“I know, my lord, and she loves you too,” the housekeeper replied, seating him.
“She has never said it,” the earl said mournfully.
“Have you told her that you love her, my lord?” Mistress Marian asked. “A woman will never say those words to a man unless he has said them to her first.”
The earl put his head in his hands. “I am a fool,” he groaned.
“Most men are, my lord,” the housekeeper replied low, with the familiarity of a trusted and well-loved servant. “But she has not left you, my lord. And there is time to correct your omission.”
“But why would she not wait?” the earl asked.
“I do not know,” Mistress Marian responded, “but it was suddenly very necessary for her ladyship to leave Brierewode and go back to her mother. Now here is a nice hot rabbit pie for you. It’s just come from the ovens. I want to see every bit of it eaten, my lord. And there is bread, and butter and cheese. And I think there might be an apple tart to finish the meal.”
He looked up gratefully at her. “Tell the men we ride tomorrow for Cumbria.”
“Yes, my lord,” the housekeeper said with a small smile, and she bustled off.
She was right, of course. He felt better after a good meal. And even better in the morning after a sound sleep in his own bed. With Peter gone he had one of the other men pack for him, and he took one pack animal with them. Perhaps they might even catch up with his headstrong wife before she reached Friarsgate.
Philippa, however, was determined to reach her mother as quickly as possible. She rode hard, surprising the men with her, who had not thought such a dainty lady could manage such a trip without all the fripperies necessary to a woman’s existence. One day the night caught up with them before they could reach the shelter of an inn or a religious house. They bedded down in a hayfield, sleeping in the haystacks, and there was no complaint from their mistress. At last they crossed into Cumbria, heading even further north. And then late one morning they topped a rise, and the lake lay below them while in the meadows below the vast flocks of Friarsgate browsed contentedly.
“Thank Gawd I can die in my own bed,” Lucy sighed.
“You’ll have to get down the hill first,” Philippa laughed. It was just like she remembered it. Beautiful and peaceful. She pushed her horse forward.
“Your mother may be up at Claven’s Carn,” Lucy said.
“They can fetch her easily if she is,” Philippa said in a determined voice.
But Rosamund was not in Scotland. She was at her own holding, and very surprised to see her eldest child so soon. “It’s almost a month until Banon’s wedding,” she remarked, and then she said, “Welcome home, my darling! Where is this husband of yours of whom Tom speaks so highly? Indeed he gushes so about him that Logan is determined to dislike him.” She hugged her daughter.
Nothing had changed, Philippa thought. Except for the two cradles by the hearth. She walked over to them and looked in. “My new brothers?”
“Aye. Are they not beautiful? Praise God, though they came from my womb at the same time they do not look much alike. There is a woman in our village with sons born as Tommy and Edmund were, but they are as alike as two peas in a pod.” Her eye went past her daughter. “Lucy, you look exhausted. Welcome home. And who is this fine fellow with you?”
Peter stepped forward. “I am Peter, my lady, the earl’s valet.”
Rosamund nodded. “And just why are you here, Peter, but not your master?” she asked.
“I believe that is a question that her ladyship should answer, madame,” the valet said politely, stepping back.
“Philippa?” Rosamund’s face was serious with her concern.
“I warned him if he was not back in seven days that I should start north without him, mama. There is nothing more to it than that,” Philippa answered her mother.
“And just where had your husband gone?” Rosamund persisted.
“To Hampton Court. The cardinal wished to see him,” Philippa said. “Mama, I am tired, and I am filthy. I want my bath, and my bed.”
“You have still not explained to me why you departed Brierewode without your husband. Why did you not wait for him?”
“And miss my sister’s wedding?” Philippa cried. “Please do not treat me like a child, mama. I am a married woman, and the countess of Witton.”
“Banon and Robbie will not be wed for several weeks, Philippa. You might have waited for the earl,” Rosamund murmured calmly. “There was no need to come rushing. When did you get home from France?”
“Over a month ago,” Philippa said.
Her mother nodded. “Go along then, my daughter, and the servants will bring your bath. Lucy, introduce Peter to the other servants, and show him where he may lay his head. Ah, here is Annie. Annie, run and find Maybel. Tell her Philippa is home.” Rosamund looked and saw her daughter was already gone from the hall. “Lucy, attend me. Annie, find Maybel, and take Peter with you. He is the earl’s servant.”
