JOHN BRYAN ELWELL died suddenly on April 22nd, a victim of consumption at the age of thirty.

Francis was heartbroken over the loss of his oldest child, a grief that was mixed with flashes of guilt that he might not have been the best father in the world.

"You did the best you could under the circumstances," Robin remonstrated with him. "Never doubt it, my friend."

Arthur joined Francis and Edmund to retrieve John's body from his cottage in Oxford. They took the coffin for burial at St. Giles Churchyard in Cheddington, near the grave of Thomas Bryan.

A brief service was held in the chapel. Lady Margaret Bryan, Francis, Edmund, Robin, Alice, Arthur and Sybil were the handful of mourners present, a sad commentary on a kind man who relished education and teaching others, his life devoted to such at Magdalen College.

Edmund appeared the most upset. He and John had grown close over the spans of their childhood and youth, never losing touch and often meeting one another for meals at the various taverns, specifically the Bear Inn located near Christ Church College in Oxford.

"I never thought to outlive my own son," Francis said sadly at the gravesite.

Lady Margaret took his hand. "I've been down this road before, Francis. You are my last living child. Please take care of yourself."

He glanced at her. "I will be off to Ireland after my wedding to Lady Joan Butler this summer, mother. The Irish are not known to be gentle and forgiving sorts. Of all the places I've ever been, the idea of Ireland is the most to make me uneasy."

She pursed her lips. "I shall pray for you." She kissed him on the cheek. "Try to be happy, Francis."

"I'm happy when I'm with Alice," he replied dismally. "But it is not to be in the cards for us."

* * *

FRANCIS ESCORTED ALICE, Arthur and Sybil back to Bury St. Edmunds following John's funeral, staying a few days at Drury Manor before going on to London.

It was a bittersweet time for him. He might not see Alice for quite awhile, if ever again, once he was married and moved to Ireland, so he wanted to make the most of it.

When he had first told of her his impending marriage, she had taken the news fairly well. While saddened, she understood it was a political match with no love involved.

"I haven't even met her yet," Francis complained. "If I had my druthers, there would be no marriage, expedient or otherwise. I also have no desire to go to Ireland, but must do as the King and Lord Protector bid me."

Alice tried to lighten his mood. "Perhaps when we are ancient and mindless, we will finally be allowed to rest together easily with no one left to interfere."

They held hands as they walked the grounds of Drury Manor, comfortable with the quietness between them. When they turned and started to go back to the house, he stopped her.

He brought her hand to his lips. "It was never my intention to be parted from you for all of these years."

"I know, my love."

"Never forget, Alice." His voice was barely audible, so she leaned closer.

"Francis?"

His tone grew stronger. "Never forget that you are the only one I've ever loved. I will go to my grave with your name on my lips and your image in my heart."

Her eyes glistened. "It is the same for me, my lord. And I shall never forget."

* * *

JOAN FITZGERALD BUTLER made the journey from Ireland to England in July, going to Hanworth Park House near Richmond to wait for her first meeting with Francis. He arrived shortly after she did, going to a vacant chamber to freshen his appearance with Robin's assistance.

He was fleshier of face now that he was fifty-eight years old, with more pronounced streaks of gray in his once dark hair. His neatly-trimmed beard was also peppered with silver, and the lines on his forehead, around his eyes and at the corners of his mouth had deepened.

Francis grunted. "There is no help for it," he told Robin. "She'll have to take me as I am."

"She's lucky to have you," Robin returned. "She is getting a distinguished English noble, a knight of the realm. She couldn't do better in her own untamed land."

They made their way to the presence chamber, admitted by two of the King's pages. A woman sat alone by the cold hearth, her head turned away as she stared out of a nearby window.

Francis approached her slowly, taking in her appearance. She turned to meet his gaze. Joan looked to be in her early thirties, with curly brown hair, green eyes and long limbs. She was beautiful in a sense, but the first thing traits he noticed about her outward demeanor was the coldness in her eyes and her unsmiling face, which made her seem pinched with misery.

"My lady, welcome to England."

She regarded him coolly. "You are older than I imagined you would be." Her voice was deceptively soft and fluttery, but with no hints of warmth.

Francis felt a strong flash if dislike for her in that instant. If she wanted to play battles of word games and cruel taunts, he could give her as good as she gave. "This is not a meeting of romantic love, Madame Butler," he replied gruffly. "We have been called upon to make an alliance."

"One that is not to my liking," she returned abruptly.

"Nor is it to mine," he continued in a brusque tone. "However, I suggest we make the best of it." He stared at her for a long moment. "I hear you are the mother of seven sons and one daughter by Butler, all of whom live. Such an unusual feat counts in your favor, my lady. Additional sons from my own loins would not go amiss."

She visibly recoiled in distaste. "I am no brood mare, my lord."

"It's all that matters between us," he responded curtly. "Do not fail in that, or you will regret the day."

Joan maintained eye contact with him. "You will find no fault with me, my lord, but . . . "

"You lack natural poise," Francis interrupted her. "You are beautiful, yes, but you possess none of the refinement happily shared amongst Englishwomen of noble birth. Perhaps you can learn the finer nuances while you find yourself in England." His gaze turned hard. "I also sense you are educated - as much as a woman can be - yet I feel you will attempt manipulation with little or no conscience to stop you. I will brook no disobedience, Madame. Don't forget it."

Joan drew in her breath sharply. "We have nothing left to say to one another, my lord."

He inclined his head slightly. "I quite agree. The bans of our wedding have already been read, which will take place on August 1st at St. George's Church in Hanworth Village." He gave a crooked smile. "I will not look upon your sour face until then."

He turned and left the room.

* * *

THE KING, SEYMOUR and several nobles came to Hanworth to attend the wedding of Sir Francis Bryan and Lady Joan Fitzgerald Butler, most notably John Dudley, Earl of Warwick; Thomas Wriothesley, Earl of Southampton; Baron William Paget and Sir Thomas Seymour. The ceremony was officiated over by Archbishop Cranmer.

Joan came down the aisle in St. George's Church, face covered with a heavy white veil and hair free, while her cream-colored gown was fringed with dark green lace.

Francis took her hand but did not look at her, or compliment her appearance. as they stood at the altar. The vows were quickly and flatly spoken, after which the King hosted a small wedding feast at Hanworth House.

Joan and Francis sat next to one another on the dais, but they did not speak or even acknowledge the other. The coldness between them was palpable as a grim-faced Francis drank deeply from his wine cup. He ignored the platters of roasted meats and sweets, preferring to refill his cup with more of the fortified wine.

After the King and the nobles departed, Joan disappeared upstairs with two ladies to prepare for her wedding night. Francis drank two more full cups before climbing the stairs after her.

The chamber set aside for them was a medium-sized room at the head of the stairs, with one tall fireplace and a large bed in the center. The floors and walls were of polished wood, light sconces shedding illumination on the bride as she sat upright in bed, waiting for him. She was enveloped in a white, diaphanous gown with her hair free about her shoulders. Her face was expressionless, but her eyes regarded him frostily.

"Take off the gown," he ordered her harshly as he began removing his own clothes.

She made no move to do his bidding, so he took an intimidating step toward the bed.

"I can take you by force if need be," he snarled. "I will have my due as your unwilling husband, whether you like it or not."

Joan shrank against the pillows, her eyes wide with fear, yet she still did not shed her gown.

Francis quickly climbed on the bed and savagely ripped the gown from her. She made to scream, but he covered her mouth with the firm pressure of his hand, shaking her head roughly.

Robin sat in a chair outside the chamber, wincing when he heard Joan's muffled cries of pain for more than an hour.

Then, finally, it was blessedly quiet.

* * *

ROBIN NOTICED JOAN'S bruised mouth the next morning when he served breakfast to the newly-wed couple in their chamber. Her eyes were downcast as she pushed her plate of food away.

Francis, on the other hand, ate with gusto. He looked to his wife and noticed her indifference to the food. "I suggest you take some sustenance, Madame. We have a long day's journey ahead of us in order to make it halfway to Woburn Abbey."

She finally raised her eyes. "I thought we were going to Marsworth, your family seat?"

Francis laughed harshly. "Not hardly, my lady. My mother has no interest in meeting the likes of you."

Joan lowered her eyes again, moving a piece of bread around on her plate.

Robin almost felt sorry for her. Francis was being inordinately cruel to Joan in the light of day, but she was the one who had set the tone of their relationship during their first meeting. Her frigid stance had raised Francis' ire. Knowing him as he did, Robin realized Francis would make his new wife pay dearly for her behavior, and would likely never forgive her lack of proper respect.

Later, as Robin assisted Joan in the family coach, he imparted a few quiet words as Francis had not emerged from the house yet. "You injured his pride upon your first meeting, my lady. He took great offense to your comments and will undoubtedly take some time to forgive you."

Joan stared at him. "You know him well?"

Robin nodded. "Since we were children."

Her green eyes turned steely, which belied her fluttery voice. "While I was a widow and not married to your Englishman, I defended and kept my own council, or at the very least, no man went about to defeat me of my right. Happy is the woman who remains unmarried. I am bidden to hold my peace, and my husband shall have answers made to him of my actions. I cannot abide such stricture."

Robin drew back, stunned. "Then you will reap the harvest of it, my lady, with no one but yourself to blame."

Back to Excerpts Main >