When Annie had gone from the hall with Peter, Rosamund motioned to Lucy to sit down. “Now tell me,” she said, “just what is this all about?”
“I am not certain, my lady. The marriage is a good one. The earl is the kindest of masters, and a good husband to my lady. But no sooner had he departed for Hampton Court than my lady began to fret. She said she was afraid if the cardinal kept the earl too long she would not be with her sister on her wedding day. She fussed, and she fumed, and then nothing would do but that we leave and ride posthaste for Friarsgate. We have no clothing but what we wore, my lady Rosamund. But I do not believe my mistress tells the truth. She thinks she does, but she does not.”
Rosamund nodded. “She has been taking the draft each morning but for the days of her monthly flow?”
Lucy flushed. “Nay, my lady.”
“Then she wants a child sooner than later? Well, I cannot disagree, for it is her duty to provide her husband with an heir. I know I was eager to when I married her father, may God assoil his good soul.” Rosamund crossed herself.
“Nay, my lady, she wanted to wait so she could go back to court,” Lucy said. “There was no opportunity for my mistress and her husband to cohabit in France. Our quarters were very close, and there was no privacy at all. She had to bathe in a chemise just like the queen. I didn’t think it was necessary to give her your potion while we were there, but I gave her a drink of water mixed with celery seeds each morning so she would believe she had had the draft. And then when we returned from France my mistress began talking about perhaps having a child, and not going back to court since the queen had dismissed her from her service. I thought that there would be no need for the preventative then.”
“But you continued to feed her the celery seed and water,” Rosamund said softly.
“Yes, my lady Rosamund,” Lucy responded. “When my mistress makes up her mind to something there is no reasoning with her. She is very stubborn. I thought, let God decide the matter, and I will not have to argue with her, or be a disobedient servant.”
Rosamund laughed softly. “When did my daughter have her last bloody flux, Lucy? I will wager she has not had one since her return from France.”
Lucy thought a moment, and then her eyes widened. “Oh, my lady, you are correct! She had her flow in Calais, but none since. Oh, my lady, what have I done?”
Rosamund nodded. “I will wager that Philippa is with child, Lucy, and the charming little fool is so wrapped up in herself and her husband that it has not occurred to her yet.” She shook her head. “Tell me how angry the earl will be when he gets here?”
“You would have to ask Peter that,” Lucy said. “All I’ve ever seen of him is goodness to my mistress, although she has sorely tried him at times.”
Rosamund laughed again. “Do not tell her what I suspect, Lucy, nor anyone else either.” She arose from her seat. “Watch my two bairns. I must go upstairs and deal with my oldest.”
“Mama!” A young girl had come into the hall. She was tall and willowy, with long dark blond hair. “I am told Philippa is back.”
“Aye, Bessie, she is. Come, and Lucy will tell you all. I must go upstairs and see your sister.” She hurried from the hall.
“Well, she’s home early for Banie’s wedding,” Elizabeth Meredith said. “What’s her husband like, Lucy? Is he handsome and gallant? Is he rich?”
“How old are you now?” Lucy asked.
“I’ll be thirteen my next birthday,” Bessie said. “Now tell me everything, Lucy!”
“I thought you wasn’t interested in all the goings-on of the fine ladies and gentlemen,” Lucy teased.
“Well, I don’t want to be one of them,” Bessie said, “but it cannot harm me to learn about them. I’m not like my older sisters. I have no need to go to court and kneel to the high and the mighty. But hearing about them is like listening to a fairy tale.”
“Going to court ain’t no easy life, I can tell you,” Lucy began.
Upstairs, Rosamund had gone to Philippa’s bedchamber. Her daughter had finished her bath and was drying herself off as Rosamund entered the room. “I always felt better getting the dirt of the road off of me,” she said. “Where is your hairbrush? I’ll brush you dry, darling child.”
“Here it is.” Philippa handed the requested item to her mother. “Just let me get into a clean chemise. I left some from my last visit.” She pulled out a silky garment from the chest at the foot of her bed, and drew it on. Then sitting next to her mother she let Rosamund brush and towel her long hair dry.
“Now tell me, Philippa,” her mother said quietly as she brushed. “What is troubling you? And do not say naught. You did not dash pell-mell to Friarsgate because of Banon’s wedding.”
“What is love?” Philippa burst out. “And how do you know you are in love? And why will he not say it to me after all these months?” She began to cry. “Oh, mama, I cannot explain it in a way which I understand, but I love him! Yet he does not love me! He is passionate, and tender, but he says nothing to me that would indicate that he loves me. Yet how can he make love to me the way he does, and not love me?”
“I. don’t believe he can,” Rosamund responded calmly. “What is love, Philippa? It is the most elusive emotion in the world. It defies a rational explanation, but the very fact that you don’t understand it, yet know in your heart that you love him, is your answer. As for your husband, I suspect if he is gentle and tender with you that he does indeed love you. But men are most reticent to say it aloud. More often than not it is up to the woman, but she must be very certain before she voices her emotions that they will be reciprocated. Consequently a woman is loath to cry love, and a man is no better. It is an age-old conundrum, Philippa.”
“When we were in France I overheard a plot against the king, and I told Crispin. At first he was angry, and then I realized that his anger wasn’t directed at me, but at himself. He was afraid for me, and that he had not been with me when I escaped the assassins,” Philippa said.
Rosamund smiled, and put her daughter’s hairbrush aside. “Aye, he loves you,” she said.
“He must say it without my prompting or I shall never be certain,” Philippa cried, and then she flung herself in Rosamund’s arms and sobbed.
Rosamund held her daughter and caressed her tenderly. She was going to be a grandmother. There was absolutely no doubt in her mind that Philippa was with child. The wild emotional outbursts made her certain. Her elegant and sophisticated Philippa had fallen in love, and was going to have a baby. “Are you hungry?” she asked her daughter. “We’re having rabbit stew for supper tonight.”
