by Ruth Kaufman
“He would say those things. Father wouldn’t abide a priest who opposed his ‘work.’” She put her hands over her face. “What am I to do? How will I know if I’m making the right choice? Only after it’s too late to change it?”
“Trust in God to provide.”
If only she could.
That night, courtiers crowded the great hall at Windsor. Laughter and minstrel’s tunes filled the air. King Edward sat on a painted throne on a dais with stained glass windows on either side. Reddish hair fell to his chin. Strands of pearls, each with a gold medallion, crossed the chest of his black and gold brocade tunic.
Her mood and shoulders tense, she stood apart from the gaiety. Edmund approached her. She didn’t smile in welcome.
“Daughter. You’re looking well.” He sat in the empty space beside her. The familiar scent of his soap, which had once represented home, made her skin crawl. “What have you learned?”
“Nothing. Nor will I try, as I told you at Middleworth.” She, too, spoke near a whisper. “I won’t have anything to do with alchemy. Except perhaps, turn you into the authorities for lack of a license if you continue to pressure me.”
The harshness of his hiss stung her ear. “Ungrateful child. Everything you have, everything you are, you owe to me. You will do as I say.”
“Or what? I’m a countess now. Above you.” Speaking so to her sire made her insides burn, but he’d created a breach too wide to mend.
“So you’ve given up your foolish notions of ending your marriage? Good. If not, I’ll leave everything I have, not only your portion but Alyce’s, to the king. For the sole purpose of creating a new Alchemy Commission.”
Eleanor gasped so loud people around them began to whisper. She pasted a smile on her face, though her heart ached almost beyond bearing. “How cruel to take out my unwillingness to dance to your tune on Alyce. I’d hoped I could forgive you for my wedding day, for your lunatic demands on me. That we could find our way back to friendship, at least. You’ve gone farther than too far. I’ve nothing more to say to you.”
For an instant she feared he’d cause a scene. But Edmund left without another word.
What next? If she pursued her annulment, not only she but Alyce would be near paupers, left with nothing but a small estate from their mother and its paltry income. What would they do then, till the fields themselves? If Alyce still chose the Church, who’d pay her dowry?
Eleanor took a deep breath then let it out slowly, imagining that her anger at her father left her along with the air. She was grateful Richard hadn’t arrived. She’d appreciate a meal without his company. In addition to his handsome features, which nigh mesmerized her into gazing at him, he was a most courteous and interesting companion. With each passing day it grew harder and harder to imagine him with one of the other brides. And not with her.
The more time she spent with him, the more she wanted to stay with him. Despite all of her plans and dreams.
As if her thoughts had conjured him, there he was. Her breath caught. Why did he have to charm her so just by being, make her want to unburden herself and wonder what would happen if he kissed her again?
“Eleanor, I beg your forgiveness for being late to dine. Again. There’s someone I’d like you to meet,” Richard said with a welcoming smile that made her sad. For it wouldn’t be hers to appreciate much longer. “My younger brother, Owen.”
Her husband for the nonce had a brother? What other important information did he withhold? Annoyance mixed with pleasure at Richard’s arrival changed to exasperation. “How many other siblings do you have? Why haven’t I learned of them?”
“Why would you care? Why would I share things about myself with a woman who is giving me away, especially when I have five women eager to learn?”
Honesty wasn’t always the best approach. Not when it hurt.
“Dearest sister-by-law.” Owen swept into a graceful bow. “I am most honored and glad to meet you.”
“And I you,” she said with nod. His natural charm provoked a smile despite her pique.
Owen was almost as good looking as his brother. His hair was as wavy and dark, but worn shorter. His form was leaner than Richard’s and his garments not quite as fine. She wouldn’t wonder how he, a second son, made his way in the world. Richard was right. She shouldn’t care about or for his family.
“’Tis well you have King Edward’s favor. We’ve already washed our hands and said grace,” she said.
“I see you saved a place,” Richard said. “Dare I hope it’s for me?”
“Despite oft coming late to the table, you haven’t failed to make your way here, ever so politely displacing whoever is seated beside me. Out of courtesy, and to avoid having any others move, it seemed easier to hold a place for you,” she said.
She should’ve known that Owen, who so resembled Richard, would act like him. With one of the most magnetic smiles she’d seen, Owen addressed the elegantly dressed noble on her left.
“My lord, I do so despair in troubling you. However, I have only recently arrived at court and would be ever grateful if you would allow me to dine with my family,” he said. “Have you met my brother Richard Courtenay, Earl of Glasmere?”
“Sir John Wickham, my lord. ’Tis an honor to meet you both. Of course you may have this seat. I hope to further our acquaintance anon.” The man rose, bowed, and left.
“I’m heartily enjoying being brother to an earl,” Owen said as he stepped over the bench. “Just in time for the soup. I should’ve come to court sooner. Only three people to a bowl.” He picked up his spoon and dove in.
Richard and Owen maintained a steady stream of banter through the soup, fish and meat courses, reminiscing about their childhood. Eleanor couldn’t help but laugh at their tales and appreciate their easy closeness as she ate. But she didn’t want to learn about the battle where Richard earned his spurs. She didn’t want to be on the edge of her seat hearing about his favorite dog’s unfortunate early demise at the fangs of a raging boar during a hunt. Just as she feared, he drew her in against her will.
Owen had included her as family when he asked Sir John to move. She didn’t need to be part of their family. She didn’t need anyone except Alyce. And Arthur. If only he were here, so she’d know she was pursuing the right course.
As the sweet wafers, nuts and raisins were served, Owen turned to her.
“I’m to be one of the judges in your tournament,” he announced. “Will you point out the lucky combatants?”
“What?” Eleanor slammed her hands on the linen tablecloth, narrowly missing the platter of sweetmeats.
“I well know how you and Alyce have studied that tourney treatise,” Richard said as he bit into the meat of a nut with exaggerated nonchalance. “You must be aware of all of the rules by now. Each side selects half of the judges. Owen is my first choice.”
“Would you like some more wine, dear sister?” Owen asked with a smirk. “Oh, alack, we won’t be related for long.”
Eleanor fumed. “This tournament is of my making. There are no ‘sides.’ You also know I consulted René d’Anjou’s new treatise to glean how tournaments are run as a rule. Some of his procedures, such as issuing a challenge with a blunted sword and gathering days before to display banners and shields, are not relevant to my event.”
“Excellent decision, since women lack shields.” Richard munched another nut.
“There are other kinds of shields in addition to those carried in tourneys.” Such as the calm mien required to conceal interest in one’s temporary husband.
“Too true.” His smug expression faded. Was he thinking about Blanche? “We were talking about the rules. Is there a reason Owen can’t judge? Of all men, my brother knows my preferences in women.” He leaned close and whispered into her ear, “He knows what I truly enjoy. What will satisfy me.”
Her entire body tingled.
“In every kind of wifely charm.”
She swallowed. Why was he pressing on?
�
�I have a confession to make,” he whispered close to her ear. “There was a time I hoped you’d want to know what I enjoy. Beyond kissing. There are so many pleasures we could’ve shared. Now I’m glad I didn’t waste the effort to explain, since you obviously lack interest in all I want. And all I have to offer you in return.”
Torment. Sheer, utter torment. In this moment, Eleanor wanted nothing more than to prove him wrong. He knew just what to say and do to tempt her. But she had set her feet firmly on this path.
And would see it through.
Chapter 11
Eleanor’s plan was working. Quite well, in fact. So why wasn’t she happier?
’Twas the day after Owen’s arrival. The scene before her was almost exactly as she had imagined it, as though she’d written a play and all performed well-rehearsed parts.
Richard seemed at ease, content even, surrounded by the five elegant, beautiful, wealthy, intelligent women. They resembled nothing so much as a gaggle of geese parading before the gander. As they waddled around him, their finery reminded her of glistening feathers.
Lady Rose de Breyne tried to feed him some cheese. He turned his head, and she ate it. Lady Isabel Buntyng practically sprawled across his lap. Blanche reclined on a cushion at his feet, revealing more décolletage than necessary.
Owen stood off to the side, a slight smile on his attractive face. The young Lady Anne seemed more interested in Owen than in her potential groom, frequently sending flirtatious glances his way. He, in turn, looked occasionally at Alyce, as always plying her needle.
Eleanor wished she were close enough to hear their conversation, witty if she judged by all the laughter. But she didn’t want him to think she was hovering. She leaned against a wall near the door, a glass goblet of hippocras in her hand.
Richard chuckled at something one of the geese said, his wavy hair flowing as he threw back his head. His smile made her breath catch.
Then he looked directly at her, as if he’d sensed her regard. Their gazes locked. He nodded and raised his glass. She followed suit. In the midst of the crowd, he’d chosen to share a private moment with her. Her heart fluttered.
Edmund approached again. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of fleeing.
“Eleanor, cease this foolishness.” His ruddy complexion betrayed his anger, though he maintained a pleasant expression for the benefit of those who might be watching. “You cannot hold a tournament to find your husband a bride.”
“Are you going to cease your alchemy experiments? I’ll stop if you will.” The words were out of her mouth before she realized what she’d said. Did she truly want Edmund to refrain from alchemy so badly she’d give up one dream to attain another goal? No. The man who called himself her father wasn’t that important.
Her father’s face grew redder as he drew back his hand. For an instant she thought he’d slap her in front of the entire court, but he caught himself and adjusted his hat instead.
“I’ll not bargain with you, daughter. ’Tis not only I who abuse your mother’s memory. She’d be ashamed at how brazen you’ve become.”
He no longer had the power to upset or dissuade her. “You’re wrong. Mother would be proud of me.”
Edmund turned on his heel and headed to the other side of the hall. She shifted her attention to Richard and his flock.
Isabel put a hand on Richard’s shoulder. “Would you prefer spermyse or hard cheese? What do you hunger for?” she asked in a voice loud enough to carry.
Richard turned to her with a smile guaranteed to make a woman weak in the knees.
What was that ache in her chest, the coiling pain? If it worsened, she’d need to visit the physician. And why did her stomach constrict as if she’d eaten something foul?
Suddenly she knew. She wanted to be the recipient of Richard’s seductive smiles. She wanted to be the one to make him laugh and share his mirth. Even the one to feed him cheese.
No, that couldn’t be true, for she loved Arthur.
But it was. When had her affections changed from the man of her past to the man of her present? She wanted to be with Richard. Mayhap only because she was forced to watch other women fawn over him as though he were the most sought-after man in England.
Which, except for the king, he was.
Eleanor gasped at her own foolishness. Her selfishness, her insatiable need to have her own way combined with her hatred of alchemy and fear of what it could do to those who engaged in it, had led her to this.
How could she make Richard care for her after the way she’d behaved, rejecting him again and again? When she’d gone so far as to find him another bride? Unwanted tears stung her eyes and her stomach sank faster than an anchor dropped off a ship. These women were so wonderful, so perfect. She could never hope to keep his interest now.
A startling fear gripped her. What if Richard fell in love with one of the women she’d chosen? What if Arthur found romantic bliss with Margaret? If her plans went awry, leaving her with neither man, she wouldn’t be able to bear the failure. The emptiness.
The bridal tournament had seemed like a most excellent idea. She hadn’t been able to think of anything that could go wrong. But as Alyce had said, many of her projects had seemed like good ideas before they too went astray. Like the time she…no, she wouldn’t think on that now.
She was the unwitting victim of her own scheme. The joke was on her. She was jealous. Miserably, agonizingly, unable to stop thinking about Richard jealous.
Was there a way out?
Richard knew every other man in the room, married or not, wanted to be him at this moment. For how often did a man have five wonderful women, one literally at his feet, tripping over themselves to please him, bring him sweetmeats and drink? At least one was clearly prepared to offer more.
Lady Rose sat on his lap with her arm around his waist and whispered bold sexual invitations in his ear. Some of her suggestions were tempting. Especially when she offered to show him what she could do with a peacock feather. But he wanted to try these things with Eleanor, not her. And not only because Rose had onion breath. He smiled. Eleanor would be perturbed to know one of her candidates had a slight flaw.
He knew Eleanor pretended to be studying the goblet she held. Did it upset her to see him cavort with these women as he hoped? Or did his feigned interest please her, because soon she’d be free? A few feet away, Owen raised his cup in approval, perhaps favoring the woman who now sat by his side or eager for the tournament so he could choose between the remaining four. Well, three, for he’d never want Blanche.
Rose stuck her tongue in his ear, which made him cringe and lean back.
Richard had to expedite Arthur and Margaret’s wedding. Arthur was due back any day from his travels for the king. If he were wed, Eleanor might call off the tournament. She might cancel the annulment proceedings in the church court and resign herself to staying married to him. Better than not having her at all. Then time would be on his side.
He stood abruptly, almost dumping Rose to the floor. “Ladies, I must take my leave.”
A sorrowful chorus begged him to stay.
“’Tis early. Stay just a few moments more, my lord,” Isabel said. She bumped into Mary in her eagerness to get close to him.
“I beg pardon, but duty calls, my beauties. Duty calls.”
His duty to his wife.
As he strode to the door, he couldn’t resist a glance over his shoulder at Eleanor. Her eyes were wide and her mouth open slightly, as if she were stunned. The costly glass goblet dropped from her fingers and shattered into myriad pieces.
Certain that all could read her face and see jealousy mixed with embarrassment, Eleanor didn’t wait for a servant but bent low to pick up the shards amidst concerned murmurs of those nearby. A sliver sliced her finger, her blood crimson bright against the pale glass.
Before she could blink, Richard knelt beside her, a pristine cloth in one hand. With the other, he took her hand and examined the cut. His fingers felt hot as brands agains
t her skin. She couldn’t help but be pleased that despite the attentions of five willing women he remained attuned to her. That he’d come to her.
“No glass remaining that I can see,” he said. “Does it hurt?”
“No.” She shook her head.
Gently he held the cloth over her wound, then wrapped it around her hand. He helped her to her feet, but she wavered, leaning against him.
“It’s nothing, truly,” she said. “But thank you. Thank you for caring.”
He lifted a hand as if to touch her cheek. She leaned closer, then pulled back. Her body followed her thoughts, toward him and then away.
He dropped his hand.
“Why did Richard run to her aid? He has us to care for now,” Isabel whined loudly.
“She told us she was giving him up, but maybe she wants to keep him,” Blanche said with evident scorn.
Richard put a finger under her chin and raised her head until she met his penetrating gaze. “Do you? Do you want to keep me as your husband?”
Despite his low tone, it seemed everyone present heard. The silence in the room was absolute, every ear awaiting her answer.
A moment ripe for change, suspended in time.
She could call off the bridal tournament. All she had to do was agree with Blanche. She could laugh and say, “Ah, yes, you promising brides have shown me the error of my ways.” She could apologize sincerely for her indecisiveness and say at last she’d chosen the husband she wanted. Or she could flee, avoiding any answer.
Those options would make her look the fool. Should she care what others thought if she ended up with what she wanted? What, who, was that?
Her interest in Richard was too new, too raw, to abandon her elaborate, and now very public, plan. If she gave in to jealousy, she might regret it later. Then, with the tournament cancelled, if her plea for an annulment failed, she’d be trapped in an unwanted marriage.
If only Arthur were here. If she could see him, talk to him, she’d know if he remained the choice of her heart. She closed her eyes, willing him to appear in her mind’s eye. There he sat on her favorite bench in her garden at Middleworth, with his familiar straight blond hair, blue eyes, and welcoming smile….