine from a liveried footman and wandered along the gallery away from the dancers. Suddenly a man in a hunter's mask blocked her path. She knew who it was the moment his tall shadow fell across her.
“Is it true?” he demanded. His blue eyes glittered like ice through the slits in the mask.
Bess stared at him wide-eyed, wondering wildly how he knew.
Talbot's powerful hands took hold of her shoulders and he shook her. “Is it true?” he repeated. He did not even try to hide the fury he felt. “Did St. Loe propose marriage?”
Bess's anger flared hotly. How dare he stalk her continually, making it his business to know everything about her? “Do you find it so difficult to believe that a man wants me for his wife, rather than his mistress?”
“You set a high price on yourself! No bedding without a wedding!”
“Some men are willing to pay it.”
“God damn you, Bess, you are doing this to spite me!”
“I am not—”
“I forbid it! Do you hear me, Vixen, I forbid it!”
“Forbid?” she cried passionately. “You black beast, you think you are God all-bloody-mighty, ordering the world and everyone in it!” The wine bloomed like a dark red rose in her breast.
“Be silent and listen to me!” he thundered.
“You autocratic swine—you love to be the all-powerful master! Well, let me tell you this much, sir, you won't master me. I shall marry whomever I please!”
“He's another old man! What the hell is the matter with you, Bess, that makes you wed these father figures?”
Bess gasped. She was about to fly at his face when she became aware of the attention they were attracting. She lowered her voice, trying to cloak herself in dignity. “St. Loe is a gentleman, something you will never be.”
“You think marrying a gentleman will make you a lady?”
Her eyes blazed with triumph. “Yes, it will make me Lady Elizabeth St. Loe.”
His voice lowered and he said with quiet resignation, “You will live to regret it, Vixen.”
Bess walked briskly back to the ballroom, hoping no one had recognized her in the ridiculous mask. She slipped into an alcove, unpinned the foxtail from her derriere, and removed the face mask. When she emerged, the first person she saw was St. Loe. “William, I've been looking everywhere for you,” she lied.
He smiled at her tenderly, hope shining in his eyes. “Does that mean your answer is yes?”
“Of course it is yes. Did you ever doubt it for a moment?”
“Oh, Bess … you've made me the happiest man on earth.”
“Are congratulations in order?” an arch voice asked coyly.
Bess's mouth went dry and her heartbeat drummed in her ears as Syntlo answered the queen. “Your Majesty, the lady has just consented to be my wife.”
As Lord Robert Dudley offered hearty congratulations , the queen announced to the room at large, “My dearest friend Lady Cavendish is about to be wed to my captain of the guard, Sir William St. Loe. The wedding shall be here at Court!”
Bess did not get off-duty until three in the morning. Back in her own chamber, she lay in bed, wishing for the oblivion of sleep to overtake her, but of course it proved elusive. At what point had she lost control of the situation? It was as if fate had taken her by the hand and snatched the decision away from her.
“Damn you to hellfire, Talbot!” she whispered, knowing if they hadn't had their near-brawl, she would have given St. Loe a very different answer. Bess shivered, still feeling his hands on her, reliving the intensity of his emotions. They had such passionate, clashing personalities, it was a wonder they hadn't murdered each other.
He had accused her of marrying father figures. Was there any truth to the charge? Bess, always brutally honest with herself, admitted that she had certainly looked up to Sir William Cavendish, and during the early years of their marriage, she had hung on his every word as he taught her how to buy land, how to run an estate, how to build Chatsworth and become a hardheaded business-woman. And there was no way to deny that he had been more than twenty years her senior. But there had been a strong sexual attraction between them, and she had loved him with all her heart.
Bess examined her relationship with Sir William St. Loe. She was not in love with him, but her affection for him was genuine. It was her children who needed a father; she certainly did not. She was a competent woman, with intelligence, courage, and confidence. Talbot was wrong; she needed no father figure!
It would be a good marriage because she would make it so. Above all she vowed that she must never, ever regret it. She would not allow Talbot's prophecy to come true. Bess had made her decision for better or for worse.
