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“I think he will. And if his brother is representing the other party, perhaps it can all be dealt with without the need of going to court.”

  Nineteenth of August, 1547—Bradgate House, Leicestershire

  Today was the day that Bess and Sir William Cavendish were to be married at the Greys’ home, but the king had unexpectedly summoned William to London a week earlier to deal with urgent treasury matters.

  “I will be back by the nineteenth of August,” William had assured Bess as he leaned down from the saddle to kiss her good-bye. “Were it not His Majesty who calls, you know I would not go.”

  “I know,” Bess said. “I know how important it is.”

  William had told her that when he had become treasurer of the chamber the previous year, the accounts had been in wild disorder. With diligent work he had done much to right them since then, and for his pains he was more than twenty-five thousand pounds richer than he had begun the year. It was a vast amount of money; enough to buy or build a grand home, furnish it, hire the needful servants, and run the household into the bargain. Bess was astonished to hear him talk of such sums, and amazed all over again at his having taken the care to help her secure her dower rights of thirty pounds a year, an amount which at the time she had thought would stand between her and ruin. Her own father had gone to debtors’ prison over a few hundred pounds.

  She stood gazing out a window of the upper floor of Bradgate House. From here she could see the road on which William would approach, stretching away into the distance and disappearing at the horizon. No cloud of dust or hint of movement heralded his arrival.

  At the dawn of day, she had not worried that William was not yet come. But now, when the sun was past the mark of noon, a shred of doubt crossed her mind. Suppose he had changed his mind? What if he had been thrown into doubt by Alice’s unfaithfulness to her husband? Or perhaps there was another lady in London who had caught his eye, and even at this moment he was with her, or debating whether to proceed with the marriage.

  Bess’s gaze fell on the gown in which she was to be married. It was laid out on her bed, its deep blue set off by inner sleeves embroidered with a pattern of leaves and flowers, beside it a new chemise, soft and fine as a cobweb. On the floor lay a pair of new slippers, in buttery kid leather. How many times over the past weeks had she pictured herself in her wedding clothes, standing by William’s side? Should she shut them away again? She didn’t think she would be able to bear it if the sun rose the next morning and still he had not come.

  She thought of what a crowd of friends and relations had gathered for the wedding. Her parents, Jem, and her younger sisters had all come from Hardwick—even Alice, repentant and sheepish—and her older sisters and their husbands had traveled from farther afield. Lizzie was here, with William Parr, glorying in his new position of influence as regent and uncle to the king. Doll had come with her husband, a cousin of hers whose mother came of an old Derbyshire family and knew the Hardwicks. Jane Grey had journeyed from London, and she and her seven-year-old sister Kate were Bess’s bridesmaids. And of course the rest of the Grey household was present, including Frances’s stepmother, the Duchess of Suffolk, and her boys.

  Two of William’s daughters, twelve-year-old Kitty and seven-year-old Nan, had arrived the day before, pleased to be included in the festivities and shy about meeting their new stepmother. His other girl, Polly, was absent, for she had been simple since birth, and had spent the years since her mother’s death in the close care of the wife of one of William’s tenants, not quite of the family and not quite apart from it.

  Bess felt that she must be as nervous as her new stepdaughters, for she wanted them to love her. She thought they had got off to a good start, for they were delighted with the little gifts she had brought them, ribbons and fine lace from London for Kitty and a little doll she had made herself for Nan. And the Grey girls had done their best to welcome the girls, Jane conversing with Kitty, and Kate Grey pleased to meet Nan and have a new friend of just her age.

  A host of William’s friends and associates from London had come. His brother George, who had prospered in his long service under Cardinal Wolsey, was an important man, and had helped William rise in the world. Sir John Thynne was steward to William’s patron, Edward Seymour, the Lord Protector. Bess immediately liked young William Cecil, Seymour’s secretary, and understood why her William valued him as a friend. He was another rising man, but warm and plainspoken, a man to be trusted, she thought. His new wife, Mildred, was only a year or two older than Bess herself, and seemed a little shy at the exalted company.

  If William failed to come, Bess thought, she would be embarrassed before this host of people. She couldn’t imagine having the strength to face down such shame.

  “Ah, Bess.” Frances Grey entered the room and came to Bess’s side at the window. “You’re not to worry, my dear. I have every confidence that William will be here. If not today then tomorrow.”

  Frances took her hand, and Bess thought how fortunate she was to have her patronage and support. More than that, her love. She smiled.

  “Thank you, my lady. I know you’re right. It’s just that I still wonder sometimes what he sees in me.”

  “You don’t give yourself the credit you should. You’re a very intelligent and capable girl, as well as lovely. When Sir William began to work with you to prepare for your court case he told me he was mightily impressed with you in every way. You’d make a fine wife for any man.”

  Frances’s words reassured Bess, and that afternoon she distracted herself with a walk with her mother and the Grey and Cavendish girls, luxuriating in the summer sunshine. The entire company of family and friends gathered for supper, a more sumptuous meal than Bess had ever eaten. It was all in her honor, but she was keenly conscious that she was a bride without a bridegroom.

  After supper there was music and dancing. As Bess passed down the middle of a laughing and clapping set of dancers on the arm of Harry Grey, she recalled how dazzled she had been during the Zouches’ festivities on Christmas night that first year in London. She remembered the thrill she had felt when Edmund had pulled her off into the shadows with him under the mistletoe, and the intoxicating feeling of his lips on hers and the heat she saw in his eyes. She had never felt like that in William’s company. Of course, he was old enough to be her father, twice widowed already, and he did not behave like a roistering boy. But she hoped that perhaps she might feel some spark of passion and excitement when once he took her in his arms. If he ever did, whispered a voice at the back of her head.

  The candles were burning low now, and Bess saw that Frances Grey was directing the servants to take away the tarts and sweetmeats, the cold roast and cheeses. The evening was at an end then, and still no sign of William.

  “He will come, my darling.” Bess started at the sound of her mother’s voice and hoped she had not been looking forlorn, for she had striven all day to be cheerful.

  “I know,” she said. “At least I think he will. He’s a good man, Mother. You’ll like him.”

  “Bess!” Frances Grey was hurrying toward them. “William’s secretary Bestenay has just arrived.”

  “Without William?” Bess’s heart pounded. Was he not coming, then?

  “He brings word, he says, but he will speak only to you.”

  Bess glanced at her mother in agitation.

  “Come,” her mother said, taking her hand. “Surely Sir William is on his way.”

  They found Bestenay in Harry Grey’s office, his cloak heavy with dust and his boots spattered with mud.

  “Mistress,” he said as he bowed, “my master bid me tell you that he will be with you this night.”

  A surge of relief swept through Bess.

  “But where is he?” she cried. “When did he leave London?”

  “I left two days ago,” Bestenay said, mopping his ruddy face with his handkerchief, “and he purposed to leave the next morning, as soon as he had finished his business. He bade me tell you that it couldn’t be helped
, but that he would make up for his tardiness by what he brought you.”

  “I thank you,” Bess said. “Go to the kitchen. They’ll feed you and get you settled.”

  Frances Grey nearly collided with Bestenay as he turned to leave. He bowed his apology and hustled away.

  “Well, now at least we know when to expect him,” Frances said. “All is in readiness.” She came to Bess’s side and kissed her. “I’ll leave you to your mother’s care.”

  “Why don’t you lie down for a while, dear heart?” Bess’s mother urged when they were in Bess’s bedchamber. “I’ll wake you the minute he arrives. After all, you want to be rested for tonight.” She came closer to Bess. “Is there anything you wish to ask me? Perhaps I should have spoken to you sooner about matters between a husband and wife.”

  “No,” Bess said, blushing. Robbie had died leaving her a virgin, but as a married woman and a widow she had been privy to many whispered conversations among the giggling ladies at court and in the Zouche and Grey households and she knew what to expect on her wedding night.

  “From all that you and Lady Dorset have told me,” her mother said, “Sir William is a kind man and loves you well. I have no doubt he’ll be gentle and patient.”

  As it turned out it was near midnight before Bess’s mother woke her with the news that William had arrived. Bess threw on a loose gown and ran barefoot down the stairs. He stood in the great hall, bundled in a traveling cloak, his hair awry. When he saw Bess, he hastened to her and clasped her to him.

  “I’m so sorry, my own love. I couldn’t help the delay. I didn’t mean to worry you.”

  His arms were tight around her and his body was cold from the night air, but Bess felt happy and safe now that he was with her.

  “We can wait until tomorrow for the wedding,” she assured him. “You must be ready to drop with exhaustion.”

  “No,” he said. “I don’t want to wait a minute longer than I must. Give me but time to wash and put on clean clothes, and let us be married.”

  “Very well,” she said, kissing his stubbled cheek. “Nothing would make me happier.”

  “I will give you my wedding gift now,” he said, “because I would have you wear it while we are wed.”

  He pulled a small packet of wool from within his clothes and handed it to her. Bess’s fingers fumbled with the ribbon that tied it, and she gasped as the little bundle fell open. Within it lay a teardrop-shaped pearl on a gold chain.

  “Oh, my love,” she whispered. “I’ve never seen anything so beautiful.”

  He fastened the chain around her neck and looked down at her, eyes alight with tenderness and joy.

  “Even more lovely than I had imagined.”

  * * *

  THE SAVORIES AND SWEETMEATS WERE BROUGHT OUT AND THE aroma of spiced wine drifted into the great hall. Frances Grey and her daughters, and Bess’s mother and sisters, gathered around her as she was helped into her wedding gown. Her mother brushed her hair and settled a wreath of flowers atop her head. And at two in the morning of the twentieth of August, Bess became the wife of Sir William Cavendish. Lady Cavendish, she was now, though she could hardly believe it.

  What had been intended as the wedding breakfast was served up as a predawn supper, the dozens of candles in their branched holders casting a magical glow on the darkened hall.

  “We’ll have dancing and more festivities tomorrow,” Harry Grey said. “I know you’ve had a long day, Will. And I’m sure you’re eager for your bed.”

  He cuffed William Cavendish on the shoulder and kissed Bess’s cheek.

  William took up a candle and held out a hand to Bess, and they made their way up the stairs to Bess’s bedchamber. In their absence it had been prepared for their nuptial night. The air was sweet with the scent of the great bundles of roses that stood in bowls and vases and the rose petals that dotted the bedclothes. A fire burned cheerfully on the hearth.

  The door closed, and they were alone at last, man and wife.

  William bent to kiss Bess. She felt shy at the thought of giving herself to him as she knew she was about to do, but his warm hands were gentle on her skin and she was not afraid.

  “May I undo you, my love?” he asked.

  “Sure, I could never be undone as long as you are with me,” she said, smiling.

  He unlaced her bodice and unhooked the fastenings of her skirts and helped her step out of them. She stood in her snowy chemise, her hair tumbling around her shoulders, the wreath of blossoms still on her head.

  “You are so very beautiful,” he murmured, hands caressing her shoulders.

  Then he picked her up and carried her to the big soft bed. She watched as he threw off his doublet and breeches. Clad only in his shirt, he climbed into bed beside her and took her into his arms.

  * * *

  DINNER THE NEXT DAY WAS ANOTHER CELEBRATORY MEAL, AND with William at her side, Bess felt truly happy.

  “Lady Cavendish.” Harry Grey grinned at Bess across the table. “How like you married life?”

  He winked and the other guests laughed. Bess felt herself go pink, but didn’t mind his teasing.

  “Oh, fie, Harry!” Frances Grey exclaimed. “Don’t embarrass the girl.”

  “Never mind, my lady,” Bess said. “Sir, with such a husband as I have, I like married life very well.”

  She turned to William and he reached out for her hand and kissed it.

  “There was no time for gifts last night,” Frances said, “but I have something for you.”

  She placed a little gilded box on the table before Bess. Inside it was a brooch of heavy gold set with a piece of polished black agate. Bess held it out for William to see.

  “It’s stunning,” she said. “I cannot thank you enough, madam.”

  “A jewel fit for the jewel you are. I had it made for you in London.”

  Bess touched William’s necklace at her throat. “How rich I am, both in finery and in love.”

  “I have something for you, too!” Jane cried, presenting Bess with a little bundle of cloth tied with ribbon. Bess undid it and found that it contained a miniature portrait of Jane.

  “How marvelous!” she exclaimed, hugging Jane. “The painter has got you exactly!” She touched a finger to the rosebud lips of the portrait. “Now I can have you with me even when you’re far away.”

  She looked around the table and felt overcome with gratitude for all that Harry and Frances Grey had done for her.

  “I thank you both,” she said. “You have been more kind to me than I could ever have hoped, and have helped me to such a life as I never dreamed possible.”

  “And now that life is just beginning,” Frances said. She raised her goblet in a toast to Bess and William. “And may it be long and happy.”

  Part Three

  MOTHER

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Sixteenth of June, 1548—Northaw Manor, Hertfordshire

  BESS GAZED DOWN AT HER BELLY, SCARCELY ABLE TO BELIEVE how big it was. She had conceived soon after she and William had been married, and she would be brought to bed any day. She had already spent the past month immured in the birthing chamber, its walls and ceiling heavily hung with carpets and tapestries.

  “It’s so dark!” she had protested as the windows had been covered over. But the midwife had insisted that it must be so, that ladies near their time must be sequestered, away from worries and foul air.

  “At least leave me one window that I may open,” Bess had begged, and in that she had prevailed. So now she stood at the one unobstructed window, a golden square of light in the gloom of the chamber, hands clasped across her burgeoning middle. Below her on the old abbey grounds, the farm was busily carrying on with its daily round beneath the afternoon sun. A cackling rose from the poultry house as a kitchen boy entered. Cattle lowed as they were driven out to pasture. In the meadow beyond, two lads were gingerly beginning the task of drawing bees from one of the hives so they could gather the honey.

  Just below Bess, in
the kitchen garden, her younger sister, Jenny, was plucking sprigs of lavender to brew in hot water for Bess to bathe in. Bess had been pleased when Jenny had accepted her invitation to join her household as a lady-in-waiting, both because she was fond of her sister and took pleasure in her company, and because she was gratified at being able to offer Jenny opportunities she lacked at Hardwick. Jenny was fifteen, already worried about her prospects for a good marriage, whereas Bess had been only twelve when she went to serve Lady Zouche.

  Leaving home had been easier for Jenny than it had been for her, Bess reflected. After all, she was going to live with her sister, and not among strangers. And their aunt Marcella Lynacre, a widow, had come at the same time, bringing with her a complement of a dozen servants, girls and lads from near Hardwick, happy to have good positions in service in Bess’s house.

  As if she felt her sister’s eyes on her, Jenny looked upward and broke into a grin to see Bess looking down at her.

  “That’s all you do, is stand in that window!” she teased.

  “It’s all I can do! I can find no comfort in any position when I lie down.”

  “Soon it will be over, and all worth it.”

  “Yes, please God.” Bess said a silent prayer that both she and her baby would come safely through the ordeal of childbirth.

  “There you are, Mistress Jenny!” William’s secretary, John Bestenay, came around the side of the house. “There’s a letter come for Lady Cavendish.”

  He handed the folded square of paper to Jenny and retreated toward the kitchen door.

  “I’ll bring it up directly,” Jenny called. “Is there anything you lack?”

  “More water, if you please,” Bess said. “With some lemons. And some of those ginger cakes if there are any left.”

  Jenny appeared at the door of Bess’s room in a few minutes with the refreshments and the letter.

  “It’s from Jane Grey!” Bess cried as she broke the seal. “Written from Sudeley.”