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  Strange how she had come to think of him as Richard. The familiar name slipped easily into her thoughts, as though she had known this man all her life. She could not understand why; she only knew that very soon, she would be his countess and living in that beautiful mansion, with finery such as velvet and satin to wear. She would have fine carriages and beautiful horses and a husband who was pleasing to look upon and had promised to treat her fairly.

  What more could she ask for?

  CHAPTER THREE

  Richard wanted an early date for the marriage. He said he did not want to give her time to change her mind, but she suspected he had other motives, although what they were she could not guess.

  He had said no more about the King’s health or the unlikely accession of Mary Tudor to the throne, but she felt a sense of urgency that perhaps had something to do with the crown. Had she known then that he would fight for Mary, possibly be killed in a few short months and was anxious to conceive an heir before that happened, it would have made no difference. She was excited and her eyes were firmly fixed on the prize, the riches and the power; nothing else mattered very much.

  She was longing to consult her sister about it all, but Julia was far away and there were too many preparations to be made for the wedding for her to find time to visit with her. She had declared that Bethany was no sister to her, and she wanted very much to know that she had not meant it, that she had accepted her decision.

  Her father’s country house was some fifteen miles from Summerville Hall and it was decided that the wedding party would leave from there. The festivities would go on for days and the house was big enough to accommodate all the guests who would come from far away. Once there, she thought Julia might have come to see her, once she got word, but there was nothing. She would have to wait until the wedding day to be able to speak to her and by then it could be too late. Bethany felt sure her sister had more secrets, secrets she might never reveal.

  Julia was unhappy in her own marriage and perhaps she was trying to prevent her sister from making a mistake. Sir Geoffrey had married her for her dowry, he had promised nothing more than a minor title and it seemed that was all she had received. Bethany was expecting much more from her union, and she believed she was about to marry a man who would at least have some respect for her. He said he wanted an intellectual companion, a friend as well as a wife, but perhaps, once he had his son, she would see little of him.

  The wedding took place in the small parish church in the village on a bright, sunny day in April. It was very windy, as one would expect of April, but Bethany hardly noticed the weather.

  She stood beside the Earl and listened intently to Cranmer’s marriage service, made her vows willingly, but he seemed somehow to be impatient for the ceremony to be over. Was he anxious to proceed to the consummation? The notion sent a quiver of fear through her body.

  She was experiencing feelings she was unaccustomed to, feelings of excitement at the prospect of her future but also fear of the night to come. As she looked at the Earl, she could not help but feel a little afraid of this powerful man who had laid his wealth at her feet. And all he wanted in return was an heir. She prayed she could keep that side of the bargain; it was little enough to ask but his questions on the subject still puzzled her. Although she prayed, she felt uneasy asking God for anything after her betrayal.

  There was a banquet and ball that evening and it was held at her father’s house. The Earl had said it was the most convenient, being closer to Summerville Hall in distance, and it would be more comfortable than the Hall itself. His reasons did not seem genuine to Bethany but his rank gave him the privilege of not having to explain himself. Her father would comply with any request he made, being quite agitated lest the great man should change his mind.

  She was too curious not to ask, though, and she did just that, as soon as she found a quiet corner where they could talk in private.

  “I do not want to share you with a house full of strangers,” he answered her question. “I want us to have somewhere private to go, where there will be no raucous guests to make merry at our expense. Is that good enough for you?”

  Good enough? She thought it was a lovely thought but she was not used to people going against the crowd, being different. Perhaps that was a privilege of rank she would have to become accustomed to.

  So she was to be spared the custom of their marriage bed being prepared, of the bride and groom being sealed inside for all to see, spared being washed and put to bed to await his pleasure. He thought it too much of an intrusion and she was relieved. It was enough of a burden to be bedded by a man who was almost a stranger, without the ritual and festivities which went with it.

  After the ceremony was the first chance she had to speak to Julia. She came and kissed Bethany’s cheek, taking her hands and squeezing them. She murmured good wishes but did not look very happy for her.

  “Did I not tell you to stay away from him?” Julia asked quietly, drawing Bethany into another room. “I hope you will not live to regret this day.”

  “Did I have a choice?” She replied stubbornly.

  “I expect you did. I can imagine he gave you that choice; I can also imagine he laid all the facts before you so that you could make an informed decision. His pride would allow nothing else.”

  “How do you know so much about him?”

  Julia looked as though she were about to answer, but changed her mind.

  “I wish you every happiness, Bethany, I really do. Just so long as you know what you are getting into, I shall pray for you. He will take care of you, if that is what he has promised. He is a man who keeps his promises, of that I can assure you.”

  Bethany still thought this knowledge a little too intimate, but she was glad she had not offended her sister too much. She still did not understand her objections though.

  “Just think, Julia,” she said. “We will be living so close together. We will be able to see each other every day.”

  Julia smiled, but it was a remorseful little smile, a smile of regret. Then she squeezed Bethany’s hands once more and seemed again as though she would speak, but at that moment Lord Summerville appeared in the doorway.

  “We need to leave,” he announced. “There is still much to do.”

  She thought she could guess his meaning, and a little thrill of apprehension shivered through her. Like most ladies, she knew little of what was meant by a husband and wife being “of one flesh”. It was a phrase used by the clergy mostly and she had never really wondered about it before.

  He held out his hand to Bethany, bowed to Julia, and led her away. She could not fail to notice the meaningful glances exchanged between her sister and her new husband but she would not ask. Whatever had happened between them was now in the past and she was happy to leave it there.

  She was soon to learn there was more to wanting privacy than he had told her, as well as why it was so important to him to return quickly to his home and it was not what she had expected.

  ***

  Lord Summerville fought his distaste throughout the marriage service, silently contesting every word and thankful the ordeal was short. He had no choice but to go along with it; his bride might know he was not of her faith, but her family and guests did not and he could not afford to draw attention to himself or his ideals. Soon, he thought, soon he would be free to speak his mind on the subject, but that time was not yet.

  The church was devoid of statues, the Virgin was absent as was the crucifix and His Lordship could not even tell his chosen bride that as far as he was concerned they were not yet wed nor would they be until the real service was performed. He had avoided telling her about that, and he knew it would come as a shock, but she had agreed to his terms and should be expecting something of the sort.

  She did look lovely though. He watched as she walked towards him in that sparsely furnished church, her pale blue gown sparkling with tiny diamonds, her lovely face lighting up with a smile for him, her lips tempting him to taste them.r />
  He was a little afraid of the night to come himself. He was afraid he might frighten her, that his desires might be too much for her, and he intended to take things very slowly, to give her time to grow used to him. He imagined it would all be a little overwhelming for her and after the Latin service he had planned, she would be very unsettled.

  He was pleased she had agreed to the marriage, even though he knew her motives were not honourable, but he had acted impulsively in offering his hand in marriage to someone of such a different social status to his own. She would need to be taught how to behave in the presence of the Queen when the time came, she would have to learn how to live in the palace without making a fool of herself. Had he done the right thing? He hoped so.

  ***

  It was not a long journey to Summerville Hall and during that ride, Richard held on to Bethany’s hand but said nothing. Her mind was too full of the night to come to think of anything intelligent to say. She knew nothing, but she had heard whispers, tales she could scarcely believe. Her mother had told her it always hurt the first time; she had told her little else, not even what ‘it’ was.

  Inside the house he gave their cloaks to a manservant then took her hand and led her down a flight of stairs and through a vast network of corridors which were already lit by torches on the walls. The air was damp here and she felt herself to be underground. They came to a short flight of stone steps, at the bottom of which was a huge, oak door which he opened easily, proving that it was in regular use. She gasped in horror when she found herself among shelves of stone coffins lining the walls. There were no torches here, only the one he held before them, and the shadows and shapes repelled her.

  Terror gripped her. She had heard stories, tales of men who kept their wives imprisoned in cellars or chained to walls, only to be used whenever it pleased them. But she could not have been that wrong about him, surely not? She asked herself if she had stopped to consider what manner of man he was and the answer came back a resounding ‘no’! She had cared about nothing but what he offered. She stopped walking, and he turned and took her arm firmly in his strong hand, pulling her forward.

  “Where are we going, My Lord?” She asked cautiously.

  “To our wedding,” he replied.

  She stopped again, more firmly this time and looked up to see him smiling tenderly, as though he was about to reveal some exciting surprise.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Do you imagine I can feel married after the stunted ceremony we have just gone through? Cranmer’s marriage service? In English?” He shook his head slowly, but kept a firm grip on her arm. “The law might call you my wife; my church does not.”

  My church. He was making it quite clear that his church was not the same thing at all as the church of the land, as her church.

  She was still bewildered, but beginning to fear that he had planned a Latin mass for their nuptials and she would be required to keep her promise after all, but it was a better alternative to the one her imagination had recently conjured up. The idea scared her and the feeling was not alleviated when they reached another short flight of stone steps, this one leading up and at the top of which was another arched oak door, just like any church door in the land, but this one was deep underground.

  They emerged into the church behind the altar and inside were candles lighting up the idols which lined the walls. Standing before the couple with a smile of anticipation on his chubby little face, was a Catholic priest.

  Bethany stared, her body rigid.

  “This is Father O’Neil, my love,” said Richard. “He is going to conduct the marriage ceremony. I’m sorry we have no guests, but you know how dangerous that would be.”

  She was certain that if she went through with this Roman ritual, the Good Lord would strike her dead and send her straight to hell. Her heart was hammering, her memory conjured up all the tales her father had told her about the Catholics, about the influence the priests had on the people, about the selling of absolution in return for gold. He had told of all sorts of horrific punishments meted out to anyone who did not believe one small part of their dogma.

  Was she really about to pledge her soul in exchange for a grand title and a mansion?

  “Why did you not warn me?” She asked hesitantly.

  “Perhaps I thought you would work it out for yourself, being an intelligent woman. Perhaps I was afraid you might change your mind. Who knows? I did tell you what I was, and what I wanted from you. You cannot deny that.”

  No, she could not deny it. But it seemed to be just words then, not something she would ever have to actually face. She was frightened, very frightened, but not of Richard’s anger, which she expected to be fierce. She was afraid for her immortal soul.

  The little priest said nothing, the Earl said nothing. They both merely waited patiently for her to step toward the altar. Still she hesitated, although she knew perfectly well there was no way out.

  She closed her eyes and began to pray silently to herself, keeping her prayers secret, trying desperately to keep her faith with God. She prayed for forgiveness, for understanding for this greatest of all sins. She got no answer.

  She was quite exhausted by the end of the long and unintelligible ceremony. She did not understand one word and had no idea what she was promising, but who would know? As far as she was concerned, she was married already before the circus of the mass.

  All the servants seemed to have gone to bed but there were two women waiting at the door to her bedchamber, waiting to undress her and prepare her for the marriage bed. Her new husband would return when she was in the bed, awaiting his pleasure, but she no longer feared his touch. She felt that her soul had been forcibly ripped from her flesh and nothing else seemed worthy of her fear.

  God had not stricken her dead after all. She did not believe He had forgiven her, only that He had ceased to care. She had betrayed Him, so He no longer cared for her. She could not know that He had greater punishments waiting for her in her future.

  She had no wish to savour her acquisitions; she only wondered if they were really worth the price she had already paid, the price she had yet to pay. She sat down on the huge bed with its velvet draperies and began to cry. There was no help for it, no matter what the Earl might think. She was damned, of that she had no doubt, and she had known precisely what she was doing. A fleeting image of all those minor suitors paraded through her mind and she shuddered, feeling that she could not have won no matter what her choice had been. At least by marrying one of those she would have only had a miserable life. This way she would have a miserable eternity as well.

  The women servants misunderstood, and tried to soothe her.

  “There is no need to be so frightened, My Lady,” said the older woman reassuringly. “It will be all right, you will see. His Lordship is a kind man, and a handsome one.”

  Her words just made Bethany sob all the more, but they carried on brushing her hair and removing her clothing until she was left with her blue silk shift. They stopped abruptly when the door opened and the Earl approached the bed.

  “My Lord?” One of the women said, startled.

  “Leave us,” he ordered.

  “But My Lord,” she persisted, outrage in her tone. “Her Ladyship is not ready.”

  He turned on her a harsh glare and Bethany watched her shrink before it.

  “I said go, now. Out!”

  What was this? What fresh horrors had she let herself in for? Was he planning something he did not want the servants to witness? If he was, it was no more than she deserved.

  She felt the weight of him as he sat beside her but she could not look up. She had no idea what to say to him. He would want to know why she was crying and that she could not tell him.

  But he asked no questions, only put his arm gently around her shoulders and slipped his other arm under her knees to lift her on to his lap, where he rocked her like a baby. He had removed his doublet and his shirt was open, so that she felt the warmth of his chest as h
e held her head against it.

  She felt comforted by that warmth, although she could not say she felt safe. She thought it unlikely she would ever feel safe again. Would he ever understand what she had done? Would she? Still he did not speak, but he lie down, pulling her down to lie beside him and just held her in his arms until she slept. She knew nothing else until she awoke the following morning to sunshine and birdsong.

  ***

  It was a fine, spring day and Bethany felt a little better, though not completely recovered from the previous night’s ordeal. She wondered just how often she would have to go through the rituals she had willingly accepted in exchange for her guilty soul.

  She was still recovering from the shock of finding a fully functioning, Catholic church, complete with idols, Latin tracts and a Catholic priest. If anyone found that place, it would mean imprisonment for the Earl and confiscation of his property, and she had now agreed to share in that fate should he be discovered.

  A female servant appeared at the bedside with a tray containing bread and cheese and a small tankard of ale. There was no sign of the Earl.

  “His Lordship asked me to help you dress and to conduct you downstairs, My Lady,” the woman said. She moved toward the chest at the end of the bed and brought out fine garments which Bethany had never seen before. “His Lordship also asked me to convey the message that a dressmaker will be here later this afternoon to begin your wardrobe. I trust that is all to your satisfaction, My Lady. This will suffice for now.”

  My Lady! It was to hear those words that she had made this bargain, but she was still not sure they were worth it.

  “I have garments,” she protested.

  The maidservant frowned at her as though she had spoken in a foreign tongue.

  “Forgive me, My Lady,” she said with a small curtsey, “but His Lordship would prefer you to dress as befits a lady of your position.”

  The clothes were indeed beautiful, of materials she had not been permitted to wear before. Here was velvet, cloth of gold, satin, all the materials she had only seen on other women. It was an aspect of her pact to which she had given little thought, but the materials did look and feel so lovely.