“My lord, I bid you a good evening.” Cate curtsied before him.
“’Till the morrow, Catherine.” Geoff replied with a polite bow. He winked at her as he turned to leave. He was the same as always.
With the moonlight pouring over her, she’d looked like an angel. Geoff caught her unaware as she’d stood staring up in the bright moonlight. Surely she had not changed in appearance or demeanor in the months since their last visit? Ah, he realized, he was the one who had changed and now looked at this place and its people differently.
In the last year, he had fought and won his first tournament, met the nobles who ruled those lands adjoining his and had even been introduced to the royal family of France. And he had known grave disappointment as the reality of his duties to his inheritance forced the truth on him—he would not marry the woman he wanted when he inherited.
Catherine, a distant cousin of Emalie’s, orphaned and with but a small dowry, might be acceptable as a bride for Geoffrey Dumont, the younger brother of the Earl of Harbridge who had no aspirations of titles or lands, but she would never be acceptable as the bride of the Comte de Langier. Without family connections, titles, wealth or lands, Catherine could never be his. And he would never ask her to lower herself in any other way, to be his without the blessing of marriage.
No matter how much he wanted her. No matter how much he loved her. And not even knowing for a certainty in his soul that she loved him.
So why did he carry out this folly and ask her to help him choose a bride? Why cause them both the pain he knew would result?
He simply could not let her go yet. He needed to share whatever time he could steal with her before he left to take his wife home to Poitou. It would be better this way. Love had little place in a modern marriage and so he would remember his first love and know not to expect more than the affection from a spouse who understood their relationship as he did. Even as he let the thoughts free, he knew them for the sham they were.
He would not lie to himself—he would keep company with Catherine when he could and would use the task she’d agreed to in order to keep her near until the last possible moment. Then they would part. If it were to be difficult in this next week, then so be it. He would be with Cate and that would make it worth the pain.
Geoff strode through the great hall and made his way to his chambers.
“They are in love.”
“It has no bearing on what is to come.”
Emalie sighed. How could her husband be so obstinate, even after their own trials? Turning to face him in the shadows where they stood, she thought of how best to approach this problem.
“Love means nothing to you?” Sometimes she needed to prod him out of his arrogance and into realizing the value of the intangibles that surrounded him. ’Twas ever his failing.
“Your love has meant everything to me and you know it. But as we found it after we married, so will Geoffrey. If he accepts our guidance in the matter of a wife and chooses well, love will come.” Christian held out his arm to her and she placed her hand on it.
She sighed again. How could such intelligent and powerful men be such fools? She had seen this coming almost from the first time Catherine had visited from the convent and met Geoffrey. Soul mates. Two halves of the same soul that were meant to be joined together. How could her husband not see that?
“You are too quiet. That does not bode well for me, wife.”
“She was a victim as well, Christian. Do you hold her accountable for his sins, too?”
“She has no family….” he said. Emalie thought to correct him, but his growing anger was apparent. “She has no family, no wealth and no titles. She is not suitable to marry my brother.”
Emalie began to answer him, but Christian drew to a stop and pointed at her. “Do not think to meddle or gainsay me in this, wife. I have my limits.”
She looked away and let him lead her to their chambers without further argument. She knew he thought he had won this one, but she would have the last word. Catherine had suffered much and did not deserve to be held in dishonor because of her brother’s actions. Even if those actions had been against Emalie’s own person.
Emalie stopped at the door to her room and blocked her husband from following her into her sleeping chamber. His puzzlement was clear and she was glad. Mayhap it would make him think about his unkind attitude and words.
“Even after three years and countless steps forward, you are still a prig.”
She slammed the door closed and forced herself not to laugh at the astonished look on his face as she did so.
Chapter Four
Melissande.
Marguerite.
Mathilde.
Maude.
Melissande, Marguerite, Mathilde and Maude. The names did not bode well for him, for he had to always struggle to remember them. Now he was saddled with meeting strangers and trying to keep their names and faces in his memory.
Had his sister-by-marriage forgotten the lessons she’d learned about the letters of the alphabet? Even he knew that there were more letters than simply M and certainly women whose names did not begin so. Apparently, the only suitable women who had been invited to Greystone were those whose names began with an M.
“No, my lord Geoffrey, I did not limit my search for suitable wives to women whose names began thus. ’Twould only seem so.”
Surprised that he’d said the words aloud, he noticed the mischievous grin that teased the corners of Emalie’s mouth. Seeing the matching glint in her eye, he was not convinced that it was unintentional. For confusion? For levity? Her reasons he knew not, but they were there somewhere.
“You mentioned six prospective wives. Two seem to be missing.”
Although Emalie’s lips tightened at his comment, his brother’s snort of amusement was loud enough to be heard by those below table, as well as those at it.
“The ladies Petronilla and Phillippa are late risers, my lord. They tend to like the activities of the afternoon and evening far more than those in the morn.”
Ah. Well, four were easier to manage than six, so Geoffrey would use this early time to meet the two who were not present at the meal and dancing last eve, before meeting the others, the P ladies, later in the day.
“Emalie,” he whispered to her after realizing she used the title not yet known by those here. “I thought we’d decided that I was simply a knight for now?”
“’Twould seem, brother, that word of our bargain with Richard has escaped, in spite of our best efforts.” Christian looked neither pleased nor displeased by this lapse.
Gazing around the tables, Geoffrey now understood why there was so much wealth and beauty on display. As much as he hunted a bride, their families hunted him.
“So, I am worthwhile now that they know I am a marquis?”
Christian snickered and leaned across Emalie to answer. “And worth far more when you inherit the title of Comte de Langier and become the sole owner of the lands that lie between Anjou, Poitou and Aquitaine.”
“Do not spare me, brother. Why are they truly here?” Geoff gnashed his teeth at his change in status. Not now. He wanted time without the pressure of his true title being known.
Christian threw him a look that confirmed his suspicions—he was more valuable than any of the women to be considered. Their fathers wanted him for the lands and titles he would have upon his investiture, and the connections to the Plantagenet crown and the proximity to the French one.
“The hunter has become the prey, I fear, brother,” Christian answered. “All of my hopes to accomplish this before your inheritance was known are for naught.”
“Has anyone asked outright?”
“Nay, no one yet, although many hints have been dropped in initial discussions.”
Geoffrey broke off another chunk of cheese and chewed it. Leaning back as he washed the food down with some ale, he considered his choices. He could ignore the inevitable gossip or he could have Christian make the announcement of the terms of Ri
chard’s agreement with the Dumont family. The news would be known as soon as negotiations began in earnest with the family of whomever he chose, so mayhap disclosure was best now. Subterfuge made him uncomfortable, a failing that Christian warned him about.
“My apologies, Geoff. I knew that word was out as soon as the rest of them gathered together in the hall this morn. Their visits and times of introduction were to be spread out over several days, not made into a marriage market like this.”
He nodded as his brother continued. “But none would allow another an advantage in showing off his daughter to you unchallenged. So, here they are.”
The speculation in the gazes that met his told the story. Those assembled wanted or needed him more than they wanted to hold on to their daughter or the wealth they would need to give away in the bargain.
A marriage to Melissande of Quercy would produce a united border with the south and west of France and make the duke more valuable to Philip Augustus. Marguerite of Brittany would strengthen the Plantagenet hold on that area and stem the tide of support for the French king. The count from Navarre would gain a foothold deep in the Plantagenet provinces and secure his borders with Gascony. The marquis who held lands near Orleans and owed fealty for those lands directly to the king of France would gain esteem for capturing a favorite of King Richard’s as his son-by-marriage. Marriage to either of the English heiresses would put more of England and Wales under Richard’s vassals’ control.
The watchful gazes and intense scrutiny made Geoff feel very much the prey here. Christian cleared his throat, gaining the attention of all in the room. He stood and spoke to them.
“On behalf of my brother, I thank you for answering our invitation. My family and I are honored by your presence and pleased that you could be here to meet with him. The countess and I have planned some entertainments for you all and I hope that your stay is comfortable and…” Christian paused and then acknowledged the real reason for this debacle. “May it result in a marriage and a joining of families.”
Geoffrey forced a smile to his face and nodded at the polite applause that greeted his brother’s words. From the undisguised greed on several faces, he guessed some of the visitors were already planning ways to ensure that their daughter was chosen. The only one wearing an undecipherable mask was the Baron of Evesham, whose friendship with Prince John was known. Geoff watched as the baron’s piercing gaze rested on each of the young women under consideration and then flicked back to the empty seat at his side, empty due to the absence of his daughter.
Geoffrey’s observations were interrupted by his brother’s announcement. “The stable master informs me that the horses are at the ready for our hunt. Come.”
Geoff joined Christian and the other noblemen and made his way to the stable yard. They would hunt with dogs this day, but he knew that Emalie enjoyed using the hawks and would plan a hunt for men and women using those. Soon, amid the barking and yelling and dust and men in the yard, he lost all thoughts of a bride and faced the challenges of a hunt.
Catherine sat at the longest of the tables near the kitchen hearth, finishing a bowl of steaming porridge. With most of the men leaving for the hunt for much of the day, she would have a chance to complete some arrangements. Supplies of food and wine and ale would travel with them so they could eat in the forest rather than coming back for the noon meal. The fruits of their labors would grace the table tonight. Catherine stood when Emalie approached.
“Nay, Catherine. Sit and finish your meal.”
Emalie walked to another table and examined the foods laid out on it. Nodding, she inspected the quality and quantity of the breads and wheels of cheese. The cook arrived at her side. Now Catherine did join them, anxious to assist in any way she could.
After a short time, Emalie and the cook had agreed to the dishes that would be served at the night’s feast, and arrangements had been made to retrieve any game or animals captured in the hunt. Catherine walked at her side as they left the kitchens by way of the back courtyard. She did not ask their destination, but followed along. Soon they arrived at the small graveyard where many of the Montgomerie family were buried.
But they were not there to show respect for the dead. This was also one of few places that offered any privacy in the sometimes frenzied world of Greystone Castle. And privacy was needed to discuss the startling contents of the reverend mother’s latest missive regarding Catherine. They stopped near the low stone wall, and Catherine waited until Emalie had taken a seat on the bench next to the wall before sitting, as well.
“I would like you to attend the feast tonight, Catherine.” Although she clearly tried to soften her tone, it was more of an order than a request.
Catherine shook her head as she answered.
“’Tis not possible, my lady. I have no place there.”
“You are my ward, Catherine. You do belong there.”
Catherine faced her and let the sadness she carried within show on her face. ’Twas something she had never seen before in this strength, so Emalie knew Catherine trusted her.
“I still do not understand how you can look at me at all, let alone with the generosity you do, my lady. We both know that I am the sister of your enemy, an orphan without family or connections and without wealth. I would be happier—”
“Taking the veil?” Emalie interrupted.
Catherine blushed and stammered and then just stopped and waited. Emalie could see her trying to regain control as she realized that her secret was known.
“My lady, I would have told you myself once I was sure.”
“The decision is not made, then? The reverend mother misunderstood your words?”
If there was anyone less suited for the convent than Catherine, she knew her not. The vitality and curiosity that was just beginning to reappear would wither and die in religious life. This girl, denied too many years of life, needed to be among people and to enjoy life and to find love.
Catherine’s eyes filled with tears and she bowed her head, not meeting Emalie’s gaze. Emalie thought, and not for the first time since bringing Catherine to Greystone, that mayhap she had handled this badly. Had it been cruel, as Christian had warned, to bring her here and give her a sample of a life she could never have? But then her husband had established a small dowry for Catherine, so marriage was not out of the question for her.
Emalie shifted on the hard seat and took Catherine’s hand in hers. Would the dowry so generously established now pay Catherine’s entry into the convent in Lincoln? Would she never know the joys of bearing children and having a husband to care for? As if in answer to her silent question, Catherine spoke.
“The reverend mother understood me well, my lady. This is to be my last visit to Greystone. My studies are nearly done and I am ready to take my vows.”
“Why, Catherine? Why enter the convent and spend your life as a Gilbertine sister?” Emalie waited for an answer. She suspected that she knew the truth of this and wondered if Catherine trusted her enough to share it with her.
“The reverend mother and sisters at the convent have been so kind to me. They cared for me during my…illness and have encouraged me since. They have taught me so much, not only from books, my lady, but in their practices and their life.” A desperate undertone laced her words, as though she were trying to convince herself and not Emalie.
“Those are all reasons to give thanks and generous donations and to offer prayers to God so that the sisters may continue their good works with others. But Catherine, those are not the reasons why you should enter their life. Tell me why you should join them.”
Discomfort flashed over the girl’s face and Emalie felt a pang of guilt for causing it. But if this was Catherine’s choice, she would support her in this desire to join the religious life. If it was not…
“Have you not thought of marriage for yourself?”
A terrible expression of loss haunted Catherine’s eyes and a soul-deep despair was now clearly written on her face. It was so obvious that
Emalie’s own heart hurt from it. This was not about beginning a new life as a nun. This was, as she had suspected, about losing Geoffrey.
“With no family?” Catherine asked. “With no memory of my past other than what you or the reverend mother have shared with me? How can I enter into a marriage contract under the false pretenses in which I live? What do I offer a prospective husband?”
Emalie watched as silent tears slipped down Catherine’s pale cheeks. So much pain for someone who had not lived a score of years. She reached up and brushed a few strands of hair from Catherine’s damp cheeks.
“You have much to offer. You are an intelligent woman with much learning. You have handled many duties of the keep while here with me, so I doubt you would have any difficulty handling the tasks of chatelaine for a husband. You are of a suitable age to marry and there are no physical impairments to keep you from bearing children. You would make any man a more than acceptable wife.”
Catherine thought on the countess’s words. The problem for her lay within them, for she did not want to be “suitable” or “acceptable.” She did not want to be “without impairments.” She wanted to be loved. She wanted to be wanted. She wanted to be pursued for her own value and not the purse or land that came with her.
What foolishness to think such things! Even she knew such thoughts were ridiculous. ’Twas simply the way of things that women were wanted for what they brought and men for their abilities to manage and protect. Marriages among the noble class were simply that—contracted arrangements. And her biggest folly was to even consider for a moment that she could be Geoffrey’s wife.
Catherine removed her hand from the countess’s grasp and stood. The day was early, but already the heat was building. A breeze moved the smaller branches of the tree that provided them with some shade, and Catherine walked to its trunk and leaned against it. Pulling out a linen square from her sleeve, she wiped the remaining tears from her eyes and cheeks.
The Countess Bride Page 3