by Ruth Kaufman
“Richard! We’re waiting,” Isabel called out in a rather unladylike fashion.
“Come, ladies,” Richard called. “Let’s enjoy the day.”
Let the brides flitter around him like a flock of hungry, brightly-plumed birds as they departed for their ride. He could have them, every one.
She sought out Arthur.
“Eleanor, what have you done?” Arthur’s handsome face displayed uncustomary dismay.
She smiled as he swept her into a niche in the corridor leading to the great hall. For once she’d breached his cool exterior.
“I had to talk to you,” she said.
“I came to you only to accept your best wishes on my upcoming marriage,” he replied. “Only for that reason.”
She fought the urge to snap. This was her last chance to persuade Arthur to her cause. She couldn’t let potent anger ruin it, anger toward Arthur for accepting his fate and toward Richard for keeping key information from her even as he tried to make her his wife in truth.
In the dim light from the sputtering wall torch, his expression was grim. Not at all the reception she’d hoped for. “Now tell me of your latest foolishness.”
An approaching feminine giggle threatened discovery. Arthur pulled her deeper into the niche. She waited breathlessly as more laughter and footsteps presaged a couple’s departure. Ah, to be so happy with one’s mate.
No matter, she and Arthur were together at last. He smelled different than he used to, too spicy. Richard smelled, well, fresh and exciting.
She wouldn’t compare them further.
“What’s this nonsense I hear about a bridal tournament?” he demanded.
“I had to find a way for us to wed without hurting Richard or leaving him without a suitable bride. ’Tis not his fault I was given to him, and he’s been so supportive of you,” Eleanor explained. “After he has a new bride, he’ll be even better off. And when my annulment is final, you and I can be married as we’ve always dreamed.”
Now Arthur would see how much she cared for him, what she was willing to sacrifice and how hard she’d worked so they could be together.
He put a hand to his forehead as though it ached. “You go too far. I can’t countenance your behavior. Knowing Richard, I’m surprised he can. He supports this folly?”
Everyone always spoke of Richard and what he wanted. A thought flashed through her mind, quick and piercing. What if Arthur had merely been doing his duty all those years they were betrothed? She hadn’t asked. She hadn’t thought she needed to.
She forced herself to ask now. “Arthur, don’t you love me anymore?”
“Of course I do.” He smiled, just as she’d hoped. “I will always love you. How could I not?”
Relief coursed through her. All of her efforts, her indecision, had led to this glorious moment. Arthur had declared his feelings. All would be as she had dreamed.
His straight blond hair shimmered golden, making him a shining knight of valor. She held his hands. They weren’t as large as Richard’s, didn’t promise the same power.
What was wrong with her, that thoughts of Richard hounded her at a time like this? The hands she now clasped were the ones she wanted to hold. Happiness would be hers at last.
“Our marriage would’ve been one of deep companionship, which is more than many of our kind enjoy. I love you like the sister I never had,” Arthur said.
She yanked her hands free. Nausea assaulted her. Her headdress prevented her from leaning against the wall, but she closed her eyes.
He didn’t love her as a man loves a woman. As a husband loves a wife. There was nothing, no one to comfort her. All was lost.
“Yours is but a chaste love?” The words tasted sour as bile.
He looked almost sorry for her. “I’d have wed you out of friendship and duty. When did I ever promise more?”
Racing through years of memories, she realized she’d been oblivious to the signs. She’d been the one to initiate their limited physical contact. When she’d asked if he loved her, she’d taken his vague responses as pledges. As if adding enough embroidery to a plain gown could make it magnificent, she’d convinced herself she and Arthur made a perfect match. That’s how badly she’d wanted her marriage to be a good one.
A tear dripped down her cheek. The world she’d created in her mind, had let guide her for so long, didn’t exist. Arthur was another man who wanted her only to satisfy his duty.
The pain of knowing sizzled in her veins.
“I shall marry Margaret. If I come to love her, all the better. If not, we’ll fare as best we can. As many couples do.
“I told you on your wedding day my attainder ended any hope for us. You didn’t believe me. Instead of looking toward your future, you wanted to remain in the past, where it was safe. Can you see that now?”
His words smacked her with the strength of actual blows.
He reached for her hand again, clearly a gesture of compassion, not passion. “What I felt for you was real, but it was the love of a youth for a maiden,” Arthur said. He released her, as if severing the final tie between them. “Now you can stay with Richard and forego your tournament.”
Eleanor felt brittle as an icicle. One more word and she’d shatter into a thousand shards.
Why had Richard readily agreed to partake in her tournament? Arthur, the man she’d waited for, not only didn’t love her, he didn’t want her enough to fight for her. For both, one bride was as good as another. What man would value and want her?
Insight hit her hard. She’d been a fool to believe what she wanted mattered. In this world of men, women enjoyed only the powers a man granted, be it father, husband or liege lord. She’d hoped to be different from every other woman she knew, but had failed.
Richard had been right to conceal Arthur’s arrival. He’d known she’d chase after someone she couldn’t have. Did Richard also know Arthur didn’t love her?
“Eleanor, are you ill? Shall I fetch Alyce?” Arthur asked. “Say something.”
She looked up in surprise. Somehow she’d moved across the corridor into a small room and collapsed on a velvet-covered bench. Her head spun.
Arthur hovered over her. “Do you need a physician?”
He clumsily removed her headdress. As her hair tumbled free, he knelt beside her and put his hand to her forehead.
“Here you are, my lady wife.” Richard’s face was inscrutable. “And look at the company you keep.”
He’d repeated his words from their wedding day when he’d found her and Arthur in the alcove. She was numb. She could only imagine Richard’s thoughts at finding Arthur touching her bare head while she lay on her back.
Why should Richard care what he’d seen? Despite the wonderful moments they’d shared, soon he’d move on to a different, apparently eagerly anticipated, bride.
“Eleanor isn’t feeling well. Richard, Eleanor, I’ll see you both anon. As you might imagine, I’ve numerous tasks to attend to before the morrow.” Arthur hurried away as she sat up, her head continuing to spin.
“Nothing happened. We were saying our farewells when I felt faint,” she said.
“Of course,” Richard replied. “Why would I think otherwise?”
“What are you doing here? What happened to your ride?”
“I didn’t want to leave on such a discordant note. Halfway to the stables, I sent the ladies ahead without me.” He handed over her headdress. “They weren’t pleased.”
She collected a couple of wayward pins before accepting it. “Oh. So you weren’t checking up on me.”
“That as well, Eleanor. I feared you’d run straight to Arthur the first chance you had. ‘Man is his own worst enemy.’ That’s not a quote from me, but Cicero.”
He turned and left her. Alone.
Arthur’s wedding passed in a blur. She barely noticed the beauty of St. George’s Chapel. Richard and Alyce hovered protectively on either side, as if afraid she might do something rash. When the priest asked if there was any reason w
hy the bride and groom should not be wed, Richard’s hand rested on her waist. To comfort, claim her, or prevent her from interfering?
Margaret was a thin, pale wisp of a woman who looked young for her age. Arthur revealed no sign of distress or happiness.
The kiss that sealed their marriage didn’t even hurt. Thankfully, Eleanor felt nothing.
Arthur was duly wed. But he planned to make the best of it, while she’d made the worst.
Why go forth with the tournament? There was no one she’d rather wed than Richard. Mayhap living with another zealous alchemist was the price she’d have to pay to salvage the mess she’d made of things. Maybe he wouldn’t let alchemy rule him.
Why hadn’t she made this decision yesterday or this morning? Because it would’ve seemed as though Richard had conquered her. Because Richard, like her father, had kept knowledge from her.
Another wedding feast, and again she had no appetite for the delicacies placed before her. Again music made her head ache. Richard sampled every course, oblivious to her misery. She waited for him to ask her to dance. That would make her feel better, to smile at him and hold his hand. To enjoy a few moments as if they were a true couple. As if her dream of being happily wed to the man she chose could come true.
Alyce had been right. She just had to choose Richard.
How could she explain her changed outlook? She’d wait until they were alone. Where there was no chance of anyone overhearing their conversation.
Now she could eat. She picked up her spoon, ready to dig into the chicken, which she could tell from the aroma was cooked in vinegar and almond milk.
Richard pushed his trencher aside and slid to the back of the bench with a satisfied sigh. “I can’t wait. Soon it will be my turn.”
“Your turn to what?”
“To be the happy groom, of course. To enjoy my wedding…my real wedding. Not the sham you and I had. When I wed my better bride, as I so look forward to doing. The tournament is a wonderful idea. My thanks, Eleanor, for being so considerate of my needs.”
Just what she thought she’d wanted to hear. Yet every word was like a bee’s sting. Jabbing and lingering. Was he teasing her, or did he truly want a different bride, even after the intimacies they’d shared, the efforts he’d made to woo her? His handsome face lacked that slight mocking expression she’d come to know. His eyebrow hadn’t risen as it was wont to do. He seemed serious.
“What man has ever been so fortunate, to have a bevy of potential brides from which to choose? Each of whom will demonstrate their skills for me, show me how much they want to wed me?” He took a bite of chicken and sighed contentedly.
Eleanor was glad she hadn’t eaten, for the food would’ve churned in her stomach. How could Richard have held her close and told her she was beautiful, kissed her, said he wanted more, all the while anticipating his new wife? How could he have touched her with what seemed like reverence?
She’d made a dangerous mistake. She’d begun to open her heart to Richard. But she hadn’t pleased him. He didn’t really want her, only a convenient, well-formed body to warm his bed until he could fill it with the next.
Eleanor bit back a spiteful retort. Her scheme caused more anguish than she’d ever known. Never before had she doubted her own worth. Never had she cared so much about what anyone thought of her, even Edmund. Why did she want to love and be loved…why couldn’t she be more like other women who accepted their fates? For the first time she wondered if they were right and she was wrong.
She would cancel the tournament. And do her best to make her marriage to Richard work. She’d show him she was the better bride. Hope floated, then popped like a soap bubble. Would he believe her decision was heartfelt?
“Even if you cancelled the tournament, how could I trust I’m the man you truly want to wed? Arthur is taken. If you swore you no longer loved him, or never truly had, how could I not wonder if you’d settled for me? The timing would be too convenient.”
Their minds worked as one. Unfortunately.
And if she did call it off, for the rest of their lives he’d give her that knowing look mingled with a hint of mistrust. Which was worse? Watching Richard wed another or watching him doubt her every day? Would she ever be able to relax and stop having to prove her sincerity?
“Since you don’t want the one you have, I hope you, too, find a better spouse. And that your evening is a pleasant one,” he said with a devastating smile as he stood.
“Are you going to our chamber?” Hope rose.
“No. I’m off to join the revelry, where else? I need to dance with each and every one of my lovely brides to be,” Richard said. “At least once. Perhaps more. ’Twill be a long night. No need to wait up.”
As her mouth dropped open, he hastened to his first quarry. Lady Rose blushed prettily, then followed Richard to join the merriment. She seethed as he led each prospect to the floor, holding her hand and bowing. Each smiled and laughed as though her life depended on it. Maybe it did.
She remained in her seat. Alone. Abandoned. Richard didn’t glance her way, not once.
Two could play at this game. She’d find someone to dance with her. In the midst of the steps, she might wind up next to Richard and have to partner him, however briefly.
The first man she asked, a very attractive baron, said, “I am honored, Lady Glasmere, but you are wed.”
“That may be true.” She waved toward the dancers and spoke loudly over the sprightly tune featuring a flute. “But you see my husband there, cavorting for all he is worth.” She hoped the baron didn’t hear any bitterness in her voice.
“An earl can do what he wants, but his wife cannot.” He offered an apologetic shrug.
’Twas the same with the second man, and the third. None would risk offending Richard. Another area where men had all the power.
Arthur danced with Margaret. Richard danced with shy Lady Mary Whyte. Even Alyce joined in the fun with Owen. All of them belonged.
She’d made herself an outcast.
It took every ounce of Richard’s will not to go to Eleanor. Even as he kept time with the music and passed amongst the dancers, pretending to enjoy himself, he couldn’t miss the despair on her face.
He had to do this. She’d created the tournament and all that went with it. He’d play along as though a new bride was his heart’s desire until she realized the folly of leaving him. Though his behavior might cause grief in the short term, he hoped his efforts would result in a happier wife, which would make him happier, too. But at this moment, he ached as he could see she did.
When Eleanor had looked at him with those beautiful, violet eyes, expecting him to ask her to dance, he’d clasped his hands behind his back to help him find strength to leave her at the table. He felt her gaze bore into him as he flirted with one woman after another. This was what she’d said she’d wanted.
The intricate steps captured his attention. When he next sought Eleanor, she was talking to Baron Wethington. Jealousy pricked him, but she had as much right as he to dance. The satisfaction mixing with sympathy when the baron declined made him pause, which almost tripped his companion.
His feet started toward his wife. Richard looked down at them in surprise. He was so drawn to her, his body reacted instinctively. He’d hold firm to his plan. Smoothly, he turned back to his partner and bestowed upon her his most charming smile.
When the music stopped, he bowed. “My thanks, Lady Isabel.”
She smiled. “I wonder what they’ll play next. I so love the flute, don’t you? The high tones are so light, the low so moving. Ah, look, they’re about to start.”
How could he spend years enduring her constant stream of chatter? Eleanor’s voice was much more pleasant….
At least there were four other candidates.
“Then I must hasten to another partner.”
She pouted.
“’Tis only fair.” He turned on his heel.
To find Eleanor standing in front of him. Her lovely, upturned face
reflected quiet confidence.
“Eleanor, what are you doing?”
“Asking my husband to dance with his wife.” She made a pretty little curtsy.
“I see that. But why? One moment you can’t wait to hand me off to another woman, the next you’re acting as if we’re a true couple. Are you jealous?”
She sucked in a breath. “Certainly not. I just—”
“Just what?”
The musicians struck up a faster-paced pavane. Couples started moving into place, skirts swishing and jewels winking.
“I just…wanted to dance.” He could barely hear her over the sprightly tune.
“With me?”
“With you,” she admitted, looking at the floor.
Not asking Eleanor to dance after the meal was one thing. Snubbing her would be quite another, now that she’d come to him in front of everyone. He didn’t want to be so close to her, touch her delicate hands, smell her. Because his resolve would weaken, and he’d keep wanting what he couldn’t have. He didn’t want to feel anything for her.
He held out his arm. She placed her slender one on his. The slight weight was reassuring, comforting. If only this meant she was changing her mind.
Chapter 13
“What is it, Blanche?” Richard asked.
Blanche sighed. Despite his unfriendly tone and skeptical expression, he had come to her. The narrow, secluded room she’d chosen was perfect.
“Why did you ask to see me?”
Unless she won the tournament, unlikely given her deception and lack of funds, this might be her last chance to be alone with him. She had nothing left to lose. What would become of her if Richard didn’t possess the information she needed? Her shoulders clenched.
“I wouldn’t have asked if it wasn’t important.” She leaned against a velvet pillow and ran her fingers through her unbound hair.
“I can’t imagine what we have to discuss, yet your missive made your need sound dire,” Richard said.
“It is, oh, it is.” That was the truth. “I’ve some of your favorite cheese and malmsey.” Blanche cringed as she sliced and poured. She sounded too eager.