Forsaking All
Other
By Catherine
Meyrick
Love is no
game for women; the price is far too high.
England 1585.
Bess Stoughton,
waiting woman to the well-connected Lady Allingbourne, has discovered that her
father is arranging for her to marry an elderly neighbour. Normally obedient
Bess rebels and wrests from her father a year’s grace to find a husband more to
her liking.
Edmund Wyard, a
taciturn and scarred veteran of England’s campaign in Ireland, is attempting to
ignore the pressure from his family to find a suitable wife as he prepares to
join the Earl of Leicester’s army in the Netherlands.
Although Bess and
Edmund are drawn to each other, they are aware that they can have nothing more
than friendship. Bess knows that Edmund’s wealth and family connections place
him beyond her reach. And Edmund, with his well-honed sense of duty, has never
considered that he could follow his own wishes.
With England on
the brink of war and fear of Catholic plots extending even into Lady
Allingbourne’s household, time is running out for both of them.
Excerpt
Bess started as
the bedroom door slammed open.
Nicholas Askew stood in the doorway glowering, ‘Your behaviour today
was a scandal.’
‘I thought I behaved most civilly in the circumstances.’
‘You did little to disguise the contempt you apparently felt for our
host.’
‘I doubt he noticed it, so taken up is he with his own fantasies.’ She
grimaced, ‘He kissed me.’
‘What man is not entitled to kiss the girl he is courting?’ There was
puzzlement in his scowl. ‘That is no reason to show lack of respect to him.’
‘I did not show lack of respect. I merely attempted to avoid his
company, once I knew what he wanted.’
‘There are others interested and, if you are not careful, he may
withdraw his offer.’ His scowl deepened. ‘I do not know what ails you, girl. It
is a good offer.’
‘The man is ancient, his breath is foul, he is unclean and he makes my
flesh crawl.’
‘Rubbish! You cannot afford to be particular.’
Bess bridled, ‘What do you mean by that?’
‘A widow of two years and not a single offer in that time.’
‘And why is that?’ Bess took a sharp breath, her nostrils narrowed. ‘An
unmarried woman brings a dowry to her marriage, a widow her jointure. The
Stoughtons have cheated us. They took the dowry you offered but refuse to pay the
jointure that is my right now Myles is dead. I have nothing to live on yet you
have not lifted a finger to help me. If I had my jointure, I would have more
hope of a decent offer.’
‘Bah! I do not have the money to throw at useless legal cases. I have
six other daughters to provide dowries for.’
‘As my only male relative it is your duty to ensure I receive the
income that is rightfully mine.’
Askew’s face was mottled red. ‘You lecture me on duty?’ A nerve
flickered at the corner of his eye.
‘Why not? I know enough about duty—I did my duty when I married
according to your wishes. I am a grown woman now, a widow, should I not have
some say in the running of my life?’ She rushed on, ‘Yet you have begun
negotiations with Master Litchfield without attempting to discover what my
wishes are.’
‘You know now,’ he snarled.
‘And you know now that I despise the man and will not marry him.’ Bess
lifted her chin. ‘I see no point in staying here any longer, I will be
returning to Lady Allingbourne on the morrow.’
‘Hornebolt has work to do here. I’ll not have him wandering the
countryside on ladies’ fancies. Life with Lady Allingbourne has given you
airs—you consider yourself better than the rest of us. No,’ he crossed his
arms, his pointed beard jutting out, ‘you will remain here and be ruled by your
father like a dutiful daughter. You can help your mother with the children
until you are married to Dick Litchfield.’
‘I swear I will never marry that vile man,’ Bess spat back. ‘I will
stand in church and say that I do not take him, tell the whole congregation
that I have been forced.’
Askew glared at her, his fists clenched. Bess braced herself but he
turned on his heel, slamming the door behind him.
As Bess heard the key scrape in the lock, she shouted after him, ‘She is not my mother.’
Catherine Meyrick
Catherine Meyrick is a writer
of historical fiction with a particular love of Elizabethan England. Her
stories weave fictional characters into the gaps within the historical record –
tales of ordinary people who are very much men and women of their time, yet in
so many ways are like us today.
She grew up in regional
Victoria, Australia in a family with a love both of storytelling and of history
in all its forms. After moving to Melbourne in her late teens, Catherine has
worked as a nurse and a tax assessor, among other things, before finally finding
her niche as a librarian. She has a Master of Arts in history and is also a
family history obsessive.
Catherine loves to hear from
readers. You can find her at:
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