Bessie (2 page)

He stopped before Bessie and bowed.

“My lady Elizabeth, late of Stansbury? The queen commands your presence.”

Bessie went weak-kneed and all-over frightened. She probably paled, but her mourning veil disguised that weakness from anyone. “My presence?”

“This moment.”

There were tiles beneath her fabric shoes, but it could have been wet bog as well. Her legs didn’t feel like hers as she stood, swaying as if on unstable ground. She hoped she wouldn’t shame herself by fainting. She reached for the man’s arm.

“Give Her Highness my regards,” Mirabelle remarked.

Bessie kept her head high as she left the dark antechambers reserved for the gentle-bred ladies of Queen Elizabeth’s court. She was being silly. She had nothing to show such fright over. All she’d done was whisper about Hildebrand’s indiscretions. Where was her courage?

The queen did wear too many pearls
.

Bessie stopped the thought the instant it occurred. In her current state of mind, she might blurt it out. She kept her eyes on the highly polished floor as she curtsied.

“Step closer, dear. Goodness, look at you. Widowed again? I have been remiss.”

“I—” Bessie’s voice stopped.

“Of course you are properly grateful, Elizabeth. I expect nothing less. But I digress. I have had you fetched because I have decided to remedy your station in life.”

Bessie’s eyes widened at the use of her proper name. She hadn’t been called that by the queen since she was three. It was the first thing her new guardian had decreed. The lack of anyone to love and care about her was probably the second.

“My...queen?”

“I am seeing to your future once again, Elizabeth. I have arranged a marriage that brings gladness to this old heart. Bring him in.”

Bessie’s eyes closed as her bridegroom was fetched. She knew who it would be. She should have known the moment Lady Mirabelle Bryant opened her mouth.

“Lord Devon Francis Hildebrand requested a union with you. I had no idea he held you in such high regard. Of course I consented. I have even decided, as my wedding gift to you, to attend the ceremony, which will take place forthwith. The journey to Whitehall is too long, so you may both join me in my private chapel...”

There was more said, but Bessie didn’t hear it. She was incapable of listening anymore without screaming. And that, she refused to do.

CHAPTER TWO

They were well into the open country outside London before Bessie said anything. She’d opened her mouth twice before to do so, but something about him silenced her. It wasn’t his physical stature, although that was intimidating. Lord Hildebrand was above six feet in height and well-developed, besides.

The reason she shied away from conversing with him was his attitude.

Not once had he looked her way. Not when they’d been hurried into this carriage. Nor when she’d nervously reattached her face veil when it had slipped. He hadn’t even looked her way when she’d had her hand placed in his to be pronounced his lawfully wedded wife.

The queen had left before the ceremony was finished. Bessie hadn’t questioned it. The woman had avenged Hildebrand’s betrayal. The man at Bessie’s side had noted when his monarch left, however. He had probably wondered why his soulful glances hadn’t swayed the queen. Bessie couldn’t give him an answer. If he’d looked at her with modicum of the expression, she’d have given him anything he wished.

Hildebrand hadn’t said a word when he was escorted to his new traveling chaise and assisted in. He hadn’t spoken, nor had he looked to see if his new lady accompanied him, either. It would have taken a braver woman to speak to him at that time, too.

He hadn’t acted interested in talking to his new wife. He didn’t appear to want to admit to her presence, at all. It didn’t take a fool to see he wasn’t taking well to his new lot in life.

Neither was she, although the longer they traveled, the more she began to wonder.

She traced a button near her ear, matching her movement to the carriage sway. It was amazing Hildebrand had been gifted with this new carriage. The blue satin lining the walls still had creases from where it had been rolled on bolts. There were new folds from where heavy silver buttons riveted the padded material to the walls.

Bessie twisted her lips as she considered it.

Lord Hildebrand might be poor, but the accouterments of his carriage would see him through many a lean year, if he had to make use of it. Of course, he could claim his new wife’s wealth...if she allowed him knowledge of it. But, perhaps he already knew. Perhaps he knew the woman known as The Widow possessed four castles, land that paid for itself, and more servants than her secretaries could count. That had been the bride price for wedding with the queen’s ward. The terms had been specified in no uncertain words. If there were no issue of each marriage, all the property converted to Bess.

Her guardian had guaranteed Bessie wouldn’t need a spouse. She had no husband to please or obey. She had complete freedom, something unheard of. Oh, if only she’d had the sense to disobey the queen’s summons to court two months ago, none of this would have happened!

At least, it wouldn’t have happened to her. Lord Hildebrand might have lost his head, though. As comely as he was, that would have been an even worse shame.

Bessie sighed, and looked for any sign her new husband heard it.

He didn’t move, but that could mean anything. He was still gazing out the window, jounced occasionally from his pose. Bessie wondered what he was watching. The hills had been a pleasant sight, as were the fields and the overgrown wall the Ancients had built. It hadn’t kept her interest for long. She rather thought Devon wasn’t looking at any of it, either.

Perhaps she should ask him to draw the drape. That might force him to notice her. It would also make it difficult to see clearly. That did not worry her. He couldn’t pierce the loosely woven material she hid behind.

She wished for the dimness because it would make it harder for her to watch him.

Oh, my
. Her new husband was a very handsome man. Sigh-worthy. She’d never looked this closely at him before. It had been forbidden. Sunlight cast his face into a perfectly sculpted silhouette and burnished his dark brown hair to a russet shade. It was difficult to swallow properly. Bessie looked him over surreptitiously, although there wasn’t any reason for concern. For all the attention he paid her, she could be openly staring.

He’d been wed to her as Lord Devon Francis Hildebrand, Earl of Hilde, High Sheriff of Devershire and vassal to the queen. While Bessie wasn’t surprised to hear he’d been lorded, thanks to her gossiping with Lady Bryant, she was surprised at the amount of land he’d been gifted.

Bessie’s eyes narrowed as she considered the man she’d sworn to cleave unto. He was a stunning fellow. But that was no surprise. The queen kept comely men at her side. Sir Francis Drake’s state portrait was just one example. Her Majesty didn’t favor ugly men. There was still no excuse for being unable to tear her eyes away from him.

This was foolish. She knew Devon Hildebrand was handsome. All the ladies whispered of it. But she’d never thought she’d get within hearing distance of him, let alone able to view him for what seemed like hours.

Bessie sighed again.

Her new husband was more than comely, he was a beautiful specimen. She’d have to give him that, even if his silence was starting to bother her. She opened her mouth to say something and stopped. It would take more bravery than she possessed to pierce the gloom he hid behind.

He probably had reason for such depression. He looked like he’d had a rough time of it since angering his monarch. He was wearing proper court attire, although it looked like an evening ensemble. Someone had hit him in the mouth too, if the bruised look of his lips was any indication. There was a tear in his hose below the knee, scuff marks on both elbows, and if she weren’t mistaken, dried blood dusting his lace collar.

For all the damage, he’d actually received a light sentence.

Dark curls covered his head, falling messily to his shoulders. Bessie watched as he tossed them aside and cupped his forehead. He probably suffered an ache in his head, too. That made her wonder again why he’d rather face the sunlight outside than the comfortable dimness of the carriage.

Or, at the very least, glance at his new wife.

Bessie cleared her throat. “May I call you...Devon?”

Vivid green eyes looked her way and she couldn’t prevent her gasp. She’d no idea he had such startling eyes.

“If you must,” he replied coldly.

Bessie had to calm the surprise overtaking her body as he turned back to the scenery. There was no reason for such a reaction. Anyone with vision knew Lord Hildebrand was handsome. Bessie hadn’t any idea he was this remarkable, though. No wonder Lady Bryant had whispered in such rapturous tones.

Thinking of Mirabelle made Bessie frown now. Hildebrand might be a beautiful man, but he showed little integrity and even less honor. She’d need to keep her mind on that, if the reaction in her breathing was any indication. She wondered if she dared speak to him again. The enigmatic look he’d given her wasn’t any help. She hadn’t known his eyes were as deep-green as emeralds, though. No whisper of it had reached her.

She took a deep breath. “I’m known as Bessie, but ’tis a name I’ve little liking for. I was christened Elizabeth. You may choose how you wish to address me...Devon.”

Saying his name made her voice catch again. He looked her way. Eyes like jewels, and just as hard, regarded her for several moments before he turned away again. In that amount of time, Bessie knew what the troubadours were referring to whenever they spoke of love.

Because it happened to her.

Just like that.

“If I must,” he replied.

Well. His reply showed he obviously wasn’t taken with her. That could be changed. Bessie frowned again as she wondered how she was supposed to go about it. After the horrid examples of manhood she’d been wed to, her new husband was like a god, and about as difficult to approach.

He shifted on the bench, drawing her gaze. Despite any sway and bounce of the carriage, he looked relaxed. Totally assured. Perfectly attired. She knew now the deep-green of his doublet exactly matched the shade of his eyes. The queen had a knack for such spectacles. His attire must have been her color scheme and design. Devon Hildebrand was a striking sight, from the green of his doublet, to the striped, black-and-green codpiece covering him.

Bessie flushed as she realized that had been intentional. The queen had an eye for beauty, and she knew how to dress a man for showing it off. Bessie swallowed before she choked. She’d best keep her thoughts where they belonged. She tried to counsel herself, but another part of her kept repeating that he was her husband.
Hers.
To look over at will, and mentally review anytime she wished.

Oh. She could grow fond of that.

He hadn’t grown a beard, which was surprising, for they were the style. Looking over the smooth surface of the cheek facing her, Bessie was rather glad he didn’t sport facial hair. It would mask his beauty.

Oh! This was amazing. What she’d not thought possible had actually happened to her!

She’d been wed to a man who was a delight on the senses. He had striking features, amazing coloring, and a deep voice. Looking him over, she couldn’t find one ugly piece of him. He had thick dark hair, a strong chin, and lengthy, well-muscled legs. She could only imagine what the hidden parts of him looked like.

“Sweet heaven!”

Bessie would have slapped her hands to her mouth to stop the words, but knew it was too late. She could tell he’d heard her, too, for he slid a sidelong glance at her.

She took a deep breath and started speaking before she lost her nerve. “Very well. Bessie it is, then. That is rather a shame. I would prefer Liza, or something romantic-sounding, had I the choice.”

He turned his head. This time, as he looked at her, the color of his eyes was difficult to see. It wasn’t due to any lack of light. It was because he’d narrowed his eyes and he had spectacularly long lashes, too.

“There’s nothing romantic about you.”

Bessie sucked in air, knowing he’d hear. It took her some moments to find her voice. “There’s no need for insults,” she replied.

“I mean no insult. I am stating fact. That is the least we can be with each other. Truthful. Honest. Yes?”

“Yes,” she replied.

“Accept the consequences, then. You insist on speaking when I give every indication to leave me be. Very well, I shall speak. But you may not like what I say.”

“Oh. I dislike it already.”

A slight smile crossed his lips, although it could have been a smirk as easily. It was difficult to tell, as swollen as his lips were. “Perhaps you’ll grant me silence, then?”

“It wasn’t I that asked for your hand in marriage, my lord.”

Bessie thrust her chin out. She’d been told she was stubborn. It came along with the red hair she kept hidden. Her stubborn streak was something she regretted from time to time. Taunting her new husband could easily turn out to be one of those times.

“Think before you speak, Mistress. I will not be responsible for my words when I answer.”

“Do you have a problem with your hearing? I have pointed out the obvious and you avoid answering. I’ll repeat myself. Did you, or did you not, request my hand in wedlock this very day?”

“If I answer that, it will be another insult.”

“Oh. Insult away, my fine husband.”

“It was your hand, or my presence in the Tower. I’ve yet to decide the lesser evil.”

Bessie’s earlier thoughts turned to ashes in her mouth. She swallowed around the dryness. “Her Majesty did not purchase your company for your wits, did she? Don’t answer that. It’s painfully obvious. You haven’t any.”

He smiled crookedly this time. The swollen part of his upper lip curled as he did so, making it an ugly gesture. “I begin to think I should have chosen the Tower, after all.”

“Her Tower has little in creature comforts,” Bessie whispered.

“Creature comforts are the least of my troubles, Mistress. You ask what I shall call you, and there it is:  Mistress. It’s an apt word, and helps mute the horror of my day.”

“The horror of your day? What of last night?”

“Certain experiences pale in comparison, I’m finding.”

An unpleasant shiver raced her back as she stared at her tightly clasped hands. Even seen through her white veil, her dress material was drab. She watched it shimmer with moisture she fought to contain. She didn’t say another word. If she did, he’d know he’d pained her.

“You shouldn’t ask for insults, if you can’t handle them.”

His softly spoken words brought her head up. Bessie didn’t want his pity. He should look to pitying himself first. He was the one being punished. Devon wasn’t looking her way, though. He was gazing out the window, again.

“You mistake my emotion, Lord Devon.”

“You wish more of my insults, then?”

“No. I was but remembering my own time in the Tower. I would have done anything for release. In fact, I did.”

“You’ve spent time in the Tower? For what? Sullying the beauty of court with your presence?”

Bessie’s lip dropped for a moment. It took another moment before she answered. “You demean me without reason. I would not sully things, even if I were plain.”

He turned back to her and raised an eyebrow. “Oh. I believe you are worse than plain, Mistress.”

“Do you base such a judgment on court gossip? You’ve not seen me. And in this light, it’s impossible to do so with accuracy.”