The Jewels of Warwick Page 4

  Topaz raised her left hand, and for the dozenth time that day, admired her betrothal ring, holding the cluster of rubies set in gold up to the sunlight. It glinted, twinkled and winked at her as if to commend her on her choice of such a handsome and charming husband. She would never succumb to any arranged marriage, as her sisters inevitably would. Marriages in her social circle were primarily for combining lands and titles, and the parties involved were merely vehicles to secure the claims.

  But no, Topaz, Duchess of Warwick, would bestow her generous dowry on the man of her choice, not her mother's choice, not that fraudulent Henry's choice, no one's but her own.

  She watched the peacocks strutting proudly, the males displaying their brilliant tails like the plumed hats of the realm's mighty nobles. How much like Henry VIII they were, so pompous and haughty, so pretentious and proud! And what were they really, without that majestic splaying of feathers? Just ugly, scrawny birds, like Henry undoubtedly was under his royal regalia of ill-gotten jewels and robes.

  He was a pretender, nothing more. Males. Phonies, one and all. From the highest ranking noble to the lowliest slug burrowing through the soil. Matthew was no exception. Handsome and comely as he was, he was there to serve one purpose—to sire her heir, her future King of England, Edward the Sixth, she reminded herself with a sneer.

  How easy it had all been. She had found herself a fairly worthy companion to help her on her mission of revenge and quest for power and all it had taken was a bit of cunning strategy and feminine wiles.

  She turned away from the peacocks and decided to head for the stables to check on her animals before Matthew arrived.

  As she crossed the moat towards the east entrance, she noticed an ornate carriage drawn by four white palfreys heading for the gatehouse. Surely that wasn't Matthew. Even he wasn't that extravagant. She broke into a run through the inner courtyard in order to greet them, excited at the prospect of a visitor, and a noble one at that.

  The carriage halted and the horseman dismounted to help his passenger alight. She didn't recognize his livery. Perhaps it was someone calling on Amethyst or Emerald. They were being wooed by several noble gentlemen, the most persistent being the Duke of Norfolk, who'd had an eye on young Emerald for some time now.

  She gasped in delight when she saw the passenger daintily stepping to the ground was none other than her dear Aunt Margaret Pole!

  "Auntie! God's foot, you look splendid!" And indeed she did. Her golden cloak was trimmed in fur, and the circlet on her head glinted with clusters of sapphires.

  "I bring wonderful news!" She greeted her niece with a kiss on each cheek, and a small box. "Don't open it yet. I have gifts for all of you."

  "Gifts!" Aunt Margaret always had a heart of gold, and a large portion of her annuity was distributed to the poor. But this one looked beyond the norm. "What is the occasion? Another betrothal party? But I just had one last week!"

  "No, my dear. Let us all assemble and I shall dispense the glad tidings. Pray tell me your mother and sisters are in residence?"

  "Aye, they are. I believe they're in the Green Drawing Room working on their needlepoint," she said, leading the way. She glanced at the carriage once more before entering. One day, she would have something as fine… Nay, finer even than that, her perverse spirit of ambition preened.

  They entered the private apartments and found Sabine, Amethyst and Emerald in the Green Drawing Room, chatting and sewing. A servant was lighting the logs in the great fireplace as they stepped in.

  After exchanging warm greetings, Margaret took three small boxes from the velvet sack she held and gave them out. "One for each of you. One for each of my jewels."

  Amethyst's gift was a gold brooch inlaid with a round-cut amethyst, Emerald's was an emerald-cut emerald in a gold bracelet, and Topaz's was a teardrop-shaped topaz suspended from a gold chain. Sabine received a pearl choker of stunning beauty.

  "They're just magnificent, Margaret," Sabine exclaimed. "But pray tell us, what is the news?"

  "I have just been created Countess of Salisbury by His Majesty the King, ratified by Parliament. He bestowed upon me the family lands of the earldom of Salisbury, as well as property in Hampshire, Wiltshire, and Essex!"

  Her words gushed forth hurriedly, and she beamed like a child with a new toy.

  Sabine squealed in delight, for now she and her sister-in-law were both wealthy, titled noblewomen.

  Amethyst and Emerald glowed like the jewels they beheld as they hugged their beloved aunt and congratulated her on her good fortune.

  Only Topaz scowled as if she had tasted something foul.

  "How kind of His Majesty the King," she snickered. "No matter how many benevolences he conjures up, he cannot undo what his father did. He reversed the attainder against our father ten years after his death! Is that going to bring him back? Lands and titles mean nothing to him. They are no sacrifice. Let him give up something that would hurt him to give up and then you can say how kind and generous he is!"

  "Like what?" Sabine asked wearily, wondering why she even bothered to argue with her daughter anymore on this matter.

  "Like the crown, perhaps," she retorted. With that she twirled away to meet her fiancé, leaving the four women sighing after her and shaking her heads.

  "She gets more bitter with every passing year and new honor conferred, not less so," Margaret observed ruefully.

  "Mayhap marriage will steady her down," her mother prayed. "Once a child comes, well, perhaps she will be content with all she does have, instead of wishing for all she feels she has lost."

  Amethyst nodded, but deep down, she wondered if her marriage might make Topaz even more discontent that she already was…

  CHAPTER SIX

  It was the evening before her wedding, and the three sisters were in Topaz's bedroom, appropriately named the Blue Boudoir, as it was decorated in an array of blues. The silk wall hangings were a delicate French blue, a light lapis satin covered the furniture, and the velvet draperies around the carved bedframe were the color of bluebirds on a summer's day.

  The two younger sisters sat on the bed watching Topaz smear an oily concoction on her face.

  "What is that?" Emerald asked, wrinkling her nose.

  "Lanolin, oil from lambs."

  "Are you going to do that every night after you're married, also?" asked Emerald.

  "Why, of course. Just because I've landed a husband doesn't mean I'm not going to keep myself looking young."

  "God's truth, Topaz, you're only eighteen!" Amethyst exclaimed.

  "We'll be old hags before we know it, children," she replied, applying more of the odiferous oil to her throat.

  "But I'm sure Lord Gilford finds you just as beautiful. You need not make your face all slippery and slimy for him."

  Topaz looked at her sister in the mirror and laughed. "I do it not for him, nor for any other man, dear sister. I do it for myself. Once I am old and Matthew is gone and my looks are withered away by the ravages of time, I'll have naught but my wits to see me through. Men don't age as quickly as women, but I daresay look at your King Henry in the next few years, after a war or two and a few personal tragedies, and I can assure you he will begin showing his age. He won't be the pretty boy ass he is now."

  "Topaz! What a way to talk about our King!" chided Emerald.

  "Your King, you naïve child, your King? I referred to him as such as I feel generous tonight, and do not wish to insult him."

  "I've heard you say worse things about your own husband-to-be," said Amethyst. "And he's the one you'll be abed with every night."

  "Every night—posh! I plan to maintain my own chambers, into which he will not set foot uninvited."

  "Surely you won't lock yourself away in separate apartments on your wedding night, Topaz?" Amethyst exclaimed. She was at that age where curiosity about such matters fairly burst out of her. "I look forward to my own wedding night."

  "So you should, but to me, I have my own reasons for this marriage, least of w
hich is the bliss of the marriage bed."

  "But you love Lord Gilford, do you not?" she asked, shocked.

  "Love, sister? No, I do not love him. But it matters not to him, because he has enough love in him for the both of us. It bothers him not that my desire for him does not match his for me, or that he wishes to remain faithful to me forever. He is a lucky man, for very few people find love within marriage. I am marrying him for reasons of my own."

  "And what reasons may they be?" Amethyst asked, as Emerald had lost interest in the conversation and was now pawing through Topaz's wardrobe. "Surely 'tis not for Kenilworth Castle."

  Topaz turned to face her younger sister and looked deeply into her eyes. "A son, Amethyst, that is what I want more than anything. I want a son more than these empty titles, castles and lands to build them on."

  Amethyst started to relax. "Wanting to be a good mother does you credit, I am sure."

  "I want a son, an heir, to carry my legacy through history. And I'll be breeding as of tomorrow night, pray God. This is my mission. And I shall carry it out."

  Amethyst understood then what Topaz was saying, as the younger Emerald could not, and what their mother Sabine dared not. Lord bless them all, she wasn't marrying Matthew Gilford to be a good, loving and true wife and put her boundless ambition to good use as a chatelaine and helpmeet to her husband. She was going into this marriage in a coldly calculating way, using the poor man. She was still on this rampage about being the rightful queen. And unsuspecting Matthew Gilford, as smitten with Topaz as he was, was no more than the tool to provide the means to power.

  Amethyst wondered if she should warn her mother, nay, even warn the naïve bridegroom herself. But no, it was not her place. Her mother would not dare try to call off the wedding and she could never betray her sister no matter how unfair her actions seemed.

  She could only pray that her sister was talking with her usual bravado and swagger, the better to hide her true feelings lest she seem vulnerable to love and romance just like other women. By all accounts, Matthew Guilford was a paragon. How could any woman not fall in love with him, even the willful Topaz?

  Topaz's wedding day bloomed with a quilting of sunshine illuminating the clouds that billowed out like a galloping range of mountains. The trees were unleashing their papery leaves, carpeting the castle grounds with a matting of red and gold.

  The great hall sparkled with Warwick Castle's magnificent array of plate. Trestle tables lined the length of the hall, covered with linen cloths threaded with gold. The drinking bowls, goblets, ewers and basins glittered in the glow of hundreds of candles adorning the chandeliers and sprouting from the ornate candlesticks on each table.

  The butler was laying the high table with gold cloth and set the salt cellar just below the middle of the board. He arranged the embroidered linen napkins along with the splendid golden plate.

  The coppery checkerboard tile floor shone like a mirror, reflecting each burst of candlelight. The massive stone fireplace, graced with a gargoyle on each side, housed the crackling logs. Sparks spewed forth and died within the fire's luster.

  It was an autumn wedding, decorated with an autumn theme. Huge cutouts of leaves made from cloth of gold hung from the gallery and fluttered as the servants scurried about. On each table was a horn of plenty, a cornucopia of plump grapes, apples, nuts from Spain and colorful nubby gourds.

  Into the tiltyard came the bride-ale, the wedding procession led by the bridegroom and sixteen lads from Kenilworth Village wearing blue bridelace and sprigs of broom tied round their arms.

  They were followed by a party of Morris dancers, accompanied by men playing tabor and drum, Maid Marion and Michael, the village fool. Three pretty maids came after them, carrying spiced bridal cakes, and a village lad bore the bride cup full of sweetmeats, decorated with broom and streamers.

  Finally Topaz arrived atop a white stallion liveried in gold with the Warwick crest, the bear and ragged staff, gleaming in the sunlight as the horse's graceful muscles shifted in his noble stride.

  She felt like the queen today. This must be what it's like, she thought, to be the center of attention, with all eyes gaping at her magnificence.

  One word entered her mind and stayed there—power. Today she was getting her first taste of real power, and it engulfed her like the desire she surrendered to at Matthew's caresses. Nay, it was even more potent.

  In the tiltyard, the village lads tilted at a quintain, a heavy bag hung on a pole which they could swing round, knocking over an unwary tilter. As their excitement grew, they abandoned the quintain and began to run at each other.

  When the noon sun had reached its zenith, it was time for the actual ceremony to begin.

  Inside the small chapel sat the immediate family in the carved wooden pews. Candles glowed in the chandelier above, sending their warmth to the arched stained glass windows above the altar. The reds and greens of the glass rondels flooded the chapel with their radiance.

  With Matthew at her side gazing at her, Topaz stood at the altar before the priest, who was draped in white robes. She smiled up at her groom, enormously pleased with herself. He was indeed a prize worth having, if only to make sure no one else could enjoy him, she thought with an inward grin of triumph over all the other women who had tried to catch his attention at the Yuletide season and failed utterly.

  Matthew spoke his marriage vows as if reciting a prayer. She echoed them, her voice calm and resonant, but she was miles away, thinking ahead to the day she would hold her son in her arms. His name would be Edward. Edward Plantagenet Gilford. Edward the Sixth one day soon, after her own glorious reign as queen.

  They swept down the aisle, the newest man and wife in the kingdom. Topaz's satin gown shimmered in splendor; her butterfly head-dress fluttering around her coppery hair as they glided through the corridors to the great hall.

  The guests poured into the hall, and the marshal seated them at their proper places. Then the sumptuous feasting began.

  The minstrels played lively rondos and humoresques throughout the feast of traditional autumn dishes of stock fish and red herring, fresh from the ocean. From the river they'd procured salt-eels and salmon.

  Topaz smiled in contentment as her new husband satiated his healthy appetite. She took pride in her garden gatherings as Matthew complimented her on the delicious array of peas, squash, corn, and carrots seasoned with cloves, ginger, saffron, and mustard. At the end of each course, a magnificent confection of sugar, eggs and pastry was borne to the table, shaped to represent the Holy Trinity watching over Topaz and Matthew.

  She was touched at her family thinking of such a thing, but in her own mind, she was master of her fate now. No man, and no God would keep her from her true destiny now.

  Her bold opinions were more apparent when she once again insisted that there was to be no bedding ceremony. None of Matthew's attendants accompanied him to the bridal chamber singing bawdy tunes, preparing him for his wedding night.

  Topaz had always considered the tradition degrading to the sacrament of marriage, and especially to the bride, and would have none of it. The bride and groom simply mounted their palfreys and rode back to their new home at Kenilworth, leaving the merrymakers still enjoying the festivities, and Amethyst watching after the couple pensively.

  Topaz had not requested her or her sister or mother's assistance in any way, though surely the comfort of another woman at such a time would be considered by most women to be a blessing.

  She knew nothing of her sister's new husband other than that he was comely above all others she had ever seen and every woman in the district had vied for his love. She prayed that he would be kind to her sister and that all would be well on their wedding night.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Matthew brought two silver goblets over to the fire where Topaz lay luxuriating on a pile of feather pillows, her hair splayed out like a fiery sunburst around her.

  She sat up to take one goblet and clinked it against her husband's. "I hope
to be breeding as of tonight, my lord," she said, her voice lilting in anticipation.

  "Tonight?" he asked with a twinkle in his eye. "That would be a noble feat indeed!"

  "It would be, but I doubt your prowess not one bit, my lord," she replied. Topaz ran her gaze up and down her husband. She observed him from where she sat. She was exactly at eye level with his nether region.

  He lowered himself to his knees to tend the fire, and she scrutinized his every feature with discerning female curiosity. The hair was dark blond, gently brushing the top of his collar. He glanced at her and a smile touched his light green eyes. The lips were barely parted but behind them she could see a row of gleaming white teeth.

  A jagged gash interrupted the smoothness of his jawline. He was desirable, Topaz thought, and she displayed a racy grin as her body warmed to the thought of Matthew hard and demanding against her, wanting her, begging her as so many other men had done…