A Woman of Passion (50 page)

More than anything in the world she wanted to walk
with him, talk with him, but she knew that if he put his arms about her and kissed her, passion would overwhelm them. “I will walk with you if you promise not to touch me and if you give me your word we will have a normal conversation that isn't unseemly.”

His piercing blue eyes searched her face intently for a full minute to see if she was serious. Then he dropped his arms, allowing her to dismount on her own, and began a normal conversation. “I bought a piece of land in Lincolnshire—thought I might try my hand at building a house like Chatsworth.”

“Abbot Stoke! Sir John Thynne told me in his letter you outbid him. He's interested in buying property in these parts.”

“God damn Thynne, the only thing he's interested in is you!” His hands closed over her shoulders and he shook her. “Promise me you won't marry again! Christ, they'll all be sniffing about you like dogs after a bitch in heat.”

Bess clenched her teeth. “This is unseemly!”

“Fuck unseemly! You'll have so many proposals, you'll be married again before the year's out!”

“Shrew, don't insult my intelligence. I shall never leg-shackle myself again! The moment I marry, all my wealth and lands become the property of my husband in the eyes of the law, and I know the law very well. What is mine I intend to keep for my lifetime, then it passes to my children. Every manor, every acre, every penny!”

“Thank God you have decided to use your brains. Marriage is like prison, a life sentence. It eats your soul; it's hell on earth.”

“I'm sorry yours has been like that, Shrew. It can be hell, or it can be heaven.”

His hand cupped her cheek. “Bess, I want my piece of heaven—I know I'll have it only with you.”

She covered his hand with hers and held it while she touched her lips to his palm in an intimate gesture. How stubbornly blind she had been. As surely as she was his weakness, he was hers. Yet he was her strength too. He was everything she needed, everything she wanted. She could no longer go on denying it to herself. He had known for years it was inevitable; what had taken her so long?

Bess suddenly realized with clarity that after Cavendish she had been afraid to love again, for when love was taken away, it was too painful to bear. That's why she had married Syntlo, to keep her heart from being torn asunder again.

“What are we going to do?” she whispered.

His arm slipped about her and drew her close to his side possessively. “We are going to make plans to be together, of course. Whenever we can, wherever we can. I'm going to Court tomorrow. I'll take care of all the exchequer business and council business in short order, then we'll have the whole summer before us. I'll take you to Wingfield Manor, Rufford Abbey, Buxton Hall, Worksop, Welbeck … all of them. You have a passion for houses, Bess—I want you to get to know mine. Some you'll love, some you'll loathe, like Tutbury Castle. It's so damp, moss grows on the walls.”

“Shrew, you go too fast.”

“You will come?” he demanded intensely.

“Yes,” she said softly, “I'll come, but aren't these places crawling with servants?”

“Each has a staff of caretakers, but nothing like the horde at Sheffield Castle. I'll make sure the servants are
discreet. Neither of us wants a scandal that will reach the ears of our children.”

“Nor our queen,” Bess cautioned.

“Spend the afternoon with me. We'll ride up into the Peaks, away from civilization. We won't encounter a soul.” He made the pledge to her as though he could control the universe, and in that moment they both believed he could.

As they galloped together, they laughed as if they were children without a care in the world. Then they climbed their mounts for almost two hours, going ever higher, until they crested the tallest peak. They reined in and sat in their saddles, holding hands, looking down at the rivers and valleys far below.

“Do you realize, my beauty, that between the two of us, we own as far as the eye can see?”

He sounded like a god standing on Olympus. The corners of her mouth lifted with the wonder of it all. “Does it intoxicate you?”

“Not nearly as much as you do, Vixen.”

Two weeks later Bess received another letter from Sir John Thynne in the morning post. He told her he had heard a rumor that her old home, Hardwick Manor, was for sale, and if it were true he was most interested in the property.

Bess flung down the letter and summoned Robert Bestnay. “Find James. I need him immediately.”

James Cromp was not only Chatsworth's steward, he had been a friend to Bess for more than sixteen years, because they kept no secrets from each other. When her secretary returned with Cromp, she questioned them
both. “Has either of you heard a rumor about Hardwick being on the market?”

“Hardwick Manor and lands?” James asked in disbelief. “I would have come to you immediately.”

“I've just paid the bills for all the repairs,” Bestnay said. “It can't be true.”

James looked hard at Bess. “I put in the last of the new stock last week.… I wouldn't put it past him.”

“That rotten swine!” Bess cursed. “Robert, I want you to ride into Derby to the chambers of Messrs. Funk and Entwistle and bring one of them to Hardwick.” She glanced at the library clock. “James and I will meet you there around two.”

At precisely one o'clock, Bess, accompanied by Chatsworth's steward, arrived at Hardwick. She held on to her temper as she inspected the repairs on the beloved old manor, then asked her brother, James, to show her the new flocks of sheep and herds of cattle she had purchased. She asked him what crops he planned to sow and gave him every opportunity to confess what he had done. When he was not forthcoming, Bess asked casually, “What income did Hardwick bring in last year?”

James looked affronted at the question. “Nothing. You know I had to put a mortgage on it to get out of debt,” he said defensively.

“With the new livestock, what income do you expect this year?” she asked innocently.

“The first year I'll do well to even make the mortgage payment. This place has never paid for itself, Bess.”

“Then you don't think it's worth much?” she asked lightly.

James changed his tune immediately. “I wouldn't say that. The manor comes with five hundred acres and two
tenant farms. It's strange you should ask; I was thinking only yesterday about putting it up for sale.”

“Only yesterday? And what price were you thinking of asking?”

“Five hundred pounds.”

Bess showed surprise. “So much?”

“I have to pay off the mortgage and have enough left to get a house in London.”

“London, is it? That can be very expensive.”

“It's none of your damned business!”

“None of my business?” Bess's voice was deceptively low. “When I've just paid for repairs on the manor and bought you all new livestock?”

“I didn't ask—you offered. Besides, you can afford it, Lady Moneybags.”

“James, I could strike you. Not for the petty names you call me; I have a thick skin. It's your deceit that angers and sickens me! Behind my back you have put Hardwick up for sale with an agent in another county.”

“Hardwick is my birthright—I can sell it if I wish!” he shouted.

“Then you can sell it to me. Ah, we have visitors, I see.” They made their way from the stables back to the manor. “James, I believe you have met Master Entwistle, Attorney at Law? I asked him to meet me here to handle my purchase of Hardwick.”

James was thrown off balance by the unexpected turn of events. He was also wary of his sister's attitude. She had such a temper, he was amazed that she wasn't cursing and shouting. But the presence of her attorney told him that she was serious about buying Hardwick. He knew she had money, so perhaps this was his golden opportunity to unload the place that for years had been a millstone
about his neck. “Come in, gentlemen. I think we can do business, if the price is right.”

“You say five hundred pounds is the asking price, James?”

He was prepared for a session of hard bargaining. Five hundred was a steep price for a property like Hardwick, and Bess was an extremely shrewd businesswoman. “Five hundred—worth every penny.”

“What do you think, Cromp?” Bess asked her steward.

“In my opinion the price is too high,” Cromp said flatly.

“Master Entwistle?” Bess asked politely.

The attorney frowned. “One pound an acre in these parts is unheard of. Ten or twelve shillings is the going rate for Derbyshire property. You have to take into account what the income will be, Lady St. Loe.”

“Oh, I believe I can make the property pay, Master Entwistle. My stewards know what they are about. In this case I am prepared to be generous; I have no objection to five hundred pounds.”

“Then it's a deal? Five hundred pounds?” James asked eagerly.

Bess nodded. “It's a deal. Draw up the papers, Master Entwistle; get the deed, James.” Bess turned to her secretary. “Bestnay, you have those bills for the repair work on the manor. What is the final tally?”

“New roof and gutters, replacing the beams throughout, rebuilding a chimney, and repairing two walls and wainscoting comes to a round figure of a hundred pounds. Another fifty pounds was spent on outbuildings for a new cattle barn and sheep pens, making a tally of a hundred fifty pounds, my lady.”

“Cromp, what did you pay for the new livestock?”

“A hundred pounds, my lady.”

James turned purple in the face. “God damn you, Bess, that leaves me with only two hundred fifty pounds!”

“Oh James, didn't I tell you? I purchased your mortgage. Master Entwistle, what is the amount of the mortgage on Hardwick?”

Entwistle cleared his throat. “Two hundred fifty pounds, Lady St. Loe.”

“You bitch! You greedy, grasping jade! You've buried three husbands and taken their land; now you are trying to get
mine!”

“Yours? I have the papers to prove that Hardwick is now mine.”

“You clever bitch! You are just laughing at me on the inside!”

“No, James, on the inside I am crying.” A great lump welled up in her throat, preventing her from speaking for a moment. She arose from the table and looked through the window at the ancient oak tree. It took only a minute or two to compose herself, then she walked back to the table. “Master Entwistle, be good enough to burn the mortgage on Hardwick and draw up an agreement of sale for five hundred pounds. As my brother said, Hardwick is worth every penny—at least to me.”

The papers were drawn up, signed, and duly witnessed on the spot, and Bess left with the deed to Hardwick in her hand. “Would you register this for me immediately, Master Entwistle?”

“Yes indeed, Lady St. Loe.” He tucked the deed into his leather portfolio. “Such dreadful news about the Countess of Shrewsbury.”

“What news?”

James Cromp broke it to her. “The countess passed away last night. It was the talk of Derby this morning.”

“And Shrewsbury away at Court, poor man. So sudden; it will be such a shock to him.”

“Yes … a shock indeed,” she managed, rendered almost speechless by the unexpected news. Bess rode back to Chatsworth in complete silence. For once she allowed her steward and secretary to take the lead, while she followed at a slower pace, lost in deep thought. The moment she arrived at Chatsworth, she sought out her mother and aunt and blurted, “Gertrude Talbot is dead!”

“When?” Bess's mother asked with disbelief.

“Apparently, it happened last night. Shrewsbury's at Court. It'll take him two or three days to get home. I don't know what to do. Should I go or stay away?”

Her mother looked at her oddly. “Of course you must go.”

Marcella fixed Bess with a knowing look. “As a good neighbor and dear friend, the natural thing for you to do is go immediately. You must take our condolences and see if there is anything you can do to help until Shrewsbury can get home.”

“Yes, of course. I'll ask Francie to ride with me; she's known young Anne Herbert all her life.”

L
ady St. Loe, accompanied by her daughter, was met by Gertrude Talbot's bereaved ladies-in-waiting. They were red-eyed and in a state of complete agitation. Bess realized they were fearful for their appointments once Shrewsbury returned when one of them blurted in distress, “He hates the very sight of us.”

One of the ladies said, “Would you care to see the countess, my lady? She is lying in the chapel.”

“No, no,” Bess demurred quickly. “We've come to see the children.”

“The wicked young devils are in dire disgrace. They are the cause of this.”

Bess was appalled at what they were saying. She looked about at the army of servants, who were busy draping the windows with black. “I'd like to see them, please.”

“The young ladies have their own governesses, and the gentlemen their tutors. We have nothing to do with the young Talbots.”

Bess put the woman in her place immediately. “That
is a blessing for them. Inform whoever is in charge that I am here. Shrewsbury won't take it kindly that I've been kept in the entrance hall.” Bess dealt with a whole battery of Talbot servants before she was taken to an upstairs sitting room and allowed a private conversation with the three young Talbot girls, Catherine, Mary, and Grace.

Twelve-year-old Catherine burst into tears, and Bess gathered her in her arms. “There, there, darling, get it all out.”

“I want Father to come, but I'm afraid what he'll do to us.”

“Catherine, my dear, he won't do anything. He loves you.”

Grace, who was only nine, said, “We killed her; we're all going to burn in hell.”

Bess's heart went out to the child, and she picked her up and sat her on her knee. “Grace, someone has been filling your head with nonsense. You didn't kill your mother. She has been ill for a long time, and God has taken her to heaven to live with the angels.”

Grace looked up at Bess with solemn dark eyes as she digested the words. The door opened and Francis Talbot and his young bride, Anne Herbert, came in. “Oh, I'm so glad you came, Lady St. Loe,” Anne said.

“You may call me Bess now that you're a married woman.”