“Don’t stop, my lord, don’t stop,” she whispered back, trading him kiss for kiss. “Don’t stop, don’t leave me so soon. I would I could go with you, but you wish we remain secret and I must abide by your wishes.”
“Oh but you see love, if I take you, everyone will take you for a mistress of low morals that I amuse myself with…” he whispered, covered in her kisses. “I allow naught like it to happen… but then, ‘tis so hard to think I leave you, my love…”
He suddenly departed from her, stepping back, holding her hands. “Hark now sweetling, we must part…” he smiled at her, with love and adoration in his eyes. “I need to go, and when I am back I assure you that you will know of it…” and with that he pulled her close and held her, “I ask you to think of what you wish from me for your long hours of waiting and you shall have it upon return.” With that he offered his arm to lead back to the hall. “We must part, before they notice, and… I shall say that necklace becomes you my love.” A slight kiss on the back of her hand, and he was gone.
She missed him. She hadn’t expected that. They had met but thrice, yet even setting aside his sincere declarations of love, the thrill of finding someone of her own mind on poetry would incline her heart to him. She took his gift off before leaving the fete, holding it up to the torchlight. So costly a gift. She’d nothing like it to offer in return.
Save her words, she supposed. So Summer wrote him a letter.
Dear my lord Humphrey, she wrote, I would I could say the hours until your return pass by swiftly for my eagerness, yet this is not so. Unaccountably I miss you. Without even your presence within her, London seems drab and empty. Instead, I have sought out Petrarch, as you recommended, and I find him enjoyable reading, yet I would discuss his writings with you to further my understanding.
It is in my heart also to set your mind at ease regarding certain things. You see, I am my father’s favourite, saving only my brother Edward his heir, and thus I have some leave to do as I like. My sister, born at the same lying-in as I, is already married, and well, too; and my father is not so ambitious as some lords. He has given me oath I may not marry against my will, but may have the choice and the freedom to court and be courted.
I fear I cannot make myself as clear as I would like, for this letter may be picked up by those who mean you mischief. Suffice it to say, my lord, I would not have secrecy with you, but see you openly and with a glad heart. My reputation is of no moment, though I thank you greatly for your care of it; indeed I do think my learning has already sullied me in some eyes.
I await your return with impatience, and wish only to be sheltered by your arms again.
with love, Summer Rainault
It took a little connivance, but she had it smuggled into his rooms, sealed with red wax and the impress of a flame, to await him.
It was the fifth morning after the feast. The squire rode in a haste through the pouring rain, waking all those who missed the first sunlight to rise from their beds. He knocked on the door, and when the servant opened, he held out the package to him, “Tis for the lady Summer, and her only… from the Duke of Gloucester.” he said. “My master awaits word if the lady is pleased with it.”
The package contained a couple things. First of all it was packed in fine velvet in the colour of midnight blue, and on that an address, of a certain Master Heap, the tailor, the comment saying, “Send for Master Heap and he shall know the rest.” The master indeed already received the message about a certain fine vest for a lady that would keep her warm during hunt.
Then there were two books, Boccaccio’s ‘De Casibus Virorum Illustrium’ (one of Humphrey’s favorites), beautifully detailed a codex. The smaller one, the inevitable Petrarch’s ‘Il Canzoniere’ that he previously quoted from.
In that, there was a note, handwritten, that said, “My Most Beloved, I shall be holding you in my arms soon and until then I hope these gifts will help you pass the time. Prithee think what you shall ask for the wait, and it shall be yours as promised, for the waiting. My heart is with you, H.”
With trembling hands, Summer hastily penned a note in reply.
Dearest of loves, you are far too kind to me. I shall treasure these, though they do not substitute for your presence. Please hurry back, for the hours grow long and my heart yearns for you. ~S.
She thrust it at the squire, bidding the boy put it in Humphrey’s hand and no other. “Tell your lord my delight is bounded only by his absence.” She yearned to quiz him on how Humphrey looked, but sternly forbade herself that indulgence, a little frightened by the sudden strength of her own feelings. Seduced by books of poetry!
A long conversation over breakfast with her father followed, and at the last he said, patting her hand, “‘Tis strange of me, I know, but I would have you happy above all else, daughter. Go with caution, but not fear; I’ll stand with you. If I know aught ill of Gloucester, ‘tis that he plays with maidens’ hearts, yet he’s wise enough to woo you with books.”