Thomas Bolton swallowed his laughter, and only chuckled.
“I apologize, sister, for speaking the truth. I shall attempt to be more circumspect in the future. But I would have no prospective husband believing that I shall sit in my hall and weave at my loom while the bairns play about my feet,” Elizabeth said.
“Uncle! Reason with her!” Philippa said, distraught.
“Is Crispin planning on joining us, dear girl?” Thomas Bolton said instead.
“I do not know,” came the answer. “The responsibilities of Brierewode weigh heavily upon him. If everything he needs to do and to oversee is done in time, perhaps he will come to join us towards the middle of the month. A marriage is a partnership, Elizabeth. Crispin does his part, and that is why I come to court when I can to keep up our connections for the sake of our children. Being the Countess of Witton is not all frivolity and fetes, as you well know, Uncle. But Elizabeth should understand that God created husband and wife to serve their common good,” Philippa concluded.
“I find your instruction most interesting, sister,” Elizabeth said sweetly.
Amazing!Lord Cambridge thought.So she can be devious as well as direct. It would seem Elizabeth is a more complex girl than I had anticipated.
“I only want your happiness!” Philippa said, throwing her arms about her younger sibling and hugging her. “I am so happy with my husband, and I know Banon is happy with her Neville. I just want you to know that same happiness too.”
“You are most kind, sister, to come to court to help me,” Elizabeth said, “and were it not for the need of another generation for Friarsgate I believe I could be happy without a husband.”
“You are a most unnatural girl to say such a thing!” Philippa said indignantly. “It is only because you fear to lose your power over Friarsgate that you say it.”
“I shall not lose my autonomy,” Elizabeth replied quietly. “Any man who weds me must know that I am the heiress to Friarsgate, and while I will welcome his help, I will not be overruled.”
“We are never going to find a husband for her!” Philippa wailed as they entered the house. “What man of breeding and honor could put up with a wife like that, Uncle?”
“I do not know,” Lord Cambridge said, giving Elizabeth a wink of encouragement. “But tomorrow we shall go to court and begin to find out. Magical things happen on May Day, my dear girls.”
“Perhaps I am like you, Uncle,” Elizabeth said. “Perhaps I am not destined to find a mate at all.”
Philippa looked as if she were going to faint away with shock.
“Nay, my darling girl,” Thomas Bolton replied. “I do not think you will be like me. Somewhere in this world is a man who will love you, and put up with your pride, and be content to let you rule over your little kingdom. If we cannot find him here at court, we will eventually find him elsewhere. Philippa, dear girl, do not despair. All will be well. Am I not the uncle who makes magic for Rosamund and all her daughters?” He put his arms about the two young women, hugging them close. “Come now, my darlings, we must decide what it is we will wear tomorrow, that we may dazzle all around us.”
Chapter 5
Flynn Stewart looked across the lawns at Greenwich Palace. It was May Day, and the weather was perfect. The bright sun reflected on the silken swath of the river beyond the greens. A maypole had been set up, and a bevy of pretty young women were now dancing about it as a group of gaily clad musicians played a sprightly tune. Some of the dancers he recognized. Others he did not. The king was walking about greeting his guests. He was clad in his favorite Tudor green, and the cat-faced Mistress Boleyn was by his side. She too wore green, and her thick black hair flowed down her back. There was a wreath of flowers atop her shining dark head. Henry Tudor was in a jovial mood on his favorite of all holidays.
While not a diplomat, Flynn Stewart was at the English court at the behest of his half brother, King James V of Scotland. Officially his job was to carry any messages between King Henry and his nephew in Scotland. Unofficially he was his king’s eyes and ears. James Stewart did not trust any of the Tudors, including his own mother, now married to her third husband, Henry Stewart, Lord Methven. Yet he trusted Flynn Stewart, for not only were they half brothers, but Flynn had long since proven his loyalty to his late father’s house, though some thought it odd. While everyone knew that Flynn was the late king’s son, James IV had never officially acknowledged him, although he had insisted the boy bear his name.
“Flynn, lad, look there,” his friend Rees Jones murmured, and he pointed.
“Aye, a beauty,” Flynn agreed. “Who is she?”
“I don’t know. She’s new. But that is the Countess of Witton with her. I know her. Shall we go and be introduced?”
“How do you know the Countess of Witton?” Flynn asked his companion.
“We’re distantly related,” Rees said. “Her father was Welsh. His brother was my maternal grandfather. She’s a delightful woman, if a bit restrained.”
“In other words, you have considered seduction,” the Scot said.
“Philippa St. Clair is not the sort of woman you seduce,” Rees Jones replied. “She is one of the queen’s adherents. No. I like her sense of honesty and her wit, Flynn. Now, if we are to meet the exquisite creature in her company, we had best hurry, for new blood always attracts the gentlemen of the court.”
The two men strolled casually through the gardens until they had reached the place where Philippa stood with Thomas Bolton and Elizabeth.
“Cousin!” Rees greeted the Countess of Witton. “How are you, and who is this lovely lass by your side?” He smiled broadly, showing all his unusually fine white teeth.
Philippa held out her hand to be kissed as she replied, “Rees, how nice that you are here. This is my youngest sister, Mistress Elizabeth Meredith, come to court with our uncle, Lord Cambridge, of whom I have spoken. She is your relation too.” Philippa gave her sister a little poke to remind her to offer her hand to the gentlemen.
Elizabeth quickly picked up on the signal, holding out her hand to be saluted. Lord Cambridge was relieved to note the weeks of creaming had had their effect. It was an elegant hand. “And how are we related, sir?” Elizabeth asked Rees Jones.
