“Oh,” Philippa responded, feeling both foolish and disappointed. “Then why would you insist on being by my side if I go to France?”
“If you are to be my wife, Philippa, I cannot leave you to yourself if we accompany the court to France. It simply is not done. I must be by your side to escort you as your future husband.”
“What if we are not formally betrothed until we return from France?” she asked him slyly.
“If we are not betrothed before you go to France, Philippa, then I expect we will not be betrothed at all. You say you are to be sixteen in April. Well, I shall be thirty-one in early August. Neither of us can wait. I will want an heir as soon as possible. I am willing to allow you the latitude of going to France with the court, but if you are to be my wife I must be by your side. And we will wed as soon as we return. If you cannot agree to that here and now, then I see no reason for our acquaintance to continue further.”
Chapter 8
You would not believe what he said to me!” Philippa told Lord Cambridge, and then she repeated the conversation she had just had with the earl of Witton. His declaration had surprised her so, she had run from the hall.
“I agree with him, darling girl,” Thomas Bolton said.
“He behaves as if he didn’t trust me, uncle! I cannot wed with a man who does not trust me,” Philippa said angrily.
“Even if Crispin knew you well enough to trust you, Philippa, he would still not allow you to go to France unescorted. It is unseemly. Now let us go back into the hall, and straighten this matter out.”
“Uncle!” she protested, pouting.
“Philippa, this is an amazing match for you. If indeed you have not put the earl off with your childish behavior. We shall return to the hall immediately!” His voice was stem, and she looked surprised. In all her life she had never heard Thomas Bolton speak in such a sharp, commanding tone.
“Did you ever speak to my mother like that?” she demanded of him.
“I never had to speak to your mother like that,” he told her. “Now, girl, to the hall!” And he gently pushed her from his library, through the corridor, and into the hall again where the earl of Witton stood staring out at the river morosely.
The earl turned as they entered.
“Philippa has come to apologize for her behavior,” Lord Cambridge said, “and she will gladly agree to your escorting her to France this summer. Philippa?”
“Oh, very well,” Philippa grudgingly muttered. “I apologize, my lord.”
“There,” Lord Cambridge said, almost purring. “Now you two will be friends again. Being of an independent turn of mind you must both learn to compromise, eh?”
“I agree,” responded the earl, looking towards Philippa.
“I am sorry I left you so precipitously,” Philippa allowed stiffly. “I was upset that you did not trust me, my lord. No one has ever questioned my veracity.”
“And I did not mean to, if indeed that is what I did,” he replied. “I am simply concerned for your good name, Philippa. I am happy we are to be friends again now, and that you will accept my company in France without complaint.”
She nodded. “We are, and I will,” she told him.
“Excellent, excellent!” Lord Cambridge said, smiling broadly. “Now, my dears, I am absolutely ravenous, and you have both been so busy arguing that you never noticed that the board is set and ready for us. Philippa, you will remain the night. There is an icy rain falling outside now, and I do not wish to compromise your health by sending you back to the palace this evening. The morning is time enough.”
They sat down to an excellent meal. Lord Cambridge’s cook was a true artist. They began with salmon, sliced wafer thin, and lightly broiled with dill. There were fresh oysters, and large prawns steamed in wine and served with lemon. Next came a fat duck dripping its juices, and swimming in a gravy of rich red wine; a rabbit pie; a platter of chops, and another with half of a country-cured ham. Philippa’s eyes widened as a silver platter filled with lovely plump artichokes was offered.
“Uncle! Where did you get these?” she asked him. “I thought the king kept them all for himself. You know how he adores artichokes.”
Lord Cambridge smiled craftily. “Why, darling girl, I have my little ways as you well know. I, too, adore artichokes.”
“It is not the season for them,” the earl said, helping himself from the platter.
“Nonetheless I manage to obtain them,” Thomas Bolton said, tearing off a piece from the warm cottage loaf, and buttering it lavishly before taking a large bite.
“Miracles are born in Uncle Thomas’s kitchens wherever he may be living at the time,” Philippa said.
“You have more than one house then?” the earl asked.
“Here, and at Greenwich, and of course Otterly in Cumbria,” Philippa responded before her cousin might. “And each house is identical both inside and out, for Uncle Thomas does not like a great deal of change.” She laughed. “Is that not correct, uncle?”
