“Is she still angry?” the earl asked.
“She says nay, but I think she is,” Lord Cambridge replied. “But it is now eight months since the unfortunate incident, and it is time for Philippa to move on with her life, my lord. Wouldn’t you agree?”
The earl nodded slowly. “When may I meet her then?”
“In a few days’ time. You must stay with me, dear boy. A cubicle in Cardinal Wolsey’s residence sounds appalling. We will not be caught unawares. Philippa and her sister live at court as maids of honor. She comes to my house now and again for fresh wardrobe, as the space assigned her here is very slight.”
“Agreed,” the earl responded, “and I thank you. Were I still in service to the king I have no doubt my accommodation would have been better, but it was grudgingly given, and it is without a fire. And of course I am not invited to Wolsey’s table either.”
Lord Cambridge shuddered. “The man may be clever, and a cardinal, but blood will tell in the end. He has no manners, nor does he have any common sense. His palaces at York Place and Hampton Court are larger and grander than any the king possesses. One day Henry Tudor will stop to consider that. No man, even a cardinal, should put himself above the king. One day the cardinal will make a slip, and his enemies will be quick to point it out to the king. He is not a well-loved man though he be useful to the king. His rise has been great. His decline will be greater.”
“But he is extremely intelligent, and crafty,” the earl said. “While I served the king my instructions always came through Wolsey. Some say he manages the country while the king plays, but knowing both men I see it differently. The king uses Wolsey as anyone would a good servant. The king takes the glory, and the cardinal the contempt.”
“Ah, you have surprised me, my lord earl,” Thomas Bolton said. “You are obviously more astute than I would have taken you for, and I find that pleasing. Now, however, I am going to join a few friends. If you wish to leave before me just send the barge back, and I will do the same.” Lord Cambridge bowed, and moved off into the crowd, smiling and greeting people as he went.
An interesting man, the earl of Witton thought. Odd, but interesting. He moved into a recessed alcove, and looked for Philippa again. She was no longer seated next to her mistress, but dancing a boisterous country dance with a young man. When he swung her up and around with great vigor she threw her head back and laughed. The earl smiled. It was obvious she was having a good time, and why not. She was young, and fair. His interest was piqued further when the next dance began, and the king partnered Philippa Meredith. The king only danced with those he considered the best dancers in his court. Consequently his partners were limited, as many young women were afraid to dance with him lest they displease him. But Philippa Meredith wasn’t one bit afraid of Henry Tudor. Holding her skirts up she pranced daintily next to her monarch while the musicians played. She was graceful, and the smile on her lips never wavered. When the dance was over and done with, the king kissed the girl’s hand and she curtseyed, then backed away to rejoin her mistress. She was flushed, and a single tendril of auburn hair had slipped from beneath her elegant French hood. He found it charming.
Before he left court that day Thomas Bolton sought out his young cousin, and begged a moment of her company from the queen who graciously gave it, smiling warmly at Lord Cambridge. He took Philippa’s small hand in his, tucking it in his arm, and they left the great anteroom where the king and the court were now amusing themselves. Walking quietly through a gallery hung with magnificent tapestries, Lord Cambridge began to speak.
“My darling girl, we have had the most incredible piece of luck!”
“Were you able to obtain the property you sought, uncle?” Philippa asked him.
“Aye, and it is already in your name, but that is not the half of it. There was someone else who sought the property. A gentleman whose lands match with Melville. He is the earl of Witton, and he is unattached, and seeking a wife.”
Philippa stopped. “Now, uncle, I am not certain I like where this is going,” she said nervously.
“You can be the countess of Witton, darling girl! Think on it! Your husband would be an earl, of an old and illustrious family,” Lord Cambridge gushed.
“What is the matter with him, for there must be something wrong with an earl who would take a plain knight’s daughter to wife,” Philippa replied suspiciously.
“His name is Crispin St. Claire,” Lord Cambridge said. “He has been in service to the king as a diplomat. His father died last year, and he has come home to take up his responsibilities. There is nothing wrong with him.”
“Then he is old, uncle. Do you want me shackled to some graybeard?” Her look was almost fearful.
“He is thirty, Philippa, and I could not by any stretch of the imagination call him a graybeard. He is a mature man, and ready to take a wife. Can you not see what an incredible piece of good fortune this is for you? He wants Melville, and it is a part of your dower portion, darling girl.”
“He must be desperate to have it then, that he would offer to wed me,” Philippa replied.
“He did not,” Thomas Bolton said, deciding that his young cousin needed a bit of cold water thrown upon her fine opinion of herself. “He tried to buy Melville from me, but I paid a ridiculous price for it in order to get it when I learned this earl was wife hunting. I told him if he would have the land he must have you to wife to get it.”
“Uncle!” Philippa’s pretty face grew red. “You deliberately ensnared this man?”
“I wanted the estate for you. It is within an easy distance of London and the court. When I learned afterwards that the earl wanted it too I simply took advantage of the situation. You mother would fully approve my actions,” he responded.
“Your audacity, you mean,” Philippa said. “What must this earl of Witton think of you? Of me? I cannot believe you would do such a thing, uncle!”
“Nonsense, darling girl!” he said, unaffected by her criticism. “The earl of Witton’s is an old and an honorable family, but they are not a great family. He is not poor, but neither is he wealthy. Your father was a knight, Philippa. Your mother is a woman of property. Your connections here at court are impeccable. Even without Lord Melvyn’s property you are a most respectable prospect. A marriage with this man gives you a title. It ennobles your children. And in return he gains the lands he wants to add to his own, and a wife with a large purse. It is a perfect match.” He smiled at her.
“But where is the love, uncle? If I must be shackled to this man should there not be something between us other than money and property?” She was very pretty in her concern, her hazel eyes thoughtful.
“First you must meet him,” Lord Cambridge said. “I would not force you into any marriage, darling girl. Let us see if you and the earl are compatible, for if you are not you shall not be his wife. I want you happy, as does your mother. But think, darling girl! An earl instead of the second son of an earl. All the advantage would have been for Giles FitzHugh had you wed him. What advantage would you have gained by such a match? Oh, once I thought it a good possibility, before you came to court, but this prospect is so much better. And you are in the queen’s favor, and the king’s. I saw him dance with you this evening, Philippa.”
“Oh, that was because he could not dance with Bessie, and she said he should dance with me. That I was a fine dancer,” Philippa explained.
“Why would Mistress Blount not dance with the king?” Lord Cambridge was curious at this turn of events.
“She does not feel well, uncle. She says her belly makes her ill these days,” Philippa answered innocently.
