The betrothal papers would be signed on Philippa’s birthday, with the wedding to follow on the next day. She had been allowed more latitude in her service to the queen in order to prepare for these two important events in her life. And she was allowed to meet with the earl of Witton more frequently now. Philippa still thought him arrogant, but Lord Cambridge had laughed at this assessment.
“The difficulty, I believe, is that you are both alike,” he told her.
“That is not so!” Philippa declared vehemently.
“Come, darling girl, and choose the fabric for your betrothal day,” he coaxed her.
“The violet silk brocade,” she told him. “That particular shade is flattering to my hair, I believe. And I shall have the ivory silk brocade for my wedding gown with an underskirt of that ivory and gold velvet brocade. And matching French hoods and veils, uncle. Am I being too greedy?”
“Nay, darling girl, not at all, but while the hoods can be made for you, you will not need them either day, for your hair must be left loose as befits your maiden state.”
“Banie must have a new gown too,” Philippa said.
“And so she shall. I think that rich rose velvet most flattering to your sister,” he replied. “Remember she will have new gowns when we return north, for she will soon be a bride too, darling girl.” He stood up. “And now that we have settled these most important details, I shall return you to the palace with the earl. Was he too distressed that we would not allow him with us while we considered this important decision?”
“He said he suspected you were far more suited to the task than he was, and besides he said there is something about not seeing the bride’s gown before the wedding,” Philippa answered, and she stood up. “Thank you, Uncle Thomas. I know I shall be the most beautiful bride at court thanks to you.” Then kissing his cheek, she curtseyed and left him to join Crispin St. Claire, who awaited her in the hall of Bolton House.
They left the house, and walked through Lord Cambridge’s garden down to where the barge awaited them. The earl was becoming used to the marble statues of the well-endowed young men set about the garden, and Philippa seemed not to notice them at all. Settling themselves, they sat back as the barge skimmed down the river back to Richmond.
He put his arm about her shoulders, and she leaned her head against him. “You grow most used to me,” he said teasingly.
“Since we are to be wed, I suppose I ought to,” she replied.
He tilted her face up to his, and kissed her a long slow kiss. Her lips were like rose petals, soft and perfumed beneath his own. His hand caressed her breasts for the first time, and Philippa stiffened, drawing away, startled.
“What are you doing?” she said, and there was a nervous edge in her voice.
“What it is my right to do,” he told her quietly.
“You promised you would wait,” she reminded him. “Wait until we got to know one another better.”
“Do you think that one day we will simply awaken, and know one another better, Philippa? We are to be married in just a few weeks’ time. We become familiar with one another not just by innocent kissing, but by touching as well.” His fingers tightened on her chin. “You are very lovely, and I find I am beginning to consider the delights of possessing you completely. We cannot wait forever. Our families will expect you to produce an heir within a reasonable amount of time.”
“Have you made love to other women?” she asked him.
“Of course, Philippa. No healthy man is celibate at thirty,” he told her.
“Were they whores? Or were they noblewomen?” she pressed.
The question surprised him, but he answered her candidly. “Some were whores, but also noblewomen as well. And in my youth, girls on my estate who were willing. I have never forced a woman.”
“Do you have any bastards, my lord?” Her look was curious.
“Two little girls,” he surprised her by saying. “I give their mothers a yearly stipend, Philippa, and will continue to do so when we are wed.”
“Then you are experienced in the amatory arts, my lord,” she said.
“Aye, I am well skilled,” he told her. “Now, madame, enough of your questions.”
“The boatmen,” she said, pointing to the four stout men before them.
“... do not have eyes in the back of their heads nor can they see through the curtains,” he responded with a chuckle. His arm tightened about her, and he looked down into her face. Her eyes had grown very large as his hand began to smooth itself over her gown. Her clothing was a most distinct barrier to his rising passion, but the barge was not the place to unlace her bodice, he thought. Instead he bent his head and kissed the soft swell of her bosom as it rose above the neckline of her gown. Her scent, lily of the valley, was utterly intoxicating, and his senses spun as the fragrance filled his nostrils.
For a moment as his mouth touched the soft flesh Philippa didn’t think she could breathe. The gentle but firm kisses he pressed onto her unresisting form made her heart beat rapidly and her head spin with excitement. She felt the tips of her breasts harden. She didn’t want him to stop. But she was not certain he should be doing this. Should he? She had seen her stepfather fondle her mother in such a fashion when they were not aware they were being observed, but they had been wed. She had no one to ask about such things. Her mother was far away, and her only friends were not at court any longer.
“Philippa, what is the matter?” the earl asked her. He was cupping one side of her face with his big hand.
“I have been told that a man wishing his own way with a maid will swear that what he is doing is acceptable,” she said. “I have also been told that a man who obtains cream from the cow for naught is less apt to purchase the creature. I have kept my reputation by being chaste, my lord, not by allowing myself to be fondled in a barge.”
