Bess gasped and raised her hand to slap his insolent face.
“Go ahead, Vixen. I'd like an excuse to give you a lesson in manners.”
Dudley guffawed, “Christ, we know what you'd like to give her. We can see the sparks flying between you!”
Bess spun on her heel and began to march from the maze.
“Doesn't she know she can't leave without your permission?” Robin was choking with laughter.
“Doesn't know and doesn't give a damn—she's absolutely priceless,” Elizabeth declared.
Bess prayed fervently that she was going in the right direction. If she took a wrong turn in this infernal maze and made a bloody fool of herself, she would simply die!
On the short barge ride back to Chelsea Palace, the talk was all of the king and the young Prince Edward. Bess sat apart, thinking of the Lady Elizabeth. The king's daughter had every advantage, while she was just a servant—as she had been so rudely reminded—and yet Bess realized she would not change places with her. Though the princess had palaces and jewels and servants untold, Elizabeth's future was no less uncertain than her own. If she was to realize her ambition, she would have to hold her own against great odds. But she believes in herself, just as I do, thought Bess, and if you believe something with all your mind and all your heart and soul, someday it shall come to be.
Bess thought of William Cavendish, and her heart skipped a beat. How she wished he were still at Chelsea so she could tell him all about her encounter with Elizabeth Tudor. How exceedingly fortunate she was to have met such a man and how lucky to have caught his fancy. He had warned her that his business in Dover would take some time, and she wondered how he would see her when he returned. Bess heaved a great sigh. She would leave it up to him to contrive something. Rogue Cavendish was a man of the world and would find a way to get what he wanted. How exciting that he wanted her!
Bess went over his words again for the hundredth time: Sweetheart, when I return I'll have a question to ask you regarding a more permanent relationship. William was going to ask her to be his wife, Bess hoped and prayed. She was certain she wanted no other husband but him. With resolution she pushed away a nagging doubt. Surely the question wouldn't involve becoming his mistress? Not when she had made it plain that she would not allow him to seduce her and that she wanted a respectable marriage? No, though he was nicknamed Rogue, he had not pressed her for more than kisses. Mistress Elizabeth Cavendish! It sounded so right, and deep in her bones Bess honestly believed she was destined to become the wife of William Cavendish.
Late that night, before she went to bed, Bess decided to write home and tell them all about her visit to Chelsea Palace as the guest of Lady Frances Grey. Bess was a prolific letter writer, who had already written to her mother and Aunt Marcy about the Greys, but now that she had met Princess Elizabeth and visited Hampton Court Palace, she couldn't wait to put it all down on paper.
Bess wrote several paragraphs and then paused with the quill end between her teeth. Should she tell them about William Cavendish? She was dying to describe him to her family and impress them with the importance of his position in the king's treasury. But once she mentioned his name, they would immediately write back to ask if she and William had made wedding plans. Bess thought perhaps she had better wait until she had something definite to tell them.
In her decisive hand she wrote: Chelsea Palace rises above the Thames like a glittering, fairy-tale castle, filled with royal treasures preserved through the centuries. I have a great passion for London and its magnificent noble houses, where I have met many gentlemen from Court circles. My ambition is set on making a good marriage, and I intend to have a great household of my own, where you can come to stay. I wish with all my heart that you could visit these grand places with me, to see the Tudor courtiers bedecked in velvets and jewels, to listen to the music as it floats down from the minstrels' galleries and be waited upon by the liveried footmen. For me, it is like a dream come true. I long to share with you all the wonders of this glorious city, and vow that someday I shall!
She pictured Derbyshire in her mind's eye. It was much farther north than London, with a harsher climate. It was probably already cold at home. Though she loved Derbyshire and missed it, she was happy to be in London. It was the center of the universe, and the magnificent Tudor Court was the jewel at that center. As she finished her letter and snuffed her candles, she couldn't believe how lucky she was to be a part of it.
The following day was a busy one for Bess. She packed for Lady Zouche and her daughters because they were returning to London on the morrow. In the afternoon, when the ladies retired for a nap, Bess seized the opportunity to go for a walk and explore the wealthy village of Chelsea.
She strolled slowly past Syon House, owned by the Earl of Warwick, and marveled that she had actually met one of his sons, Robin Dudley. She couldn't remember how many there were, but she knew Warwick had a large brood. She studied Syon House with a critical eye. Built from dark gray stone, it was huge and square, but that's all that could be said for it. The house was downright ugly. If she had Warwick's money, she would have built something beautiful as well as functional. Why didn't people use a little imagination when they built a house that would be a lasting monument down through the centuries?
Bess followed a footpath down to the river, watching a pair of swans glide along past the bank. They were such regal birds, these royal swans, and far more numerous here in Chelsea than in the city of London. Through the trees Bess glimpsed another imposing mansion and quickened her steps when she heard the sound of laughter from the rolling lawns that dipped down to the Thames.
As she emerged from behind a huge stand of fuchsia rhododendrons, Bess realized that she had intruded upon some boys who were swimming naked in the river. Two of the young lads squealed when they saw a female, and they dashed to grab towels and shirts to cover their nakedness, then ran laughing and shrieking up toward the mansion.
Bess stood rooted to the spot. Because of the boys she had failed to notice the young man who was lying on the grassy bank sunning himself. It was George Talbot. He was stark naked! Bess immediately realized that this must be Shrewsbury House and the males were the Talbot brothers.
“Mistress Hard-wick.” He emphasized her surname in a suggestive way that made her blush profusely, yet Talbot was not the slightest bit embarrassed to display himself nude before her. In a leisurely manner he stood up to face her, making no effort to cover himself with his towel.
Shrewsbury's heir had the piercing glance of an eagle. In his dark face his ice blue eyes were startling. Bess decided not to retreat with an apology, because the arrogant look he threw her was a direct challenge.
“You are trespassing,” he said coldly.
“Forgive us our trespasses, Lord God Almighty!”
“Blasphemous as well as insolent.”
“Servants don't know their places these days.” Bess lifted her chin aggressively.
“You are right. Your attitude should be respectful in the presence of your betters.”
Bess was blazing mad. She tossed her head and swept him from head to foot with a glare. “I have no betters, and respect must be earned.”
“Look your fill.” His eyes mocked her, dared her.
Slowly, Bess let her glance slide across his hirsute chest, then down his belly to his groin. Suddenly, his phallus thickened and hardened and stood out rigid from his lithe body.
“Do you like what you see?” he drawled confidently.