Unveiling Lady Clare

by Carol Townend

  Arthur felt hollow, but now he understood why so many people had been staring at her as she’d ridden into the bailey. They had been too far away to mark her eyes—it was the resemblance to Countess Mathilde that had caught their notice. Much as he was pleased by Clare’s good fortune, he didn’t want her to be the Fontaine heiress. The thought shamed him, but it didn’t leave him.

  ‘How is this possible, my lord? How does one lose a daughter?’

  ‘That, Sir Arthur, is the burning question. I shall attempt to answer it as speedily as possible.’ Count Myrrdin turned back to Clare. ‘You are happy to continue being known as Clare, my dear?’

  Clare swallowed. ‘Yes, my lord.’

  ‘Very well, henceforth you shall be known as Lady Clare de Fontaine, although it’s possible you were christened Francesca, shortly after your birth.’

  Clare’s lips were slightly parted as she listened to her father. Her eyes bright, she was drinking this in. Her brow was clear and her expression was filled with hope and not a little wonder. Already she was changing. She was, Arthur gritted his teeth, moving further and further out of his reach. Finding her father had been one thing, but it was becoming clear that not only had she been born in wedlock, but that her parents had loved each other very much...

  Mon Dieu. He was looking at Lady Clare de Fontaine. This changed everything.

  The Count’s eyes were sad as he continued, ‘I am ashamed to say I cannot recall exactly what happened after your birth. The only thing I remember from that time is that my Mathilde died.’

  Clare laid a hand on her father’s sleeve. ‘She died in childbed?’

  A brusque nod answered her. ‘I was stumbling about, blind with grief, and when someone thought to snap me out of it, they brought me a baby who had been christened Francesca. Mathilde had always liked that name.’ Count Myrrdin covered Clare’s hand with his. ‘Back then I never thought to question that the child was my daughter. Why should I? I was mourning Mathilde. It was weeks before I truly looked at Francesca and it was some years before I began to suspect that she was not truly my daughter.’

  ‘Countess Francesca!’ Clare put her hand to her mouth. ‘Holy Mother, do you think she knew?’

  The Count shook his head. ‘No. No. Francesca was presented to me as a babe-in-arms, she is innocent of any deceit.’

  ‘My lord...Papa, I think she has realised now. Did you see how she ran from the hall?’

  The white head shook. ‘Can’t say that I did.’

  ‘Papa, I thought your dau—I thought Countess Francesca didn’t wish to acknowledge me, but I was wrong. She’s distraught—someone should go after her.’

  She stepped towards the door, but the Count stayed her with his hand. ‘We do nothing rash.’ He looked to Arthur. ‘Sir, I may rely on your discretion?’

  ‘Of course, my lord.’ Arthur frowned. ‘Are you certain Countess Francesca is innocent in this?’

  ‘I am. I’ve watched her grow up. She’s a sweet girl—I’ve learned to love her.’ He smiled at Clare. ‘Francesca might not be my daughter in blood—please don’t misunderstand me, my dear—but I feel it’s fair to say that she has become my daughter by adoption. Your arrival here will have turned her world upside down. She has certain expectations and I would like to minimise her distress. I shall not abandon her, of course.’

  ‘I understand,’ Arthur said.

  ‘And you, my dear, do you understand?’

  ‘I understand, Papa.’ A tear formed on Clare’s eyelashes, and she cleared her throat. ‘You are not abandoning her.’

  ‘How could I? Such a sweet child.’ Count Myrrdin sighed. ‘Over the years, it dawned on me that she might not be mine. I couldn’t see anything of Mathilde in her. Or of myself for that matter. It’s hard to be sure of these things when children are small, but as Francesca grew...’ he shrugged ‘...by the time I was certain it was too late, for I loved her. I made enquiries at the village, discreet enquiries, in case Francesca should come to hear, but if anyone knew anything, they kept quiet. There was no trace of you and all I had was a gut full of suspicions that could never be proved.’

  Clare is legitimate.

  Arthur’s fist clenched. He couldn’t offer for her, not the legitimate daughter of a count. A dazzling political alliance would be open to her—he couldn’t stand in her way. He was dimly aware of Count Myrrdin asking her how she was brought up, but he barely heard him, he was staring at Clare’s mouth.

  I will never kiss her again.

  Chapter Ten

  ‘You had no family?’ The Count looked appalled. Whatever Clare had said to him had shocked him. ‘Clare, you must have had a family—how did you survive?’

  Arthur longed to know what was going through her mind. Lady Clare. Lord, if he was having difficulty accepting that she was Count Myrrdin’s legitimate daughter, it was unimaginable what it must be like for her. She must feel completely adrift. He held his breath as he waited for her answer. He had been trying to get her to open up to him for weeks, maybe the Count would have more success.

  ‘My l—Papa, I am sorry, but I don’t wish to talk about it.’

  ‘You fear chastisement,’ the Count said gently. ‘You need not. Like Francesca, you were an innocent.’

  ‘Papa, didn’t you say that Francesca was presented to you as a baby?’

  ‘That is so.’ The skin around Count Myrrdin’s mismatched eyes crinkled as he gave a lopsided smile. ‘Believe me, I have invented dozens of theories over the years. All of which are plausible, but so far none have been proven. The exchange could have taken place at any time in your first few months. Eighteen years ago, I was out of my mind with grief. If you had been stolen, the nurse might well have feared punishment. She might have found another baby and put her in your place.’

  ‘Papa, where’s the nurse today?’

  Count Myrrdin lifted his hand from Clare’s long enough to rub the bridge of his nose. ‘She died many years ago.’ He sighed. ‘We may never know the full truth—what is important to me is that you have come home.’

  Arthur caught the Count’s gaze. ‘My lord, over time you may yet learn why Clare was taken. By now everyone in the castle will know of Clare’s—of Lady Clare’s—homecoming. Word will have surely spread to the village. If anyone in Fontaine has been lying low in the hope that this secret never comes to light, they will realise that everything has changed. You may yet learn what happened.’ Two pairs of mismatched eyes looked at him. ‘Count Myrrdin, I should like to make enquiries on Lady Clare’s behalf.’

  The moment the words left his lips, Arthur wished he could call them back. What was he saying? There was no point him remaining in Fontaine any longer than he had to. Since he couldn’t offer for her, he ought to get back to his captaincy in Champagne. He should be watching his back there. Sir Raphael was all too eager to step into his shoes...

  Thankfully, Count Myrrdin made a negative gesture. ‘There will be no enquiries, not until I have arranged matters satisfactorily with my daughter—my other daughter—Francesca.’

  ‘Very good, sir.’

  ‘Now, my dear...’ the Count drew Clare to the window seat ‘...I should like to learn all about you. Where have you been? Why has it taken you so many years to find your way home?’

  Clare shifted. ‘I...I grew up in Apulia, Papa.’

  ‘Apulia? What the devil were you doing in Apulia?’

  Clare spread her hands and Arthur held himself very still. These were the very questions he wanted answering and thus far she had avoided every one.

  ‘I have no memory of Brittany, Papa. The Duchy was new to me when I rode in with Arth—Sir Arthur.’

  Count Myrddin’s eyes narrowed. ‘What is your earliest memory? What happened in Apulia?’

  ‘I...’

  Clare’s gaze drifted sideways. She looked s
o miserable that even though Arthur wanted her answer, he found himself racking his brains for a way to deflect the Count’s questions. She beat him to it.

  ‘Papa, tell me. What’s to be done about Countess Francesca?’

  ‘Francesca.’ Grimacing, the Count ran his hand round the back of his neck. ‘That is a pretty mess and no mistake. As you doubtless know, Francesca is married to Tristan le Beau, Comte des Iles. They both believe her to be my heiress and, until today, so she was. She will have to be tactfully handled. As will Count Tristan.’ Sighing, Count Myrrdin took Clare by the shoulders and looked deep into her eyes. ‘Rest assured, my dear, you will be fully acknowledged.’

  Clare’s eyes searched his. ‘I am happy to wait, Papa. This is all very...sudden.’

  Arthur found his stomach clenching on Clare’s behalf. He could read her thoughts as though she had spoken aloud—she feared her father would change his mind. And then it seemed that Arthur wasn’t the only one who could read her, for Count Myrrdin smiled and shook his head at her.

  ‘Clare, my blood flows in your veins, you are my rightful daughter. You will be acknowledged and you will be restored to your rightful place. But we must tread delicately. I shall have to consider what best to do. Francesca will have a dowry, of course, but both she and Count Tristan have had certain...expectations. The Comte des Iles has been steward of Fontaine for the past two years, preparing for the time when he takes the reins.’

  Clare bit her lip. ‘I will meet him today?’

  ‘Not today, he’s away in Rennes on the Duchess’s business.’

  Clare let her breath out on a sigh. ‘Papa, Countess Francesca did look distressed when she ran outside...’

  ‘I shall speak to her later. She won’t have gone far.’

  As he watched Clare with her father, Arthur realised he should take his leave. They needed time to get to know each other. And he needed time to think. Clare was heiress to a county. Reference to the complications that her appearance had caused was a stark reminder that he could no longer offer for her. Lady Clare de Fontaine would be expected to make a political marriage—Fontaine was an important Breton holding. The man who married her would need the agreement and blessing of the Duchess and her chief adviser, Roland of Dinan. And then there was the King of England, who was overlord of Brittany. The King of France would also have to be notified...

  Count Myrrdin would never permit a mere knight to marry his daughter. Lady Clare de Fontaine was beyond his reach.

  Arthur’s next thought had him staring blindly at the green-and-yellow glass in the window. Clare’s husband will expect her to be a maid when she goes to her marriage bed...

  ‘Excuse me, my lord,’ he said. ‘I shall leave you to get to know each other.’

  He really needed to think.

  * * *

  The rest of the afternoon passed as if in a dream. Clare felt dizzy with her good fortune. It couldn’t last—surely she would awaken and her old life would rush back at her?

  But, no. Here was her father—a father who was giving every sign of being the sort of father she had given up hope existed. And with Arthur’s help she had found him. Count Myrrdin seemed to be loving. Kind.

  However, she soon noticed that Count Myrrdin was slightly eccentric. From time to time, he was in the habit of falling silent and gazing off into the distance. Clare could deal with a little eccentricity, though—she could deal with anything. For today she had learned that, contrary to her long-held beliefs, she had not come unwanted into the world. She had not been abandoned by parents careless of how their daughter would make her way through life. I am no longer alone.

  Despite her father’s dreaminess, his concern for her seemed genuine. She and Count Myrrdin didn’t know each other yet, but the future was rich with possibility. And responsibility. She wanted to pinch herself. I am no longer alone.

  There were problems, naturally. The most obvious being Countess Francesca...

  ‘Papa?’

  ‘Hmm?’

  ‘I should like to think of Countess Francesca as my sister. Do you think she will be agreeable if I address her as such?’

  Count Myrrdin smiled and patted her hand. ‘I hope so. I will seek her out shortly and talk to her.’ His expression clouded. ‘Clare, I gave her a manor as part of her dowry, I should like her to keep it.’

  ‘Of course she must keep it!’

  Count Myrrdin’s gaze sharpened. ‘I should warn you, the manor at St Méen is traditionally held by the Counts of Fontaine. By rights it should devolve to you upon your marriage.’

  Clare shook her head. ‘You gave it to Countess Francesca, you can’t take it away again.’

  ‘That is generous. Perhaps you should wait until you see it.’

  ‘I won’t change my mind. The Countess must keep her manor.’

  Count Myrrdin nodded. He gazed into the fire, and the lines on his face deepened. ‘It’s Francesca’s husband rather than Francesca who’s likely to present the greatest challenge. Count Tristan is ambitious, but whilst he is fond of her, there’s no doubt that he married her for her inheritance. An inheritance that is no longer hers.’

  Clare didn’t know what to say. ‘I feel dreadful about this.’

  Count Myrrdin stroked his beard, the movement jerky and abstracted. ‘Thankfully, affection seems to be growing between them. Certainly it is on Francesca’s part. I am hopeful that her husband has had time to grow fond of her, because if he has not...’

  ‘How long have they been married?’

  ‘Two years. They wed when Francesca was sixteen.’

  ‘Do they have children?’ Clare held her breath while she waited for the answer. She hated to think that she might be the cause of a family breaking apart.

  ‘Not as yet.’

  ‘You fear that Count Tristan might seek an annulment?’

  ‘He might.’ Her father heaved a sigh. ‘If you had come home at the beginning of their marriage, it’s my belief he would have done. As I say, he is ambitious. Proud. I shall send an envoy to Rennes to explain what has happened.’

  ‘The Count leaves Fontaine often?’

  ‘He acts as my steward most of the time, but he has his own lands to administer. He also keeps a watchful eye on what’s happening abroad. He’s an excellent steward. He soon learned his way about Fontaine.’

  ‘It must have helped him to think that he would one day rule over it.’ She bit her lip, there was so much to think about.

  ‘What’s the matter?’

  ‘Papa, it’s distressing to realise that my good fortune comes at so great a cost and it grieves me that the Count and Countess des Iles are the ones who’ll be paying the price.’

  Count Myrrdin’s face went hard. ‘Never say that. Never. My dear, you are my true-born daughter. Nothing can alter that. I won’t abandon Francesca, but of the two of you, you are legitimate. Much as I love Francesca, nothing alters the fact that you and I are flesh and blood. Understand me?’

  ‘Yes, Papa.’

  Count Myrrdin gave a little grunt. ‘Enough of this, where were we?’

  ‘You were saying that Count Tristan is an excellent steward.’

  ‘Ah, yes. My dear, Francesca and her husband will not be impoverished—as I say, Count Tristan has lands. It has suited him recently to focus on Brittany, which is why from time to time he joins Duchess Constance’s entourage at Rennes.’

  Clare stared at her father, doubts coiled inside her like snakes. Count Tristan didn’t sound like a man who would relinquish Fontaine without a fight.

  Hands on his thighs, Count Myrrdin pushed to his feet. ‘Our Duchess is a child and the English king bears watching. King Henry puts his interests before ours, every time. I will explain at length later. There will be much to learn. In the meantime, it would give me pleasure to show you round the castle.�
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  ‘And Countess Francesca? We will speak to her?’

  That vague look returned. ‘Yes, yes, naturally we shall speak to her. Now...’ Count Myrrdin offered her his arm ‘...if you would be pleased to accompany me, my dear, there are people you must meet.’

  * * *

  For the next couple of hours, Count Myrrdin was as good as his word, but they didn’t see Countess Francesca. Or Arthur for that matter.

  Clare’s head was whirling. She was longing to talk to Arthur. What would he think of her rise in status? She was not illegitimate as they had thought, she was legitimate. A lady! How was she going to cope? Arthur had himself come up through the ranks, he would surely have advice.

  She entered the great hall on her father’s arm. Some young women were setting out a cloth on the long table, preparing for supper. Neither Countess Francesca nor Arthur were in sight.

  Count Myrrdin beckoned one of the women over. ‘Enora, if you please...?’

  Enora bobbed into a curtsy. ‘My lord?’

  ‘Clare, this is Enora. Enora, this is my daughter, my true-born daughter, Lady Clare de Fontaine.’

  Enora curtsied at Clare and the whispers raced round the hall.

  ‘Lady Clare de Fontaine.’

  ‘Did he say de Fontaine?’

  ‘She’s his daughter?’

  ‘He said true-born. Legitimate.’

  And, inevitably, ‘What about Countess Francesca?’

  Enora’s dark eyes met Clare’s. ‘My lady,’ she murmured.

  Count Myrrdin cleared his throat. ‘Enora, do you care to try your hand at new skills?’

  Enora’s eyes widened. ‘What sort of skills, my lord?’

  ‘Many years ago, your mother was my wife’s maid. Do you think you could assist my daughter in the same way?’