Duke of Lundy, has told me that he wishes to wed your daughter Elizabeth,” the king began. “He has asked me to act for him in this matter. While your antecedents, my lord, hardly make your daughter a suitable match for Charlie, we are of a mind to allow it, for we love the lad right well. And he has never before asked a favor of us, unlike so many others who people our court. Bring your daughter to us tomorrow at this same hour. If she agrees to the match, we will permit it.” The king smiled one of his very rare smiles, then waved the Earl and Countess of Welk from his august presence.
They backed away, bowing and curtysing, but once outside the king’s privy chamber the Earl of Welk gave vent to his anger. He sent his wife to the queen’s apartments to fetch their daughter and bring her to their small London house, where he would speak with her. Bess was not going to marry that bastard, he vowed silently to himself. And the king’s inference that the Lightbody blood was not the equal of a bastard, royal or no, infuriated him.
When the women finally joined him, he told his daughter of their audience with the king. Then he said, “But you will not wed him, Bess! You will tell the king you do not want to marry his nephew. Do you understand me?”
“I will say no such thing, my lord,” Bess answered. “I love Charlie, and he loves me. I will tell the king, aye, I will have his nephew for my husband, and gladly!”
“You will not!” the Earl of Welk shouted at his daughter.
“I will!” she replied defiantly.
“I will beat you black and blue if you continue to challenge my authority over you, daughter,” he told her angrily.
“If you do, I shall show the king the stripes you have inflicted upon my back,” she threatened.
“Oh!” The Countess of Welk collapsed into a chair, her countenance pale, her hand fluttering over her heart.
“Now look what you have done to your mother,” the earl said.
“She is only surprised that I have spoken up as she has herself longed to do all these years of her marriage to you, my lord,” Bess bluntly told her father. “Please, sir, be fair. Charlie has never before sought to wed a lady. He loves me enough to ask the king’s aid in making our dream come true. We love one another.”
“Are you with child?” her father demanded angrily.
“Oh!” The Countess of Welk closed her eyes in despair.
“What?” Bess looked astounded at her father’s words.
“Have you allowed this Stuart bastard liberties?” her father said. “Have you lain with him? My question is plainspoken, girl.”
“Your query is outrageous and insulting, sir,” Bess said. “I have not allowed the duke any liberties. Nor have I shamed myself or him by behaving in a wanton manner, laying with him without benefit of clergy. How dare you even suggest such a thing, my lord!”
“I am your sire, and it is my right to make certain that you are chaste, particularly here at court, where gossip can ruin a maid’s reputation even if it isn’t the truth,” the earl replied. “I only seek to protect you, Bess. You are my youngest child.”
“I thank you for your concern, my lord,” Bess said dryly. “Now with your permission I must return to St. James. The queen allowed me but two hours away, and my time grows short.” She curtsied and departed her parents.
Having no choice, the Earl and Countesss of Welk grudgingly accepted their daughter’s decision in the matter. Charles Frederick Stuart and Elizabeth Anne Lightbody were married in the king’s own chapel at Windsor Castle on the third day of May in the year 1639. They had withdrawn immediately from the court, visiting only rarely thereafter, content to remain in the countryside at Queen’s Malvern, Charlie’s estate. And to everyone’s surprise, the ebulient and charming not-so-royal Stuart was a loyal and devoted husband.
“What color thread?” the duke asked his wife in response to her request.
“Whatever you can find,” Bess said. “But try and find some light color. There will be black for certain, for these Puritans are forever mending their garments until they are more thread than fabric. However, try and find something light,” Bess instructed him.
“Can I go to Worcester with you, Papa?” the duke’s eldest son, Frederick, asked his father.
“I should welcome your company, Freddie,” his father replied.
“When?” the boy queried.
“In a few days’ time,” the duke promised.
“Let me go too,” Autumn said. “I’m so bored.”
“Nay,” her brother said. “It is not safe on the road for a young woman these days, sister.”
“I could dress like a boy,” Autumn answered him.
“No one, little sister, would ever mistake you for a boy,” Charlie said, his eyes lingering a long moment on his sister’s shapely young bosom. “It would be impossible to disguise those treasures, Autumn. Like our mother, you have been generously endowed by nature.”
“Don’t be vulgar, Charlie,” she snapped at him.
Bess giggled, unable to help herself. Then, managing to control herself, she said, “We’ll find something fun to do, sister, while Charlie is in Worcester. The apples are ready to press, and we can help with the cider making. Sabrina loves cider making.”
“Your daughter is nine, Bess. At nine little girls love just about everything. Why did the pocky Parliament have to behead King Charles and declare this commonwealth? I want to go to court, but there can be no court without a king. God’s blood, I hope your cousin young King Charles comes home to rule us soon! Everyone I speak to is sick unto death of Master Cromwell and his ilk. Why doesn’t someone behead him? They called old King Charles a traitor, but it seems to me that those who murder God’s chosen monarch are the real traitors.”
“Autumn!” her brother pleaded, anguished.
“Oh, no one is listening, Charlie,” Autumn said airily.
He shook his head wearily. He had never thought when his mother asked him to allow Autumn to visit this summer that she would prove to be such a handful. He kept thinking of her as his baby sister, but as she had so succinctly pointed out to him earlier, she was going to be nineteen in another month’s time. He wondered why his mother and stepfather had not found a suitable husband for Autumn; but then he remembered the difficulties they had had marrying off his two elder sisters. And who the hell was there in the eastern Highlands for the Duke of Glenkirk’s daughter to marry? Autumn had needed to go to court, but these last years of civil war had made such a visit impossible, and then his Uncle Charles had been executed. Now what English court there was existed in exile, sometimes in France, sometimes in Holland. He didn’t know what they were going to do with this sister, but he suspected they had better do it soon, for Autumn was ripe for bedding and could easily find her way into mischief.
The day he had planned on going to Worcester a messenger from Glenkirk arrived before dawn. It was early October. The clansman had had a difficult time eluding the parliamentary forces in Scotland but, moving with great caution, he had finally managed to cross over the border. From there he had made his way easily to Queen’s Malvern. Grim-faced and obviously
