Elizabeth’s Trials

By Barbara Wilhelm

Elizabeth’s saga continues….. In 1498, Duchess of Bedford Elizabeth Smithfield Holt and her husband, Lord Andrew Holt, heir to the Earl of Northampton, are happily raising their three children. They rejoice in their present calm. The following year is filled with one tragic event after another. When Andrew leaves to lead a band of knights to defend the crown, Elizabeth banishes her frustrations by imagining herself as Sir Quinn, serving with Sir Phillip again. The men return to Northampton, bearing a coffin. They tell her Andrew is dead and their friend Vincent is in a monastery. When “Sir Quinn” investigates, she finds reason to question whose body lies in Northampton. Before she can act, a messenger delivers a summons from a church council. The charges are serious indeed, and Elizabeth stands to lose all. She is sent to the Bedford dungeon. Will she ever clear her name? Will she learn her husband’s fate?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu Publishing Services
• Release date: Jun 16, 2014
• ISBN: 9781483411767

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CHAPTER 1

November 1498

Northampton Castle

Northampton, England

How is it possible? Planning this simple celebration with your father was more complicated than all the arrangements for that fancy party on your last birthday! Duchess Elizabeth Smithfield Holt gestured in exasperation at her handsome husband. Today was his thirty-first birthday and they would mark it with a brief formal ceremony in Lord Malcolm’s suite. The Earl of Northampton made this his custom when his only son, Andrew, was a boy. Last year, he broke with tradition to host a large and lavish gathering in the grand ballroom in honor of his heir’s thirtieth. The hall was filled to capacity with friends and family.

Lord Sir Andrew Holt smiled back at his wife, his dark eyes full of sparkle. Nothing involving three children is uncomplicated, he replied. Pulling his shoulder-length chestnut hair back from his face, Andrew gathered it into a pigtail at the base of his neck and secured it with a strip of leather.

Elizabeth recalled the madcap scramble to get everyone presentable the previous year—the first time they appeared with the whole family in formal attire. It had not become any easier. She stood by the large table in the front sitting room of their suite on the second floor of the castle, and assessed her image in the mirror. She smoothed her simple gown of deep blue, glad that it hung well with only one light petticoat. In the eight years she had been married to Andrew, she had reached a sense of agreeable compromise with her wardrobe. Rather than wearing the knightly garb of tunic and hose that felt so comfortable on her tall, lean frame, she bowed to social convention and wore gowns at most official occasions. But she had not relegated her tunic and sword to the past. She still enjoyed regular practice with Andrew and physical training could hardly be conducted in the bulky and constricting attire worn by noblewomen.

She checked the dark braid that hung to her waist. Enough fussing, she thought. I should see how Nellie fares with the children. Before Elizabeth could cross the room to open the door to the hallway, it burst open. A six-year-old whirlwind rushed in.

Stephen Smithfield Holt stopped suddenly, a hairsbreadth from a full-speed collision. The boy exuded an easy confidence, as if he understood that when he came of age, he would assume the title of Duke of Bedford, ready to shoulder the responsibilities and wisely wield the power and prestige. Though Elizabeth was heir to Stephen’s namesake, Sir Stephen Smithfield, and as his daughter now managed the duchy, any power she held was as her son’s mother. Stephen was the future, and with each birthday, he grew closer to his destiny. Is it time yet, Mother? Father, what do you think your present is? May I show Grandpapa my staff?

The duchess smoothed her eldest child’s silky hair. He was the very image of Andrew: the flowing chestnut hair, the keen brown eyes, the tall and spare, yet strong frame, and especially the charming smile. Yes, but save the weapons demonstration for the courtyard.

And we shall see soon enough what my gift be, my son. Andrew scooped up the boy and swung him about. Do you not like surprises?

As she heard Stephen laugh with glee when Andrew set him down, Elizabeth looked about for her other children. Young Madeline, known to her family as Maddie, made a decidedly different entrance than had her brother. She led her endlessly-patient nanny, Nellie, and Elizabeth’s long-time friend and personal maid, Mary, into the room. The four-year-old comported herself as if she were a queen attended by her court. Madeline could not have looked more different from her older brother: shimmering fair hair and delicate features that were a blend of traits from each of her parents. Her brilliant blue eyes were her own, as Elizabeth’s were a unique shade of green.

Nellie carried young John Phillip, already twenty months old. When she set him down, he went straightaway for Stephen. He squealed in delight as he grabbed his older brother and flung them both to the floor in a tumble. Maddie’s look of distain for this boisterous behavior was so much the picture of the stuffy noblewomen Elizabeth found unbearable that the young duchess could not help but laugh. This response prompted a pronounced pout from the little girl, accompanied by a fierce crossed-arm stance.

Stout, red-faced Mary brought up the rear of the group. The middle-aged woman breathed heavily. Lord knows, Duchess, where those boys find such energy. Wish I could borrow me a smidge. With her hands on her ample hips, she shook her head as she cast a glance in the direction of the merrily wrestling brothers.

As would I. Elizabeth hoped they could all yet arrive in the earl’s suite without one of the boys becoming a disheveled mess or Maddie deciding that one detail or another was so beyond her acceptance that she refused to go along. ‘Twas good of you to help. We have not many occasions, praise God, that require the children to dress up, but when they must, ‘tis an ordeal for us all. She scanned the room to account for each one. Mary, please go to Lord Malcolm’s suite and advise them we are…on our way.

As you wish, Duchess. As she turned to leave, Elizabeth heard her mutter, Be a lot quieter there leastwise. When the portly maid trundled off down the hall, Elizabeth smiled to herself. She and Mary had a most unorthodox relationship, given her present station. Having first met Mary as a sixteen-year-old runaway and working alongside her as a fellow servant, Elizabeth would always consider the older woman her friend and advisor, not an underling.

Andrew was busily engaged in the not so simple task of separating the roughhousing boys. The merriment in her younger son’s hazel eyes would not be easily stilled. John Phillip! Stephen! The boys stopped at the sound of Andrew’s voice. Do you not wish to see your grandfather?

Before a response arose from either lad, the air was filled with the sound of a piercing scream.

Mary! What could startle her so? Elizabeth could swear that there was nothing Mary had not seen and she was not easily frightened. She turned anxiously to her husband and raised her brows. The sound was from the direction of Lord Malcolm’s suite.

Andrew shrugged, though seemed more curious than concerned. Nellie, please wait here with the children. Elizabeth? He strode out of the suite and down the hall to the right.

Elizabeth followed, past the massive main staircase. Years ago, they would slide down the polished banisters to the first floor. She reached her father-in-law’s rooms just behind her husband.

The sound of Mary’s ear-splitting scream had attracted a small crowd near the entrance to the earl’s suite. Elizabeth counted Sir John Collinwood—the captain of the guard, a housemaid, a laundress and two guards. Each clamored to know what was afoot. Mary sat in a chair off to the side, flushed and dazed. Andrew stepped forward and approached Sir John. He asked the knight what had generated such excitement. Sir John was fully as tall as Andrew, making his height greater than average, but he was also much broader. The knight’s body completely blocked any view of the scene beyond him.

Sir John put his hand on Andrew’s shoulder and motioned him to step in. Elizabeth was quick on his heels before any others could close the gap. During an awful second that felt more like a day, she prayed that what she saw on the floor of the receiving area of the suite was but a mad vision. She focused instead on Frederick, Lord Malcolm’s manservant. The man was crouched just to the right of the spot she wished to avoid. Frederick was a pleasant and rather quiet fellow in his fifth decade. He had served the earl with unfailing kindness and loyalty in the eight years since his predecessor’s ignominious departure.

Elizabeth pressed her eyes shut for a moment, and gathered her strength. She then gazed fully upon the object of Frederick’s attentions: Lord Malcolm’s ominously still form. She knelt next to the earl’s right side, opposite Frederick, and tried to slow her pounding heart. The earl was on his back, with his left arm on his chest. His right arm lay across his ample middle and his legs were slightly bent. His eyes were closed and a line of spittle oozed from the left corner of his mouth. His clothes smelled of urine. Moving Lord Malcolm’s left hand so that she could place her own upon her father-in-law’s chest, she felt his chest move. Mercifully, his heart still beat. Andrew! He lives—though I fear to say for how long.

I shall send for the surgeon. Sir John did not wait for a response from Andrew. The knight’s authoritative voice and grave expression told Elizabeth that he shared her fears.

Lord Malcolm had likely suffered a second attack of apoplexy. Six years had passed since the first and Lord Malcolm took months to recover from it. Would he even survive this one? At sixty-three, the earl was not exceptionally old. However, Lord Malcolm had spent more than a decade wallowing in drink. He tried to drown the loss of his wife in a bottomless lagoon of liquor. Even eight years of temperance could not hope to undo such punishment.

Elizabeth loosened the earl’s collar and turned to Frederick, who rocked back and forth on his heels as he sat. Please. Fetch a cool compress for his head. Given direction, the manservant roused and vanished into the next room. He returned with a cloth and a basin.

Andrew knelt beside Elizabeth and touched her arm. She turned to hear what he would say, but all that he could seem to manage was to open his mouth and close it again without a word. He shook his head. Elizabeth wet the cloth and applied it to Lord Malcolm’s forehead. With this, she was rewarded with a low groan from the earl. His eyes remained shut. Elizabeth let forth a deep sigh. No one lived forever, but why the earl—and why today?

Hours later, after Elizabeth and Andrew returned to the sitting room, their children long abed, the surgeon, Howard Hepplewhite, emerged from Lord Malcolm’s bedchamber to give his verdict. Shorter than Elizabeth, Hepplewhite was a heavyset middle-aged man of average height. He was most distinguished looking, despite the absence of half his left fifth finger. The surgeon, who had a reputation for mercifully swift amputations, was apparently a shade too swift one day.

Sir, how fares my father? Lord Andrew took a position directly in front of Hepplewhite. He showed no sign that he would move until he had an answer.

The surgeon drew himself up, took a step back from Andrew and thrust his thumbs into the sides of his vestment. He spoke with the air of one who expected his opinion to be accepted without question. The Lord Earl has experienced another spell of apoplexy. His condition is grave—grave indeed. He shifted his considerable girth and thrust his chin outward. I applied a leech and he has waked. He cannot speak. There is no movement of his left side.

The surgeon moved to leave, but Andrew grasped his arm before he could take a step. Will he live? Will he recover his senses? When he was stricken before, he regained all, after a time.

Hepplewhite peeled Andrew’s fingers from his arm one at a time, with an air of dismissal that Elizabeth found deplorable. Andrew would never stand for such disrespect if he were not so worried, she reasoned. Lord Andrew, I am a surgeon, not a clairvoyant. As Elizabeth gasped at the man’s audacity, Andrew appeared ready to speak on his own behalf. Hepplewhite put up his hand first. I can tell you that in my experience, vast as it is, each attack produces more damage and is more likely to result in death. Clearing his throat, he continued. I shall, of course, do everything in my power to prevent that.

Though Elizabeth did not care for the surgeon’s manner, she could offer no argument against Hepplewhite’s pronouncement. Lord Malcolm had suffered a second attack and it again affected his left side. Nothing any of them said or did tonight would change the fate chosen by the Almighty. She put her hand on her husband’s shoulder. Andrew? Please rest now, that you might be of better help to your father tomorrow. Andrew turned slightly and made no sign of agreement, but neither did he argue. She put her arm through his and walked him back to their rooms.

All the next day, as word spread through the castle and its grounds, out to the servant’s quarters, to the stables and to the fields, Elizabeth was beset with questions. Every person she encountered as she went about the business of her daily duties clamored to know more. Did the earl wake? How ill was he? Was death near? What did the surgeon think? How did Lord Andrew fare? By afternoon, Elizabeth needed to escape the castle, for she had no new answers. Andrew was occupied all day. He had to tend to his father and take over the responsibilities of the earldom. She doubted she would see him soon. Stephen would be done with his daily lessons and she went to find him in the first floor classroom, which faced the main courtyard.

Master Paul, the tutor, arose to greet Elizabeth. Duchess! Our prayers are with the earl. She nodded. Your elder son shows a remarkable love of learning for one so young. He is much like his father—and Quinn, of course.

The memory of her lessons as her alter ego Quinn made Elizabeth smile in spite of the tragedy in the castle. Your words gladden me, for the world seems to change with each new day. He needs to be ready to lead it.

Master Paul nodded. Lady, I have no doubt that he shall make us all proud. Stephen? You may go now.

Elizabeth turned to Stephen. Would you like another kind of lesson today, my son? I think you are big enough to start riding.

Stephen’s eyes widened. They looked twice their normal size. "Oh, Mother! Could I? George has been riding for ages. I must catch up."

George Matthew Gilcrest, son of their dear friends Sir Phillip and Lady Anne, was a year older than Stephen, but the two of them had got on from the first. With the Gilcrest estate in Ampthill so close to Bedford, George would often come to visit and tutor with Stephen at Bedford Castle, particularly when Elizabeth took the children there each summer. "Patience, Stephen. First you must learn to sit on the horse."

Walking out to the stables, Elizabeth breathed deeply of the fresh, crisp air. The pleasant sunshine that warmed her face was a welcome contrast to the sadness inside. Stephen fairly flew across the front courtyard to the stables and ran straight into Helen Stoneham, the stablemaster’s wife. She had been a great friend to young Quinn.

Helen, a cheery, wiry woman in her late fifties, put an arm around the eager boy. My stars, Stephen! You are bigger each time I see ye. Looking up at Elizabeth, she smiled. And Duchess, always a pleasure ta see ye, as well. Hasn’t been often of late. Her manner grew more serious. How fares Lord Malcolm?

He lives, but his fate lies with our Lord. She paused and exchanged a knowing look with Helen. I thought I might take Stephen out on the grounds for a riding lesson to pass the time. Should he be ready next summer, I can take him to town or to the ruins.

A wise plan. Perhaps he shall also be out on the courtyard training with you and Lord Andrew.

Little Stephen grinned. No doubt, this seemed a fine idea to him. Elizabeth rumpled his hair. Very soon. Of that, I am certain. For today, we shall learn how to properly get onto the horse and keep one’s balance when I lead him. She turned to Helen. I hear there is a new pony.

Wait ‘til ya see him! Such a beauty, that one! Lord Andrew picked him out personally, he did. She motioned for them to follow. Elizabeth agreed that the animal was exceptional and just the perfect size for young Stephen.

The afternoon’s riding lesson was a welcome relief from her troubles, but as soon as Elizabeth returned to the castle, the veil of gloom descended. After Lord Malcolm’s first attack, Andrew stayed by his father’s side day and night, only returning to his own rooms well after dark to collapse into exhausted sleep. The thought of another extended separation from her husband was not a happy one. To dwell on it would serve no purpose. She loved her husband madly. They had weathered so much together, she felt equally certain that once the earl’s current crisis ended—even if it be by his death—Andrew would again be her loving and devoted husband.

Until that happened, attention to the daily details of life would make the wait bearable. Certainly, none of these duties would show such mercy as to vanish in this time of calamity. Maddie needed help with her letters and numbers, Stephen was eager to ride and little John Phillip had many more milestones to reach. Elizabeth also had the duchy of Bedford to manage. Fortunately, Stephen’s discovery of his grandfather Sir James Smithfield’s fortune three years past ended the times of being held hostage to Mother Nature’s whims. To further protect her family’s future, she had hidden half of the coins along with her grandmother’s jewelry in the secret tunnel between Northampton Castle and the adjacent abbey.

Much of her Bedford business she conducted through letters to her captain of the guard, Sir Quentin Dawson. The two had served Sir Phillip years ago when Elizabeth posed as Squire Quinn and lived her dream of becoming a knight. While she made peace with her feminine roles, her love for adventure and for a good match with sword or staff had not dimmed, nor had her feelings of brotherhood with Phillip, Quentin or Vincent. Vincent was now Phillip’s captain, as well as her husband’s closest friend.

Two nights after the earl’s attack, with a few hours of fitful sleep, she awoke with her heart pounding. She sat up and clutched at her chest. She could see the bats—the ones in the Northampton tower—but she was in Bedford Castle’s dungeon! The foul stench stung with each breath and the bats dove at her head.

CHAPTER 2

The bats closed in. Elizabeth screamed for her life. Suddenly, their images dissolved and she recognized the features of her bedroom. Her heart pounded in her ears as she touched the bedpost to assure herself that she was not in the tower of Northampton or the dungeon in Bedford. The very fact that Bedford Castle housed a dungeon had bothered her since she became duchess. I must have only imagined that I screamed. Andrew was fast asleep. But images were not like servants. They could not be dismissed at will.

With the dawn, she went to her private suite nearby. She opened her writing desk and gathered pen and paper to write to Quentin. Free the dungeon of rats and filth, that it may be no more sinister than a root cellar. I wish for no one to use it in the manner of those who were once my enemies. She ended her letter with news of Lord Malcolm’s condition and happier reports of Stephen’s progress in horsemanship. She affixed her signature and went downstairs to summon a messenger.

Though his progress was painfully slow into the first days of 1499, Lord Malcolm gradually recovered his faculties, even if he did not leave his suite. Andrew was so busy tending him and managing the earldom that Elizabeth rarely saw her husband awake. By January’s end, Andrew told her that his father could walk with assistance of a cane on the right and a strong person on the left. His greatest difficulty was in communication.

I know his voice well, yet I can barely understand a word from his lips.

Can he not write messages? As her father-in law had use of his right arm and hand, she assumed he could do so.

Andrew heaved a deep sigh. Sometimes. Oft as not, he takes the pen and simply sits and stares.

Did he ever do this after his first spell?

Andrew rubbed his chin before he answered. No. He showed no such mental impediments. He shook his head sadly. Not even once.

Elizabeth exhaled loudly. God in heaven! ‘Twas most unlikely Lord Malcolm would ever be able to resume his duties. The responsibilities would be Andrew’s now—until the day he passed on the earldom to their second son, John Phillip. Lord Malcolm had hinted that he would cede the title to Andrew and spend his remaining years watching his grandchildren grow. Was that to have been his birthday gift? Andrew, perhaps you should retain a caretaker for your father. Then, he and Frederick could provide for him, and you can carry on as earl.

Not until I am certain he can get no better.

Stephen has his heart set on going to Ampthill in March to visit with George. Come with us. If she could get him away from the castle, even for a short while, away from the constant reminders of his father’s infirmity, it would be good for him. Selfishly, she also missed her husband’s company, both in and out of the bedroom.

Andrew took Elizabeth’s hand and offered her a soft gaze. Make the necessary arrangements. I…cannot promise that I shall go, though my heart shall never be far away.

Early February weather was not usually conducive to regular outdoor practice, but Elizabeth was determined to coax Andrew out to the inner courtyard two or three times a week to give her some friendly competition. One morning, she put on her favorite purple tunic and dark hose. She felt a surge of power and a strong yearning for simpler days. She waited in the sitting room of their suite until her husband returned from helping his father.

Andrew hesitated at her request to spar. Please, ask Sir John or his deputy, Edward. Either could give you a more spirited match.

Andrew, Elizabeth pleaded. You bear your burdens well, but even you must stop to chase away the demons.

He ran his hand through his thick hair as he did whenever he was troubled. Then, he stopped to roll his neck. She heard it crack and hoped that he had also broken through a layer of the pain and sorrow upon him. So be it. I am out of arguments today. He crossed the room, picked up her staff from where it rested in the corner and held it for a moment. When he whirled and tossed it to her, Elizabeth caught the strong, yet remarkably light weapon purely on reflex. She saw Andrew flash a mischievous grin at her. I can see that I’d best not neglect my training.

Was he warming to the notion of a hard match? As she put her other hand on her staff and felt the carved polished surfaces of the dark wood, the sensation evoked memories of the many places she had gone with this object as her closest companion. Andrew had it made for her not long after she came to the castle. If this staff had voice, Andrew, Quentin would surely have to revise his tales of Quinn.

"So, you did not slay a mighty dragon or take on the hoards at the old fort unaided?"

Elizabeth winced. He knew the truth full well, though the light-hearted banter was heartening. Andrew had not spoken so in weeks. See for yourself, sir. She bowed and walked out of the suite, thinking again about her staff. From her time as Squire Quinn, it had been at her side. Of the things she treasured most, only her father’s medallion had been hers longer.

The cleverly designed south inner courtyard was a whimsical touch applied to an otherwise predictable structure. From the outside of the castle, it was invisible, hidden by a façade of walls and windows matching the structure that had been built around the old castle keep. It afforded a partially sheltered area for outdoor activity. Elizabeth was one of the few that knew its other secret: It concealed a hidden room on the second floor of the castle whose window opened out onto this courtyard.

Andrew followed her outside and flexed. He bowed to her. Is the great Sir Quinn ready?

Yes, my lord. She bowed. Following the routine they had developed over the years, they exchanged parries, thrusts and overhead strikes, nearly all blocked by the other. Elizabeth had learned to anticipate Andrew’s patterns and could react by instinct. She assumed he did the same and was thus most surprised when her low sweep landed Andrew on the ground. She offered him a hand up.

I lost my focus, he explained.

Elizabeth nodded sadly. Your father.

He dusted himself off. Sometimes his mind clears and he writes simple messages. He moved closer to her and slipped his arm about her waist. No, what distracts me now is the thought of how long it has been since I bedded my worthy opponent.

Before Elizabeth could frame a reply, Andrew pulled her to him and covered her lips with a blazing kiss. She returned all that he gave. Her husband was back and she would do everything she could to keep him.

Lord Malcolm’s condition was no different by the twelfth of March. Over a quiet supper in the suite, Andrew explained that he could not go with his family to Ampthill. I would be of no use, Elizabeth. Father is stronger, yet he has days where he is entirely lost. This morning, he sat and stared at his breakfast tray, then looked up at Frederick. He said that he had already eaten. Andrew ran his hand through his hair.

The strain of the long days and late nights was clear. The set of his jaw, the emptiness in his eyes and the change in the rhythm of his movements might not be noticed by others, but to her they were most unsettling. All the more reason you need to be with friends, Andrew. Vincent shall be sorely disappointed. With you, he can talk about books as if he were the scholar he wished to be.

Andrew shut his eyes for a moment and rubbed his temple. I shall write him to beg his indulgence, but I cannot go. See to it that Maddie and John Phillip have a merry time. We know Stephen shall.

Any excuse to see George pleases him. Very well. I shall take a letter to Vincent, but do try to come later.

On the twentieth of March, Elizabeth left in a coach for Ampthill. With her were her children, Nellie, and Mary. While Elizabeth had modified her mode of dress over the years, she did not often require the services of a lady’s maid. Mary was her friend and having her along would temper her disappointment that Andrew remained in Northampton. Elizabeth had long since bowed to the practicality of the coach for travel with the children, though she missed the freedom of riding by horseback. As long as she could avoid fuss and frills, she could abide it.

They neared the Gilcrest’s great stone house. Stephen was beside himself. Mother, tell me about when you lived here.

Again, Stephen? He nodded eagerly. "I spent much of a year as Sir Phillip’s squire. At first, I could not even lift a sword. Phillip took me in and trained me."

"Then you got a sword?"

"I got to use a sword. As will you, one day. She could see the outskirts of the estate. The main house was not as old as their home in Northampton, nor as grand as Bedford Castle, but it had ample grounds, an impressive tower and in comparison to the manor house in Huntingdon where she had grown up, it was a palace. At the gate, Stephen leaned from the coach window. Stephen! She pulled him back in. You shall see George soon enough."

"Can I get out first? Please?"

How could she deny him? When I say so. The driver pulled the coach up to the front of the estate and stopped beside a group of people. Elizabeth nodded to Stephen and as she followed him out, she spied Sir Vincent Martin. She wondered how many foes had been deceived by her friend’s angelic face and crown of golden hair. In battle, he was as fierce as the best. By habit, she clasped his arm in greeting, as she had as Quinn. Greetings. I did my best to get Andrew to come. She handed him an envelope. He sends this. Vincent opened it. Nellie and Mary emerged from the coach with John Phillip and a servant appeared to unload the baggage.

Vincent put the letter in his pocket. Andrew lost so many years before having a father again. ‘Twill be hard to let go.

You understand him well.

A hint of a smile tugged at the corner of Vincent’s mouth. Months on the road leave much time for talk.

Truly. Further conversation was halted by the happy shouts of Stephen, as he spotted seven-year-old George. Each time Elizabeth saw him, she was struck by how closely her son’s best friend resembled Phillip, though now she caught a hint of his mother’s grace. The two young boys dashed into the house. Elizabeth heard but a snippet of their conversation. George had some new wooden figures to show Stephen. They were so caught up in the excitement that they very nearly collided with the servants coming out to unload the coach.

Maddie made a sour face. "Boys be silly." She lifted her skirts and walked into the house, leading the servants bearing her things. Mary went along with her, no doubt glad for the slower pace the little girl set.

Elizabeth watched the procession. Maddie was more full of airs with each year. On their first visit here with Andrew, two years earlier, Maddie had begun her reign with her treatment of Vincent. Maddie’s expression had been one of extreme annoyance. She faced the tall, fair knight. I Maddie. Who you? Her posture belied her age, the very image of a monarch chastening an errant member of the court.

Andrew had chuckled, which, in turn, made his daughter stick her lower lip out. Maddie, this is Sir Vincent. He is Sir Phillip’s captain and a good friend of both your mother and myself.

After bowing deeply, Vincent spoke softly to the girl. I am honored to meet you, Miss Madeline Smithfield Holt. May I escort you?

Maddie did not answer. She went back to the coach, and leaned inside. When she turned around, she was holding a doll. I ready.

The sound of a man clearing his throat broke into Elizabeth’s daydream. She looked up to see Sir Phillip Gilcrest. Phillip, now fifty, was still tall and fit. The streaks of gray in his black hair only added to his aristocratic appearance. Elizabeth wondered if her father might have matured in much the same way, had he lived.

Elizabeth! So glad you decided to come and bring the children. George has been insufferable waiting for Stephen to arrive. With a laugh, he continued. The two of them remind me of your father and me. As Nellie passed carrying John Phillip on her hip, Phillip rumpled the boy’s hair. Hello there, young man.

John Phillip wriggled in Nellie’s arms. She set him down. He toddled off toward the front steps before he sat down hard and erupted in waves of laughter. Nellie scooped him up and disappeared into the house.

Come, Elizabeth, Phillip urged. There is someone I want you to meet. Following her friend into the great hall, Elizabeth saw Lady Anne and walked up to her. A few years younger than her husband Phillip, she was yet the most strikingly elegant woman Elizabeth had ever known. Her blond hair shone like a crown and her sparkling blue eyes were focused on the baby in her arms. Her daughter Jane stood next to her. She was now twenty-three and as beautiful as her mother. She beamed as she tickled the baby’s cheek.

Lady Anne looked up. Meet the newest member of our family. She bounced the gurgling child in her arms as Elizabeth leaned in closer for a better look. Our grandson, Hollis Braitwaithe. She handed him to Jane. I should see what the boys have gotten into.

Elizabeth greeted Jane and admired Hollis as she made a careful survey of his features. He sported a shock of yellow hair sticking out from the edges of his cap. Is Trevor here? I regret I did not see much of him at the wedding. She and Andrew had attended the affair, but with John Phillip being only four months old, she missed much of the festivities.

We owe you and Andrew so very much. Elizabeth blinked. Had my mother not married Sir Phillip and moved us here, I would never have met Trevor.

Trevor Braitwaithe was a wealthy spice merchant’s son from a neighboring town who had done remarkably well in his own right despite not yet reaching thirty. Did you ever find your seasonings that day? Elizabeth asked.

Jane flushed and covered her mouth. I confess I forgot them.

Not surprising considering the state you were in. Anne reappeared behind her daughter. "Several years ago, while I was busy checking