Shrewsbury to the north, Cavendish and St. Loe on her side: the borders touched and ran together for miles; she would tell him that. It was a shame to have such a bounty of acreage divided up by what. A name.
Nearly the whole middle of England was tagged thus: it was a chessboard of parcels with her name on some squares and his on others.
The only name that mattered was Harry Cavendish.
"He won't like her," said Cecily as they rode along. She’d meant to say this to her sister for a long time. It would make no difference: Bess had moved beyond counsel.
She had fought with Death and won; she had survived near ruin by the Crown still greater glories lay ahead. It must, she thought to herself: why was she alive? Why was she allowed to make her plans. Was it a trick? Was it the Devil leading her? "Henry is fifteen," said Bess confidently "All girls are his to liking."
Cecily knew this better than Bess: only his mother seemed blind "But to marry..."
"He will be used to it."
"You will make him used to it," said the Linnet.
"If I must."
Lady St. Loe had gone on a tour of the neighborhood to see to her land---Harry’s land, and make note of Shrewsbury’s borders. St. Loe was too weary, he'd stayed home to nurse his painful knees, but Mr. Cromp came and Francis Whitfield, the steward at Chatsworth. They brought servants and yeomen and a draughtsman to make a kind of map.
Lady St. Loe rode in her old whirlicote, sitting forward on the box seat to look out the window and call out instructions to Whitfield, pointing up a forested slope with a note, or down a muddy lane with a question. She sat back in her seat a moment, without looking at Cecily "He hath his own free will, Linnet,” said Bess. "And it’s only a marriage, after all."
"My Henry is not a boy to have his life ordered for him," said Cecily. She knew him better than his own mother: she had taught him as best he could be taught. He was more for hunting and sport; Cecily knew that from his childhood and never forced him to open a book. The notion of forcing her son never troubled his mother.
Bess dismissed her sister "He hath done well thus far," she said, closing the subject.
"Willy, on the other hand..."
"Willy is not the oldest son."
"He is more..."
"Quiet," said Bess sharply: hadn’t she just ended this discussion?
"...obedient," Cecily offered after a moment. "Harry belongs to none but Harry."
Bess didn't say anything for a long time "He will learn."
They moved forward a few miles and stayed out for a day and a night, then moved on toward the city nearly reaching Sheffield Castle where they were met by members the Earl of Shrewsbury's upper household with a gracious invitation.
It was as Bess had planned.