Prologue
FRIARSGATE
Winter 1530
“You are going to court,” Rosamund Bolton Hepburn said firmly to her daughter, Elizabeth Meredith, in a tone that ordinarily no one challenged.
“I am not!” Elizabeth answered back in a tone that all listening knew boded ill for the conversation.
“You have to have a husband, Elizabeth,” Rosamund replied, an edge to her voice. This was a conversation they had both been avoiding for some time now.
“Why?” Elizabeth demanded. “Have I not shown that I am capable of managing Friarsgate, Mother? A husband would want to take my authority for himself, and I will not allow it. Friarsgate is mine, and it has been since the day I turned fourteen.”
“That was almost eight years ago,” Rosamund countered. “You will be twenty-two in a few months, Elizabeth. We have to find you a husband before it is too late, if it is not already too late.”
“Why?” Elizabeth said again, and this time her hazel-green eyes grew angry.
“You are a perfectly competent mistress of Friarsgate,” Rosamund began. “Indeed, you are doing a better job than even I did. But one day you will not be here, and who is to take over the Friarsgate inheritance then if you have no heirs or heiresses to follow you? Be reasonable, Elizabeth. You need a husband to sire children upon you.”
“Banon and her Neville have children. Philippa and her earl have children. I will leave it to whomever of them I feel is the right heir or heiress,” Elizabeth said.
“Banon has only one son, and he will one day inherit Otterly. He will not want—nor does he need—Friarsgate. Philippa’s sons would never suit. The eldest will be the earl one day. The second is a page in Norfolk’s household. The third is intended for a place in Princess Mary’s household. As for the baby, he will make a great match for Mary Rose one day. Like their parents, my St. Clair grandchildren are creatures of the court. You have no choice, Elizabeth. You must marry.”
Elizabeth Meredith sighed deeply.
“Is there any young man hereabouts who pleases you?” Rosamund gently asked. “If there is, speak up so that we may arrange the match between you. I do not want you unhappy, daughter. Both your sisters have married for love. I would give you the same privilege if it is possible.” Reaching out, she took her daughter’s hand in hers in a gesture of comfort. Of her three Meredith daughters Elizabeth was the one who looked like her father, with her soft blond hair and her hazel-green eyes. Rosamund could always see Owein in Elizabeth eyes, and while Owein had not been considered particularly handsome, his daughter was indeed a beauty. At least she was when her face was clean.
“Who would I know, Mother?” Elizabeth said. “Friarsgate is large, and it is isolated. I have no time for the niceties of society. I am too busy with my lands.”
“Then you must go to court to seek a husband,” Rosamund replied. “You have no other choice. You are too old to be a maid of honor, and I cannot ask the queen to take you on as one of her ladies. You have no skills for such a position. You will have to stay with Philippa and Crispin. They go to court for the month of May, and can introduce you into society there. May is a wonderful time at court. I remember it well.”
“God’s wounds!” Elizabeth swore softly. “You would have me stay with Philippa? You know we do not get along, Mother. She is so high-flown you would think she sprang from a duke’s loins, and not those of a simple Welsh knight. And she always brings out the worst in me. I try not to let her aggravate me, but it takes less than a few moments, and I am ready to throttle her. It is hard to believe we are sisters with the same sire and mam,” Elizabeth said with a shake of her head.
“I have no choice but to send you to Philippa,” Rosamund responded.
“Yes, you do! Don’t make me go!” Elizabeth said with a grin.
Rosamund laughed. “Bessie”—she chuckled—“what am I to do with you?”
Bessie. Her childhood name. Elizabeth allowed few to address her by it these days. It was infantile, and not a proper name for the heiress of Friarsgate. She was Elizabeth Julia Anne Meredith now. Not Bessie. “If you would make me go, could not Uncle Thomas take me the way he did Philippa and Banon? He still retains his London house, and the house at Greenwich. He and Will were speaking of a foray south at Twelfth Night. It seems that Banon’s noisy household is beginning to grate on his nerves. And it is at least three years since his last visit to court.”
“He swore he would never go again,” Rosamund noted to her daughter.
“Uncle Thomas always says that when he returns home. But then several years go by, and he begins to long for the color, the excitement, and the delicious gossip that only the court can offer him. And let us not forget his London tailor,” Elizabeth said dryly. “He always comes back with the most magnificent wardrobes that he may both dazzle and shock the local gentry around Otterly.”
“I don’t know,” Rosamund said slowly.
“Please, Mother! As it is, spring is a dreadful time for you to send me away, but I will go quietly if Uncle Thomas can take me. But I shall not go to Philippa’s. I won’t!”
“You will if I say you will,” Rosamund answered her daughter. The conversation, pleasant for a few moments, was beginning to degenerate again into a battle of wills.
“How will you make me?” Elizabeth challenged her mother. “Will you have me trussed up like one of my lambs and delivered to Brierewode? And after that what? And if Philippa drags eligibles into my presence I shall belch, fart, speak with a broad North Country accent, and make myself generally undesirable. I doubt she could last a month with me, and will send me packing back home as quickly as she can. Besides, she gave up Friarsgate because no court gentleman would have an heiress with a Cumbrian estate. What makes you think I can do any better? And I shall not give up Friarsgate, Mother.”
Rosemund glared at her daughter. She had absolutely no doubt that Elizabeth would behave exactly as she threatened if sent to Philippa’s unwillingly. But if Lord Cambridge escorted his young relative then perhaps, just perhaps, there might be the chance of Elizabeth snagging a husband with whom they could all live. Philippa and Crispin would be their entrée into the court, but Thomas Bolton would be Elizabeth’s guardian, adviser, and protector. Even as he had been for her those many years ago, and then her two oldest daughters, Rosamund considered. “I will ask Tom then,” she conceded, “but swear to me, Elizabeth, that you will follow his advice, and obey him. He is hardly a young man now, and if he agrees to do this for you, you cannot embarrass or defy him.”
“Uncle Thomas and I have always gotten on well, Mother,” Elizabeth said, “even if Banon is his favorite. I was Glenkirk’s favorite. I still remember him, you know.”
“Do you?” Rosamund said, and pulled herself up from her seat. “I must get back to Logan, and my laddies,” she said. “I’ll write Tom now before I go, and Edmund will see it delivered to Otterly.” She bent and kissed Elizabeth’s cheek. “We will see whomever you wed must defer to your authority here, Bessie. I promise you that. You are a good mistress for Friarsgate.”
