“Tch, tch, dear boy!” Lord Cambridge clucked, shaking his head. “You cannot simply announce to my cousin that you have set your wedding date. I will have the papers drawn up for you, and I will seek the king’s permission for the match, but you must tell Philippa that you desire to wed before the summer progress to France. Surely you learned last night that she is not a meek creature whom you may treat like a little ewe lamb. I believe you will have to use all your diplomatic skills to get her to agree, but then I will remind her that Banon cannot wed until she is wed. And Banon and Robert Neville want to marry soon. If Philippa will settle herself, her sister can be married at Otterly in the autumn or early winter. You, of course, will wed my cousin here. Her mother will be disappointed not to be with her daughter at such an auspicious time in her life, but Rosamund will understand. Besides, she will have delivered her child by now, and not be fit to travel so far from Claven’s Cam.”
“Can you act on the lady of Friarsgate’s behalf?” the earl asked.
“I can, and the king is aware of it. Still, my dear Crispin, I will not force Philippa into marriage with you. Her mother would never allow it. Rosamund was brought three times to the altar by others. Her fourth husband was her own choice, and she has always said she wanted her lasses to have the choice as well. Would she approve of you? Oh, my, indeed she would! But it is not Rosamund whom you must convince. It is her daughter, Philippa. Be assured that I will speak in your favor, and I am not against a marriage before the summer journey to France. Actually I believe it would be better for Philippa to have the protection of a husband.”
“Will you go with the court?” the earl inquired.
Lord Cambridge shook his head. “This is an enormous undertaking, the meeting between England’s king and France’s king. Only the crème de la crème will be invited. I have wealth, and am considered amusing by my betters, but I will not be asked to accompany Henry Tudor and his queen. I am simply not important enough. Nor will Philippa’s sister go. I will return north with Banon Meredith and young Neville. My heiress’s betrothal agreement will be executed, and the marriage celebrated sometime in the autumn. Perhaps you will be able to come north then to meet Philippa’s family. I know that she will want to be at her sister’s wedding.”
“You are certain that Philippa will be invited to go with her mistress?” the earl said. “I should not want to offer my services to Wolsey only to find myself separated from my wife for the next few months.”
“Philippa is an especial favorite of the queen’s despite her own humble birth,” Lord Cambridge said. “The queen will want her by her side. She cherishes that link with her past, and Philippa is very good with her when the queen grows sad. She soothes her. Oh, yes, I can be certain that Philippa will be invited to go with the court to France. And what an adventure it will be for her, my dear Crispin! She has visited Scotland with her mother, and God only knows that is a foreign enough place, but to go to France! Ahh, dear boy, that is something she will never forget. The memory of it will surely sustain her during her first confinement, eh?” He chuckled. “Now, however, all you must do is convince the little wench to wed you before the summer progress. Do you think you can do it?” Thomas Bolton smiled. He knew Philippa far, far better than Crispin St. Claire. The task that the earl had set himself was almost Herculean, but he would support him, for he did believe it was better Philippa wed before the journey.
“I don’t know,” the earl admitted in a moment of rare candor. I have not said it! He could hear her voice in his head. How was he to approach her? Directly? Stealthily?
“If the decision were mine,” Lord Cambridge suggested, “I think I would woo the lass with all the skills at my command. Poetry. Little gifts. But most of all, passion. Virgins are skittish, but they are curious, and rarely immune to passion, dear boy.”
“Surely you aren’t suggesting that I seduce Philippa,” the earl said slowly.
“If it were me,” Lord Cambridge murmured, “I would do whatever I had to do to gain the fair maid’s consent, dear boy. A skillful seduction is a marvelous way around a stubborn lover.”
“I think,” the earl said slowly, “that Cardinal Wolsey has lost a skillful and wickedly clever servant in you, my lord.”
Thomas Bolton barked a sharp laugh. “I would think, dear boy, that I am far too wise to involve myself in the political dealings of any nation or government. I leave that to those others who need to enhance their own self-importance.”
Now it was the earl of Witton who laughed. “Are you a cynic or a skeptic, Tom Bolton?” he asked.
“Neither,” Lord Cambridge responded. “I believe I am a realist. And so must you be if you are to win Philippa over in time to go to France. Court her, but do not underestimate her, dear boy.”
And just how was he going to do that, the earl asked himself as he prepared to join Lord Cambridge at court that day? And next to Thomas Bolton he looked like a sparrow beside a peacock. But then, so did most of the court but for a very few.
“I shall seek appointments with both the king and the queen,” Lord Cambridge said as they exited his barge at Richmond.
“Won’t that take time?” the earl replied.
“Under normal circumstances it would, but I have a new friend among the ranks of the king’s secretaries, and a fat purse. Both will gain me a few minutes with the monarch and his spouse today, so we may not have to wait.”
“Then I shall go and offer my services to the cardinal,” the earl said.
The two men separated, each going in a different direction. The earl of Witton found his way to Cardinal Wolsey’s apartments. There he told one of the cardinal’s men that he wished to speak with his old master. “Today,” he emphasized strongly. “I come to offer my services for this great meeting to be held between our good King Henry and the French king.”
The cardinal’s second secretary to whom he spoke knew who the earl of Witton was, and of his service to his master. “You do not need much time then,” he said, his gaze anxiously scanning the earl’s face. “He is frightfully busy with all of this.”
“Five minutes,” the earl told the second secretary.
“You will have to wait, but I will get you in,” was his reply.
Crispin St. Claire sat down in a tall-backed chair, and waited. Having been in the cardinal’s service before, he was more than well aware of how busy Wolsey was. Wolsey served a hard master in the king. It was no easy task to do his bidding, to keep ahead of him, to be seriously useful to Henry Tudor, to dodge his detractors. And Thomas Wolsey had more against him than stood for him. A brilliant and hardworking man, he had an unfortunate inability to tolerate fools. But worse, he was arrogant, and thought nothing of keeping the high and the mighty cooling their heels in his antechamber. Even the earl of Witton now waited, more patiently than most.
Finally the secretary beckoned to him, and rising quickly he followed the man into the cardinal’s sanctum. “My lord, the earl of Witton,” the secretary said, and then scuttled back through the door where they had entered.
Thomas Wolsey did not bother to look up from the papers on his desk. “I am told you wish to offer me your services once again, my lord.”
“Only briefly,” the earl said. “I want to go to France with the court, but know I am not important enough to be invited merely for my charm.”
“Why?” Wolsey snapped.
“I am planning on marrying one of the queen’s maids of honor. Hopefully the nuptials will be celebrated prior to the summer progress. Whether they are or not, I do not wish to have Philippa in France without me, my lord.”
