As August came to an end Adair received an invitation from the duchess Anne to come for a visit at Middleham Castle. She was loath to go, as she felt there wastoo much to do before the winter, but Elsbeth and Albert insisted.
“It’s been a hard year for you, my chick,” Elsbeth said. “First you faced the difficulty of dealing with a husband you did not want; then he died, and now you have spent these last months overseeing everything here at Stanton. You have forgotten you are a lady. A visit with the duchess will remind you of your station. And you know the duke will be happy to see you, and you him.”
“And I will escort you,” Andrew Lynbridge said. “The duke will want a report on what we have done here at Stanton.”
“Perhaps you will not have to come back,” Adair said carelessly. Having been raised in a household made up mostly of women, and under the tutelage of Lady Margaret Beaufort, she resented Andrew Lynbridge’s interference in her life. She had been taught to be a capable manager of a large estate. But there was an air of authority about Andrew. Her servants deferred to him, even Albert. And Dark Walter adored him with a slav-ish devotion that grated upon Adair’s nerves.
“Perhaps,” he agreed pleasantly. He had been attempting for months to get close to the lady of Stanton, to win her favor, her friendship. But the truth was that he had been so busy with the walls and all that went with them, there had been little time for pleasantries.
And Adair had been just as busy overseeing the planting, the haying, her kitchen garden, making candles and soap, salting meat and fish, and preparing other foodstuffs that would be stored away for the winter. By day’s end they were both so tired there was little time left for banter, although sometimes they did play chess.
They traveled the few days south into Yorkshire, reaching Middleham on an early September day. The weather had been pleasant, as it usually was at this time of year.
The duchess welcomed Adair warmly. “I have beenwanting to see you for some weeks now,” she said, link-ing her arm through Adair’s as they walked into the hall. “How pretty you look. Orange tawny suits you. Did I see you were riding astride?”
“It’s more comfortable for me,” Adair admitted. “A bit hoydenish, Lady Margaret would have said, I fear.”She smiled. “You are looking well, your grace.”
“I have had a good year,” the duchess admitted. “The air here in the north is good for me, except in the winter when I remain indoors. Still, the quiet life suits me better than any other, Adair. How do you enjoy it? You have been back well over a year now.”
The two women sat down on a broad settle by one of the great hall’s hearths.
“I have never been busier in my life,” Adair admitted.
“The fate of Stanton and its people rests upon my shoulders now. I never realized how heavy a burden it would be, and yet I am happier than I have ever been in my life.”
“It is unfortunate, then, that your husband was killed,” the duchess said.
“FitzTudor? He was no husband to me but in name,”Adair replied. “And his pride was such that he was more trouble to me than help. I have never known so ignorant a boy. He could but scrawl his name, and could not read.
He truly believed that he had been brought into this world to be served. He had no useful skills and knew nothing of managing an estate of any size. I was planning to return him to the king when he was slain. I am shocked he was not better educated or trained. He got himself killed.”
“Yet it was a gallant gesture,” the duchess said softly.
“Gallant? Aye. But foolish. He had no skill with a sword, poor lad,” Adair replied. “Still, in death he received what he could not get in life. I buried him next to my parents, and the stone marking his grave states he was Earl of Stanton.”
“Still,” the duchess said, “you must have a husband,Adair. How old are you now? Seventeen, if I recall correctly, and still a virgin.”
“But just last month,” Adair defended herself, blushing.
“I was fourteen when I married Prince Edward,” the duchess remarked. “And sixteen when I wed my
Dickon. Our Neddie was born when I was seventeen.
Like me you have lost a first husband tragically. You must remarry.”
“Why?” Adair said pettishly. This was not a subject with which she was comfortable. Could she not be allowed time for herself?
“Why, for Stanton, my dear,” the duchess said. “Stanton must have an heir.”
“But who would marry me?” Adair wanted to know.
“I am far from court, and I will not wed a man I do not know, or like, or, most important, respect. The king sent me poor FitzTudor, and I despised him on sight. Only good fortune saved me from a lifetime of misery. I cannot go through that again, my lady Anne.”
“You know Andrew Lynbridge,” the duchess said.
“He is most eligible. I do not know if you like him, but certainly you respect him.”
“Andrew? Is that why Uncle Dickon sent him to Stanton? So I would consider him worthy to be my husband?” She laughed. “How clever of him.”
