“Are we on the Thames?” she asked him.
“Nay, we are to the west of the river, but I have planned with your uncle that we travel home via the river. We shall have his large barge, as he is returning to Otterly with your sister the day after our wedding. We shall go as far as Henley, where our horses will be awaiting us. We will ride cross-country to Cholsey, and then continue on by barge to Oxfordtown itself. After that we will ride home. It should take us about seven days. Your Lucy and my Peter will travel overland with the luggage cart. We will meet them first in Cholsey, and then Oxford.”
“Where will we stay at night?” she asked him.
“There are several charming inns along the river, and Lord Cambridge has made arrangements for us,” he told her.
“So we shall drift up the river alone, together, with no cares,” she said.
“I thought you would enjoy it,” he told her. “And had we not suddenly gotten along so famously it would have given us time to learn about one another.”
“Shall we make love along the way?” she teased him.
He grinned. “Oh, madame, I have much to teach you, and I am delighted to find in you such a willing pupil,” the earl told her. “Now open that damned basket, Philippa, for one of my appetites must be fed this minute or I cannot be responsible for what will happen.”
“Yes, my lord,” she said meekly. Marriage to this man, she suddenly decided, was not going to be so bad after all.
Chapter 12
April thirtieth dawned bright and sunny. The river at the edge of Bolton House sparkled in the cheerful light of morning. The gardens were abloom with early flowers, and the birds were singing sweetly. Philippa had awakened early enough to watch the sun rise. She had gone downstairs into the gardens in her night garment and gathered dew from the grass which she spread upon her face as if it were May morn. Then twirling amid the fragrant blooms, she ran on bare feet back up to her bedchamber to prepare for this most important day in her life. She realized to her surprise that she very much wished Rosamund were here today. But at the end of April her mother would be busy with the lamb count, the culling of her flocks, and preparing to ship the wool cloth woven by the cotters over the long winter months off to her European markets.
Crispin St. Claire had awakened early too. Going to his window he had seen the lithe figure dancing amid the flowers in the garden below. It was Philippa. He watched her, enchanted, and in that moment the earl of Witton realized that he was falling in love with the girl he would marry this very morning. He smiled, surprised, thinking himself briefly an April fool. She was so innocent and yet so sophisticated. And he had a great deal more to learn about her.
Banon came into her elder sister’s bedchamber, rubbing her eyes sleepily. “I vow I shall never catch up with the sleep I have lost these months at court,” she complained. “Can I share your bath?” She yawned broadly, and then, sighing, sat down on the bed.
“Lucy has gone to fetch us a meal,” Philippa said. “It is a perfect day, Banie. The air has a warmth to it, and smells so fresh.”
“I’ll be glad to escape back to Otterly before the plague season,” Banon remarked.
“We don’t have plague every year,” Philippa said.
Lucy pushed her way into the bedchamber with a heavy tray which she set upon the oak table in the center of the room. “Come along now, you two, and have your breakfast. I’ll get the tub ready, for the footmen are on their way now with the hot water. Wrap your shawls about yourselves. I’ll not have either of you flaunting yourselves before those sharp-eyed London lads.” She snatched up Philippa’s shawl and put it about her shoulders, then scampered into the room next door and came back with a shawl for Banon with which she enveloped the girl.
The two sisters sat and began to eat. There were eggs in a sauce of cheese, cream, and dill. There was ham, and fresh bread with sweet butter and cherry jam. There was a single trencher, neatly hollowed out, filled with oat stirabout. There was honey and cream for the cereal. Philippa and Banon shared the trencher. Philippa might have been at court for over three years, but she had never lost her country girl appetite, and Banon equaled her sister at the board. They ate until there was nothing left. They had sipped goblets of watered wine, for Lucy assured them it was better for the digestion and their nerves this morning than ale, which would only give them the bloat.
The footmen paraded up and down the stairs carrying their buckets of hot water. They had pulled the tall oak tub with its strong iron bands from its wall cabinet and into the room before the fire. When the tub was finally filled, Lucy shut the door to the chamber firmly and set about preparing the water.
“Don’t put lily of the valley oil in,” Philippa said. “Banie is going to share my tub, and I don’t want her smelling of my fragrance.”
“I don’t like lily of the valley,” Banon remarked. “It gives me the headache.”
“I’ll do damask rose then,” Lucy replied, uncorking a narrow flask and pouring a thin stream of oil into the water. “Hurry and get in, you two. You’ve eaten enough for an army. Not even a crust left for the poor, or a crumb for the birds.”
The sisters giggled as they got up from the table. They laid aside their shawls and pulled off their night garments.
“Your breasts have grown,” Philippa noted to her sister as she climbed into the tub. “They are bigger than mine, and you are the younger. ’Tis not fair!”
“Yours will grow too when you let your husband fondle them on a regular basis,” Banon responded with a grin. “They don’t grow when you keep them to yourself. Oh, I envy you, sister! I wish tonight were my wedding night!”
“If your mother could hear the pair of you,” Lucy said disapprovingly.
“Oh, Lucy, she wouldn’t fuss at us,” Banon said. “She slept with our stepfather before they were wed, you know, and she was the earl of Glenkirk’s mistress. And your own sister became with child before she wed. All Philippa and I do is speak on passion.”
“You were barely old enough to know such things,” Lucy said, shaking her head.
“No one pays a great deal of attention to children,” Banon said wisely, “but they listen, and they hear.”
“Wash your hair, both of you!” Lucy said.
