When she smiled it was as if the sun had come from behind a cloud. Aidan was not the true and pure beauty that her mother had been, but beneath the tangles and smudges the prettiness
was
there. His own mouth formed itself into a little smile as he remembered his second wife, Bevin FitzGerald.
He never set eyes upon her until the day that she arrived from Ireland to wed with him. She had only been sixteen, and she was alone but for her servant, a suspicious creature named Mag. Most young women would have been frightened crossing the wild seas to another land and marrying a stranger, but Bevin had not been. She was as curious as a magpie, and as brave as the brace of wolfhounds that she had brought with her as her wedding gift to him.
A distant cousin of Elizabeth FitzGerald Clinton, the Countess of Lincoln, Bevin had, like her elegant kinswoman, a tall, and graceful carriage. She also had masses of warm reddish-chestnut hair, and light blue eyes that reminded him of the pale skies at dawn. Her expression was so incredibly sweet, her manner so pleasing that he was, to his surprise, very anxious to make her happy. When he had undressed her on their wedding night her skin had seemed wondrously fair to his experienced and jaded eyes. She had stood proudly before him in the flickering golden candlelight, confident in her youthful nudity, totally unashamed of her magnificent body. He had marveled that he had been so lucky as to have obtained such a great prize for his bride.
Lord Bliss’ family, the St. Michaels, had been London merchants of wealth and good reputation. They had gained their titles and lands when Lord Bliss’ grandfather had rescued Henry VII’s eldest son, Prince Arthur, from serious financial difficulties with several less-than-reputable goldsmiths. It was only by chance that he had learned of the prince’s misfortunes, and had cleverly bought the royal offspring’s notes from the goldsmiths who were not wise enough to see the advantage in holding them as did Cedric St. Michael. Once in possession of the prince’s notes, the clever merchant had generously forgiven him the debt.
The king, a miserly man in his old age, had been grateful. Not grateful enough to offer a royal appointment to the St. Michaels’ trading houses which Cedric St. Michael had been hoping for, but grateful enough to bestow upon the merchant a small, somewhat run-down, royal estate in Worcestershire, and confer upon him the hereditary title of Baron Bliss. Lord Bliss’ grandfather had graciously accepted the royal token which had cost the king not a copper pennypiece. Then he had quietly rebuilt his family’s fortune.
Over the years as the lands bordering on the estate, which was known as
Pearroc Royal
, had become available due to the death or foolishness of their owners, the St. Michael family had bought them up. In this present generation what had once been a small estate was an enormous one, but despite their nobility each succeeding heir had learned his father’s trade for sloth was as foreign to the St. Michaels as would have been a red Indian from the New World had they chanced to come across one.
The St. Michaels seemed to thrive almost magically, their ventures prospering far more than their fellows’. They never forgot their origins, but in the midst of all this good fortune they had one lack. Sons. There had been but one per generation until now when all that was left of the family was one daughter who seemed doomed to spinsterhood unless the queen kept her promise and found Aidan St. Michael a worthy husband.
The dying Lord Bliss had been wed twice. His first wife, the youngest daughter of a north country baron, had lived to celebrate thirty-four anniversaries with him. For twenty-five of those years she had struggled in vain to produce an heir for her patient and kindly husband. There had been miscarriages, and stillbirths, and even three children, a frail boy, and two little girls who had lived anywhere from several months to almost two years. Finally there were no more babies, and no hope of any. The first Lady Bliss fell into a melancholy that lasted nine years until her merciful release to death. Lord Bliss had felt some guilt at his relief that she had died while he still had the opportunity to remarry and sire children, but he understood King Harry’s desperation at last.
He had been fifty-two years of age when his first wife died, and he dutifully mourned her for a full year for she had been a good woman. It was at the end of that time that he had had the very good fortune to be of financial assistance to Lord Edward Clinton and his wife who had been in need of additional monies to keep up with the court. Like many of the nobility, their credit was not particularly good. Lord Bliss had loaned them the amount requested, waiving any interest in a gesture of goodwill, though why he had done that he could never remember, except that he still grieved for his wife, and was not thinking clearly.
Lord and Lady Clinton were surprisingly grateful, and Lady Clinton in a burst of generosity said, “If there ever be anything that we might do for ye, m’lord, ye need not hesitate to ask it of us.”
Suddenly Lord Bliss heard himself say, “I am a widower, madame, and I seek a wife. Would ye know of a suitable and healthy young woman not previously contracted?”
“It is just possible that I may be able to help ye, m’lord,” came the reply. “Give me but a few days to think upon it,” said Elizabeth FitzGerald Clinton graciously.
Afterward Lord Clinton had said gruffly to his wife, “What cheek the man has. His merchant antecedents yet show. I am glad that ye put him off, Beth.”
“Nay,” his spouse replied thoughtfully. “I do have someone in mind for Lord Bliss, Ned. My cousin Rogan FitzGerald in Munster has a young daughter, and no dowry for her. Not even a convent will have the girl without a dowry of some sort, but I will wager that Lord Bliss would be delighted to wed with the cousin of the Lord Admiral’s wife.”
“And becoming a family connection would not press us for repayment of the loan!” said her husband slapping his knee. “By God, Beth, yer a smart woman. I’m glad I married ye!”
Elizabeth Clinton smiled at her husband. “We are both well served in this,” she said. “Lord Bliss’ reputation is that of a decent man, and despite his origins he has certainly shown himself to be a gentleman. Having us as a connection will give his family greater legitimacy. My cousin Rogan’s daughter is a big, healthy girl who will undoubtedly give her husband many children, and that is, after all, why Lord Bliss seeks to remarry.”
The Lord Admiral’s wife had been quite honest with Lord Bliss about her cousin’s daughter. There was no dowry for the girl, for these FitzGeralds had no wealth. Bevin FitzGerald would come to her husband with no more than the clothes upon her back, but she was young, and she was healthy, and she was of good and noble stock. The inference was plain, and Lord Bliss was not a stupid man. Lady Clinton did not have to outline the advantages of this marriage point by point. He knew that his loan was now no more than a down payment on a noble young wife; but the match was made nonetheless for Lord Bliss was a practical man. Along with the marriage contracts sent to Rogan FitzGerald in Ireland went a purse heavy with gold for the bride to outfit herself with the finest materials for gowns and cloaks. Bevin FitzGerald, however, arrived with a small wardrobe for her father knew that the bridegroom would not begrudge such a beautiful bride anything, and, besides, Bevin’s family had a greater need for the bridal gold than to waste it on clothing.
In the end it had turned out to be a love match, for Bevin FitzGerald St. Michael was a caring, sweet-natured young woman, and Lord Bliss was a gentle, lonely man, quite ready to love and be loved. Aidan had been born in the first year of their marriage. Her father was fifty-four, and her mother seventeen. She had been a big, strong, healthy baby from the beginning to her father’s great delight. Her mother’s easy confinement and birth pangs gave favorable portent of more children to come.
Lady Bliss spent the next few years of her short life gamely attempting to give her husband the desperately sought-for son and heir. The best she had been able to do was to produce but a set of healthy twin girls who had died with their mother in a spring epidemic when they were just past three, and Aidan was ten years of age. After that Lord Bliss had no one but his beloved only child. He might have married again as many men of his class did, but he did not believe he would ever again find the happiness he had found with Bevin, and he had reached an age where he could settle for no less. Aidan became her father’s heiress, and her continued good health only convinced him that it was God’s will he have but a daughter.
The years had passed too quickly, and now to his surprise, for he had always been robust, he found himself close to death; and Aidan was no longer a child. She was a young woman of twenty-three years. Bent over her embroidery frame she was totally unaware that her father was studying her with great concern. She had not her mother’s looks, he thought regretfully as he had thought so many times before. Where Bevin’s hair had been a full, luxuriant mass of tumbling chestnut curls, Aidan’s hair was an odd reddish color, a mixture, he supposed, of his once blond hair and his wife’s reddish-chestnut. It was also long and poker straight. Bevin had had eyes the soft blue of an April dawn, but Aidan’s eyes were plain gray. He sighed softly. Why had Aidan not gotten her mother’s perfect heart-shaped face instead of the common oval that was hers? In only two ways did their daughter resemble her mother, thought Lord Bliss. She had Bevin’s lovely fair and creamy skin, and she was big and tall for a woman, as her mother had been.
Quietly he sighed again. He had done his best by his child. While Bevin had lived she had seen to it that their daughter learned all the housewifely arts such as the salting of meats and fish; the preserving of game; the making of jams and jellies and conserves; the varied and many duties of the brewhouse and the stillroom; baking; sewing; mending; cookery; care of both the herb and the kitchen gardens; the making of salves and ointments; smoking and curing; candle and soap and perfume making; the knowledge of how to lay in stores for the winter, or an emergency; the overseeing of the maids.
When Bevin and the twins had died Lord Bliss had taken upon himself the formal education of his surviving child as an antidote to his sorrow. To his total amazement, Aidan turned out to be a brilliant pupil, so much so that he had hired a retired scholar from Oxford to tutor her. She had learned languages, both modern and ancient, and was able to converse as easily in Greek and Latin as she could speak in English or French. She was taught mathematics and how to keep accounts; reading and writing; and histories both ancient and current. She had an ear for music and performed well upon the virginals, and upon the lute. The dancing master came to instruct her four times each week.
Far more important to Lord Bliss was her wit which was uncommonly sharp, and Aidan could repartee most cleverly with the quickest mind. He only wished she had entered society as other girls of her station did, but Aidan appeared not to be interested in such things. She constantly reminded him that she far preferred remaining home at
Pearroc Royal
with him, and it had pleased him to hear her words.
Lord Clinton had become the Earl of Lincoln in 1569, and Lord Bliss now realized that he might have pressed the connection between them for his daughter’s sake, but he had been too selfish not wanting to lose her. Besides, he was a proud man, and after his marriage to Bevin FitzGerald he had seen precious little of Clinton and his wife, famed now thanks to the poetry of the Earl of Surrey, as
The Fair Geraldine.
Knowing that he was dying, he had left the wardship of his daughter not with the Clintons to whom she was related, for he knew that the powerful Earl of Lincoln would have simply absorbed Aidan into his household where she would have been lost; but rather with the queen herself. Hopefully she would find Aidan a place at court where she might be seen by eligible gentlemen, and sought after for her good character, as well as her wealth. The Tudors had advanced men of less-than-noble families than his, and they had been accepted by the old nobility. Perhaps his daughter would have her chance at happiness once she was at court. It was the best that he could do now.
“Father?” Her voice cut into his thoughts. “Would ye like some soup?” Aidan had risen from her embroidery frame and was looking questioningly down at him.
Suddenly he was terribly exhausted, and he felt every day of his seventy-six years. “Nay, my dear,” he said weakly.
“Father?”
He saw the look upon her face. A look that told him she was torn by her concern for him, and by what she felt she must say.
He was unable to resist the wan smile that creased his face, and his voice when he spoke was warm with his love for her, and faintly teasing. “Say what ye must, Aidan. I can tell that ye will have no peace unless ye do.”
“Father!” The words came in a rush. “I wish ye would reconsider yer plans for me. I am far too old to be placed in wardship! I will be sent to court, and I will hate it! I am not a social animal by nature, father. I will be pursued for my wealth, and eventually the queen will marry me off to suit her purposes alone. There will be no thought for my happiness. Please do not do this to me!”
“A woman must be wed,” he said stubbornly. “She is not capable of managing her wealth without the help of a man. Yer an intelligent lass, Aidan, but a husband is a necessity for every decent woman of good breeding. Ye must accept my decision in this matter. I know yer reluctance to leave
Pearroc Royal
, but these are maiden fears. In yer whole life, my daughter, ye have never been anywhere past Worcester. This is my fault, but ye’ve trusted me before, and have I not always done the right thing for ye? The court is an exciting place, Aidan, and as the queen’s ward the best of it will be open to ye. Yer no simpering maid to be gulled by the insincerity of a fortune hunter. Yer a survivor, Aidan. Ye always have been.”
She sighed deeply. There was no arguing with him now. She would have to try again tomorrow. “Yes, father,” she said obediently, and he smiled weakly up at her, exhausted with the effort their argument had cost him, and knowing she had not really accepted his will in this matter even if she was willing to let it rest for tonight.