Earth Song Read Free

Philippa, for a moment at least, was proud of him, for he mouthed her own questions. “But, my lord, why? You don’t care for your daughter, my lady? I mean no disrespect, my lord, but . . .”
    Lord Henry eyed the young man. He watched his wife eye de Vescy as well, no passion in either eye now, just cold fury. Even her thin cheeks sported two red anger spots. Ivo was being impertinent, but then again, Lord Henry had been a fool to mention de Bridgport, but his had been the only name to pop into his mind. And Maude had quickly affirmed the man, and so he’d been caught, unable to back down. De Bridgport! The man was a mangy article.
    â€œWhy, my lord?”
    There was not only desperation but also honest puzzlement in the young man’s voice, and Lord Henry sighed. But it was Maude who spoke, astonishing him with the venom of her voice. “Philippa has no hold on Lord Henry. Thus she will have no dowry. She is naught to us, a burden, a vexation. Make up your mind, Ivo, and quickly, for you sorely tax me with your impertinence.”
    â€œWill you now accept Bernice?” Lord Henry asked. “She, dulcet child, tells me she wants you and none other.”
    Ivo wanted to say that he’d take Philippa without a dowry, even without a shift, but sanity stilled his impetuosity. He wasn’t stupid; he was aware of his duty as his father’s eldest son. The de Vescy holdings near York were a drain at present, given the poor crops that had plagued the area for the past several years. He must wed anheiress; it was his duty. He had no choice, none at all. And, his thinking continued, Philippa wasn’t small and soft and cuddly like her sister. She was too tall, too strong, too self-willed—by all the saints, she could read and cipher like a bloody priest or clerk—ah, but her rich dark blond hair was so full of colors, curling wildly around her face and making an unruly fall down her back, free and soft. And her eyes were a glorious clear blue, bright and vivid with laughter, and her breasts were so wondrously full and round and . . . Ivo cleared his throat. “I’ll take Bernice, my lord,” he said, and Lord Henry prayed that the young man wouldn’t burst into tears.
    Maude walked to him, and even smiled as she touched his tunic sleeve. “ ’Tis right and proper,” she said. “You will not regret your choice.”
    Philippa felt like Lot’s wife. She couldn’t seem to move, even when her father waved toward the door, telling Ivo to repose himself before seeking out Bernice. In an instant of time her life had changed. She didn’t understand why both her parents had turned on her—if turn they had. She’d always assumed that her father loved her; he worked her like a horse, that was true, but she enjoyed her chores as Beauchamp’s steward. She reveled in keeping the accounts, in dealing with the merchants of Beauchamp, with settling disputes amongst the peasants.
    As for her mother, she’d learned to keep clear of Lady Maude some years before. She’d been told not to call her “Mother,” but as a small child she’d accepted that and not worried unduly about it. Nor had she sought affection from that thin-lipped lady since she’d gained her tenth year and Lady Maude had slapped her so hard she’d heardringing in her ears for three days. Her transgression, she remembered now, was to accuse Bernice of stealing her small pile of pennies. Her father had done nothing. He hadn’t taken her side, but merely waved her away and muttered that he was too busy for such female foolishness. She’d forgotten until now that her father hadn’t defended her—probably because it had hurt too much to remember.
    And now they planned to marry her to William de Bridgport. They wouldn’t even provide her with a dowry. Nor had anyone mentioned it to her. Philippa couldn’t take it all in.