Hugh and Bess Read Online Free Page A

so she resigned herself to her fate.
     
     
     
      Hugh had been right about the necessity of a papal dispensation; the wedding would have to wait until after one was obtained, though with the king himself lending his support (Bess learned to her chagrin), its being granted was practically a foregone conclusion. No such obstacles barred Joan of Kent from marrying Will, however, and in early February, the couple and their families arrived at Westminster for the wedding, which, owing to the king's closeness to the Montacute family and to Queen Philippa's fondness for Joan, was to take place at the crown's expense.
      “So tomorrow I will be a married man,” Will said cheerfully as he entered Bess's chamber at Westminster the evening before the wedding. “And you will soon be a married woman. Pity it couldn’t be a double wedding.”
      “I can stand to wait,” Bess said gloomily. “Are you happy about marrying Joan?”
      “Well, of course. Joan's pretty, she's kin to the king, and she's my age. What's not to like? She's happy too, isn’t she?”
      “Oh, maybe a little nervous,” Bess said carefully, remembering her conversation with Joan on the day Bess's parents announced their marriages.
      “What does she have to be nervous about? We’ve known each other forever, almost. And it's not as if we’ll be bedding together straightaway, which Papa told me always gets you girls all worried and skittish. Joan's mother has reminded me six times at least that I can’t share her bed.”
      “But even so, knowing someone is a little different from living with her forever as man and wife, don’t you think?” Bess sagged a little, thinking of “forever” as applied to her and Hugh.
      Will waved a hand breezily. “She’ll come around. You know how dramatic Joan is. She always screamed the loudest of you girls whenever I put a frog down her back, didn’t she? Maybe I can find one to slip into her bed after it's blessed. Anyway, I saw your Sir Hugh arrive here earlier. I suppose he’ll be at the wedding?”
      “Yes, and we have to sit together at the feast afterward,” Bess said glumly. “I think Papa is to announce our betrothal there.”
      “He introduced himself to me. I liked him.”
      “You don’t have to marry him,” Bess snapped.
      In Joan's chamber the next morning, Bess stood by as a gaggle of ladies, including Queen Philippa herself, helped Joan to dress. Wearing a light blue gown that set off her russet curls and creamy complexion to perfection, Joan looked lovelier than Bess had ever seen her, but she put on each garment with as grim an air as if she were preparing for her own execution. “Smile!” hissed the Countess of Kent, and even the kindly queen said, “Goodness, child, you needn’t look quite so solemn. It's only Will de Montacute, and he's a likely enough lad. Many a girl would be pleased to marry him.”
      “Yes, your grace,” Joan said distantly. Bess, unable in the company of her elders to encourage any confidences on her old friend's part, settled for patting Joan's hand consolingly. She got no response at first. Then, to Bess's dismay, Joan began weeping.
      The Countess of Kent clapped her hands. “Out! Leave me with her.” Even the queen (who surely had not been included in the countess's order) obeyed. A long interval passed. Then Joan emerged, dry-eyed and with her chin held high. Only those who had known of her outburst could find faint traces of recent tears on her cheeks. “I’m ready,” she said in a flat tone.
      Standing at the door of the royal chapel with Will, Joan remained dry-eyed, but she looked like a deer surrounded by huntsmen. How could Will provoke such a reaction? Bess wondered. It was true that he was no great romantic figure for Joan—just plain old Will, whom she had known since she was a toddler—but what was wrong with marrying someone safe and familiar?
      She was still puzzling over this at the wedding banquet as Hugh,