“As if you should have to tell me such a thing,” Maybel muttered as she made her way from the hall to find her husband. Thank God Rosamund was sending for her older cousin to help in the matter. Tom Bolton would know just what to do, unlike Rosamund’s husband who would simply lose his temper.
Thomas Bolton, Lord Cambridge arrived from his estates at Otterly two days later.
“What is the emergency that I have been summoned to come with such haste?” he asked his cousin. “The children are alright, aren’t they? And where is that reckless Scots husband of yours, cousin?”
“Logan is at Claven’s Cam seeing to a strengthening of the defenses. The border has been unruly ever since Queen Margaret was driven from Scotland,” Rosamund replied. “The children are fine. It is Philippa with whom we have difficulty, Tom. I need your advice and counsel badly. Giles FitzHugh is entering the priesthood.”
“Jesu and all the beautiful angels in heaven!”Thomas Bolton swore. “And now our lass is left high and dry, having just turned fifteen, without prospects. ’Tis a caddish thing to do. Surely the lad might have given us more warning. These churchmen are so thoughtless. All that seems to concern them is God, and amassing great wealth.”
“Uncle Richard should not like to hear you saying such a thing,” Rosamund laughed. Then she grew more somber. “What am I to do, Tom? Oh, I know, another husband must be found for my daughter, but how will I go about that? We had an earl’s son for Philippa. How will we do as well again? And to make matters worse my daughter is threatening to take the veil!”
Thomas Bolton burst out laughing, and he laughed until the tears rolled down his face, staining his elegant velvet doublet. “Philippa? A nun?” He laughed some more even as he brushed away the evidence of his humor. “Philippa has too great a love for the good life and for beautiful things to allow her disappointment to drive her to a convent,” Lord Cambridge finally said. “Of all your daughters, dearest cousin, Philippa was always my best pupil. Her knowledge of gemstones astounds even me, and the finely woven woolen underskirts she wears in the winter must always each be protected by a layer of silk lest her fragile skin be chafed. The rough linen robes of a holy woman would certainly not do for our Philippa. Well, dear girl, there is nothing for it. She must come home until the ignominious fate Giles FitzHugh has left her to can be forgotten. Send a message back to court to that effect, directed to the queen. Certainly Katherine will understand, and be gracious enough to welcome Philippa back to her service at some later date. In the meantime I must think on possible matches for our lass. She is ripe for marriage now, but if we allow too much time to pass her chances will be gone.”
Rosamund nodded. “I agree. Of course when Logan learns of Philippa’s predicament he will begin suggesting all the sons of the men he knows.”
“No Scot will do for Philippa,” Tom Bolton said, shaking his head. “She is too in love with her life at the court of King Henry, and more English surely than you are, cousin.”
“I know,” Rosamund agreed, “but you will have to help me with my husband, cousin. You know how obdurate Logan can get when he sets his mind on something.”
“The trick, dear girl,” Lord Cambridge answered her, “is not to let it get that far with your bold Scot.” He chuckled. “Do not fear. I know how to handle Logan Hepburn.”
“Indeed you do,” Rosamund laughed, “and Logan would be most annoyed if he realized it, Tom.”
“Well, I shall certainly not tell him,” Tom Bolton said with a wink. “In the meantime what does the queen say, other than she will make an attempt to find another husband for Philippa? This is not something I would choose to leave in her hands, cousin.”
“I agree.” Rosamund nodded. “However, if we call Philippa home now I fear it will make her plight more difficult to solve, Tom. Unless the queen sends her home let us leave her where she is. She is no longer a child, and she must learn to handle the difficulties that life will hand her. This is not the last serious disappointment she will face, and the lady of Friarsgate must be strong to hold this land.”
Lord Cambridge sighed. “The court is a very different world from our world,” he reminded Rosamund. “I have come to realize that I should rather face the bitterest of cold winters in Cumbria than the court. I am astounded that I survived it all. Still, if you think it best we leave her there for now I will bow to your motherly instincts.”
Rosamund laughed at him. “Oh, Tom, do not tell me you have come to love Otterly after all these years. And the quiet life as well?”
“Well,” he huffed, “I am not as young as I once was, cousin.”
Rosamund laughed again. “Nonsense,” she said. “I am quite certain that Banon keeps you on your toes. She has always been a lively lass.”
“Your middle daughter is a delightful girl,” he replied. “She has brought life into the house since she came to live with me last year. I was frankly astounded when she asked to come, dear Rosamund. But as Banon has so wisely observed, if she is to be the mistress of Otterly one day she must know all about it, and its workings. A most clever lass. We shall have to find a man worthy of her one day.”
“But first we must consider Philippa’s vicissitudes,” Rosamund reminded him. “We are agreed then? She will remain at court in the queen’s service unless Katherine sends her home. And I will thank the queen for her offer, but assure her that Philippa’s family can handle the matter of finding another husband for her. One to whom the queen and the king will, of course, give their blessing.”
Thomas Bolton smiled archly. “You have not lost your touch, dear girl,” he told her. “Yes, write the queen just that. It is perfect. And tell Philippa when you write to her that I send her my love. Now, cousin, having settled your problems I find I am ravenous. What have you to feed me? And do not drag out a pot of rabbit stew. I want beef!”
Rosamund smiled fondly at him. “And you shall have it, dearest Tom,” she said, but her mind was already considering what wisdom she would impart to her daughter when she wrote to her. It was difficult to know whether to be soft or hard with her eldest daughter. Too much sympathy was every bit as bad as not enough. It would not be easy.
And Philippa Meredith, reading her mother’s missive some days later, was neither moved to tears nor comforted by her mother’s words. Indeed she flung the parchment aside in a fit of pique. “Bah! Friarsgate! Always Friarsgate!” she said, irritated.
“What does your mother say?” Cecily FitzHugh ventured nervously.
“She offers me ridiculous advice! Disappointment, she says, is very much a part of life, and I must learn to accept it. A nunnery is not the answer to my problems. Well, did I say it was, Cecily? I am hardly the type to enter a convent.”
“But just a few weeks ago you said you were going to take the veil,” Cecily replied. “You mentioned relations who were nuns. Of course we all thought it highly amusing. You are hardly the type to be a nun, dearest.”
“So!” Philippa snapped. “You and the others are laughing at me behind my back. And I thought you were my best friend!”
“I am your best friend,” Cecily cried, “but you have been so filled with histrionics, and we all knew you were not going to become a nun. It is funny to even consider it. Now, what else does your mother say?”
“That they will find me another husband. One who will appreciate me and help me to prudently manage Friarsgate. Oh, God! I don’t want Friarsgate, Cecily. I don’t ever again want to live in Cumbria! I want to remain here at court. It is the center of the very universe. I shall die if I am forced back north. I am not my mother!” She sighed dramatically. “Oh, Cecily! Do you remember the first Christmas we had at court as the queen’s maids of honor?”
“Of course I do,” Cecily responded. “They called it the Christmas of the Three Queens. Queen Katherine, Queen Margaret, and her sister, Mary, who had been queen of France until she was widowed. They hadn’t all been together in years, and it was so wonderful. Every day offered us a new excitement.”
