A Woman of Passion Read Free Page B

Barlow was indisposed, Lady Margaret,” she explained, “so I delivered your letter to Lady Frances myself. She was extremely pleased to see me, for she had an invitation for you.”
    Margaret Zouche opened the letter and eagerly scanned its contents. “Oh, how lovely. We are invited to Chelsea for all of next week. Frances and I will be able to catch up on the latest gossip! Bess, my dear, there is so much to do, I don't know where to start.”
    “Don't worry about the girls, Lady Margaret. I shall begin packing immediately.”
    “You are so organized, I don't know how I ever managed without you. Come to my dressing room; I should like your advice on what clothes I will need for Chelsea.”
    Bess was delighted. She took a great interest in Lady Zouche's wardrobe and had a natural flair for fashion.When she arrived in London, Bess had owned only one change of clothes, but now, thanks to her wealthy employer, she possessed four dresses. As she accompanied Lady Margaret to her dressing room, Bess decided this was the perfect opportunity to double her wardrobe!
    As the two women looked over dozens of expensive gowns, Bess said casually, “A friend of Lord Dorset bade me carry his regards to you. Now, let me think, could his name have been Cavendale?”
    “Rogue Cavendish! He's Henry Grey's dearest friend and a devil with the ladies. I must include him in my next dinner party; Sir John enjoys his company, and I admit he's set my heart aflutter since I was a girl.”
    Bess looked unsure. “This gentleman seemed older than you, Lady Margaret.” The ploy worked like a charm.
    “That's most flattering, Bess, but I believe we're about the same age. He was widowed when he was quite young … he can't be much more than thirty.”
    “Thirty? When you wear pink you look no older than twenty.”
    “La! Remember the ages of my daughters! I shall take the pink to Chelsea.”
    “Some colors age a woman,” Bess murmured.
    “Really? I never thought of it before. Which colors?”
    “Shades of purple, definitely, and gray is so drab.” Bess stroked an emerald velvet gown covetously. “Green makes the skin look sallow, I think.”
    Lady Margaret gathered up the offending garments. “Here, take them; aging isn't a problem for you, dear child.”
    As Bess hung the precious dresses in her wardrobe, she hummed a merry tune. The sleeves were separate and interchangeable, and in her mind's eye she pictured howstriking the green velvet sleeves would be paired with the elegant gray and how vividly the colors would contrast with her blazing hair. Bess had known in her bones that today would be lucky for her. She rubbed her cheek against the velvet and thought breathlessly of Rogue Cavendish. A widower in his thirties! No wonder he had seemed so worldly. And she was going to see him again. There was little doubt that Lady Zouche would invite him and no doubt whatsoever that Cavendish would accept!
    Bess suddenly remembered poor Robert Barlow and ran up to the attic on the fourth floor, where the male servants were boarded. She rapped lightly on the door to his room before opening it. He was lying on his narrow bed. “Are you recovered, Rob?” she asked softly.
    “I feel much better. Thank you, Bess, for what you did today. I wrote a letter home, telling them how good you are to me.”
    She saw the look of adoration on the boy's face and wished he would stop mooning over her. “Next week we are going to Chelsea. You will have an opportunity to rest and regain your strength while we are away.”
    Robert looked crestfallen. “I will miss you sorely, Bess.”
    “What rubbish!” she said impatiently, hurrying off to ready her charges for dinner.
    In the Great Chamber at Whitehall, Henry Tudor entertained his courtiers at dinner. As William Cavendish and Henry Grey pushed their chairs away from the banquet table, the latter remarked, “As has become custom, the food and wine were far too rich and plentiful.”
    Cavendish drained his