The Princess

by Elizabeth Elliott

  “Truly, I am not certain.” She met my gaze and I could tell her answer was sincere. Avalene’s expressions were pretty much an open book into her emotions. Subterfuge was not her specialty. “Dante thinks at least one and probably more were murdered, that the odds of all three dying of natural causes are very slim. On the other hand, I heard that he went into true mourning for all three wives, and that his first marriage was a love match.”

  My eyes must have given away my surprise.

  “ ’Tis known to happen,” she said with a smile. “Faulke and his first bride were only fifteen when they wed. Jeanne’s father is the Earl of Wentworth, and he did not want Faulke as a son-in-law. Indeed, he had one of your cousins in mind, but Jeanne insisted on Faulke. She died giving birth less than a year after their marriage.”

  “Childbirth is a common enough cause of death,” I said.

  “ ’Tis true.” Avalene gave a nod of agreement. She waited while the servants placed meats, eggs, and porridge on the table, and then leaned closer and lowered her voice. “There were rumors that Faulke’s father was already negotiating with the family of his second wife, Edith, within weeks of Jeanne’s death. Edith was the only child of a wealthy merchant, and her dowry was said to be richer than Jeanne’s.”

  “Edith is the one who died from a fall?”

  “Aye. Rumors say she wanted to be a nun and threw herself from a tower rather than continue to submit to her wifely duties in the bedchamber.”

  “Well, that does not speak well of my future husband’s prowess in the marriage bed,” I muttered.

  Avalene turned away as she made some sort of choking sound.

  “Well, it doesn’t,” I said defensively. “Women with considerate husbands do not toss themselves from towers.”

  “Some say she was pushed,” Avalene countered.

  “Oh. Well. That is different, I suppose.” How, I wasn’t quite sure. The man was either a brute in the bedchamber or a murderer. All things considered, I supposed any woman would prefer a brute. “What of his last wife?”

  “Alice was her name.” Avalene pressed her lips together and gave me her prim, disapproving look. “She gave birth to her first child five months after her wedding to Faulke, a girl named Lucy, although their wedding day was the first time she and Faulke had ever met. Everyone remarked how big and healthy Lucy looked for such a short pregnancy, and how the girl looked nothing like Faulke, or even like Alice, for that matter. Alice was pregnant with her second child when she died, and few thought Faulke was the father of that babe, either.

  “Alice was said to have died of food poisoning,” she went on, “a bad fish that made several people sick, but Alice was the only one who died. Some say Faulke was worried that she would give birth to a son. He would be forced to accept the boy as his heir, even if the child was not his own.”

  My gaze went to the place near the fireplace where Sir Roland’s body had so recently rested. “Do you think Faulke had a hand in Sir Roland’s death?”

  “Dante says Sir Roland was poisoned over many days or perhaps even weeks. If that is true, I know for certain that Faulke was nowhere near London while Sir Roland was being poisoned.” Avalene reached over and almost patted my hand before she thought better of the idea. Her hand hovered impotently in the air, then returned to her lap. “Do not worry. Dante will discover how this happened. ’Tis more likely Sir Roland had enemies that have nothing to do with you or his position in your household.”

  That sounded doubtful. But why would someone target Sir Roland to get to me? If they wanted to make me vulnerable, they should have targeted Gerhardt. There was also the fact that Faulke’s father had been in London for weeks, even if Faulke had not.

  “Faulke goes to your father’s court quite often to negotiate with the king as well as with other nobles,” Avalene said in a hesitant voice. “He and his cousin Richard are…very popular with the ladies at court.”

  Here, at last, was a trait that Faulke shared with my dead husband. However, I could not fathom the Segraves’ popularity. Even my father had cautioned me that Segrave was unlikely to be faithful, that women often pursued him, and Faulke had little aversion to being caught.

  English ladies must have very strange tastes in men, I decided. Avalene’s choice was proof enough of that fact. Although, I had to admit there was something strangely…compelling about Faulke Segrave. “Why are you telling me this?”

  “The rumors about his wife Edith,” she said. “If she had an aversion to the marriage bed, I do not think Faulke was the problem. The tales of the two cousins’ exploits at court are quite lurid. If I were you, I would not worry about Faulke’s ability to consummate your marriage in an acceptable manner.”

  That had not been a worry until now. Well, not the ability part. The whole consummation part was indeed a worry, but Avalene didn’t need to know the particulars. “So, you are saying that my future husband has a reputation as a court whore?”

  Avalene’s mouth dropped open. “Ah…That was not…” Her gaze darted around and then she loaded her trencher with a mountain of scrambled eggs. “Goodness, I am starved. We shouldn’t let the eggs grow cold. Mmm.”

  I almost laughed at her transparent attempt to change the subject. Unfortunately for Avalene, I wanted to know everything about my future husband. The fewer surprises there were in my upcoming marriage, the fewer humiliations. However, as I pictured the man who had appeared before me yesterday, I could not imagine any woman at court who would welcome him into her bed. Englishwomen must like their men coarse. Some cynical part of me wondered if he bathed for them. “What do the rumors say of Faulke’s prowess with the ladies?”

  “Mmph.” Avalene continued to chew as she pointed to her mouth and cheeks that had taken on the silhouette of a squirrel storing nuts. She gave an apologetic shrug and then pushed a serving bowl filled with scrambled eggs in my direction. “Mmm.”

  “Yes, I’m sure they’re very good,” I said as I ladled a serving of the eggs onto my trencher. Then I turned to Avalene and fixed her with a piercing stare. “But we still have the whole meal for you to tell me everything you know of Faulke Segrave’s exploits with women.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  The Garden

  The weather cooperated, so that afternoon I had a table and stools set up in the orchard just outside my solar windows. There my ladies and I awaited the promised visit from the Segraves. Warm sunshine filtered through the leaves as they rustled in the breeze, and the sweet scent of ripening apples perfumed the air. The lilting strains of a song performed by two lute players and a piper provided soft music in the background. When I closed my eyes, I could almost imagine I was still in the gardens at Grunental.

  I frowned when they began to play a song I knew well, one about a knight’s yearning for a beautiful maiden. I kept my eyes closed and sighed. “Gretchen, I specifically requested no love songs. Please remind them.”

  There was a rustle of skirts as Gretchen left to do my bidding.

  “ ’Tis a popular song,” Hilda said. “I know they like to play it.”

  I opened my eyes and gave Hilda a look across the table. “I hardly want to listen to romantic drivel when I need to keep my thoughts focused on murder and marriage.”

  Hilda smiled but didn’t look up from her embroidery hoop. Her silver needle flashed in the sunlight as it dipped into the fabric at a measured pace.

  “That sounded worse than I intended.” I sighed again, and then surveyed the table in front of me.

  Inkwells, thick sheets of parchment, and an assortment of quills were scattered about its surface, including a page from my current illumination project. I was copying a book that I had borrowed from my father, including the illustrations.

  “Lord Dante seems to have the murder business in hand,” Hilda said, still concentrating on her needlework. “He seems quite determined to uncover the culpr
it.”

  “ ’Tis hardly reassuring when the dead are multiplying, God rest their souls.” I stared down at the manuscript page without really seeing it.

  Chiavari had appeared an hour ago with news that Sir Roland’s daughter was also dead, along with her husband and one of their sons, with more of the poisoned sweetmeats discovered at her home. Learning there were more victims was hardly good news, but Chiavari said one should look first at those closest to the victims to find guilt.

  The daughter’s husband was the head of the fletchers guild in London, and he was in a long-standing argument with his cousin over the guild’s leadership. Chiavari thought it possible that guild politics had turned deadly, and Sir Roland had simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time. It seemed possible that Sir Roland’s death had nothing at all to do with me or my court.

  “Any warrior, even one as old as Sir Roland, would rail at the thought of being brought low by poison,” Hilda said. “ ’Tis a coward’s weapon.”

  And that was another reason I distrusted Dante Chiavari.

  “Aye, a real man should fight on a battlefield, not from an apothecary,” I agreed. “However, Chiavari’s expertise in this matter is proving valuable.”

  All we could do now was await more news about the investigation, as well as the promised visit from Faulke Segrave.

  I was not good at waiting.

  Gretchen took her seat next to Hilda on the opposite side of the table, and soon both women were bent over their hoops again.

  Now would be a good time to bring up the subject that had been bothering me since my talk with Avalene at breakfast. I glanced around to mark the locations of our four guards and the musicians to make sure only my ladies were close enough to hear my words.

  “There is something I would like to discuss with you both,” I began. The women’s hands stilled over their hoops and they gave me expectant looks. “It has to do with my upcoming marriage.”

  Gretchen’s gaze turned wary. Hilda simply blinked.

  Now that I had their attention, I wasn’t quite certain what to do with it. Instead I tried to envision what the Segraves would see later today when they looked at my fair-haired ladies in their pink gowns.

  Hilda’s garments were drawn tight across her bust and hips, with the neckline strategically lowered and the sleeves raised. Gretchen’s gown fell in such perfectly modest lines that the dress looked as if it could have been carved onto a statue.

  Even if they dressed in sackcloth, my ladies would always attract male attention, each in their own way. Men looked at Gretchen and thought of a heartbroken Madonna, captivated by her untouchable aura. Men looked at Hilda and thought of lusty sex.

  “I tolerated Hartman’s women the entirety of our marriage,” I said to them at last. I picked up a quill and pretended to test its point, acting as if I had just commented on something as trivial as the weather. “There are rumors that the Segraves have been intimate with many women in my father’s court. You are both beautiful women. I will not tolerate betrayal from my own ladies.”

  Gretchen was the first to respond. “Princess, we would never dishonor you in such a fashion.”

  Gretchen pressed her lips together and gave Hilda an uncertain look.

  “What?” Hilda looked between my accusing gaze and Gretchen’s.

  “You have a certain reputation,” Gretchen murmured, in what had to be the understatement of the year.

  Hilda was also a widow, but I doubted she had mourned her elderly husband’s death for the time it took to bury him. She certainly hadn’t waited until he died before she found herself one lover after another at the royal court in Rheinbaden, each man more powerful than the last, until she found herself the mistress of the king himself, an affair she took few pains to conceal, once her husband had died.

  Unfortunately for Hilda, there was competition for her place at court. One of her rivals made certain the king happened upon Hilda in the gardens when she was in the most compromising position possible with one of her young lovers. Banishment to my remote court at the edge of the kingdom was her punishment.

  “I am a respectable widow,” Hilda insisted, “although I freely admit that I enjoy the company of men, unlike some of us I could mention.”

  Hilda stared at Gretchen while she spoke. Gretchen simply shrugged. “Unlike you, I still mourn my husband. Even if I were like you, I would never consider an affair with Lord Faulke. I am the princess’s oldest friend, and I would never betray her that way.”

  There was a suspicious warmth in the vicinity of my heart. Gretchen and I had grown up together, reached every milestone of womanhood together, spent nearly every waking moment with each other. We were more sisters than friends, and, like some sisters, we’d had more than our share of disagreements over the years.

  The first distancing of our friendship began when my baby died. She could not fathom the depths of my grief, and she strongly disapproved of my increasing reluctance to do what was necessary to create a second child.

  And then Gretchen was married. She still acted as my companion, but she spent every free moment with her beloved, Engel. His death two years later destroyed her. She did not just grieve; something inside her broke.

  Engel was supposed to be the captain of my guard when I took up residence at Grunental Castle, but he had been killed by outlaws on his way back from a scouting mission. We had all hoped the change of scenery at Grunental Castle would shake Gretchen from her stupor. Gretchen’s brother, Gerhardt, even volunteered to take Engel’s place as the captain of my guard, but his presence had no more effect on her than I did. Weeks turned into months as she barely ate, rarely drank, and did not sleep.

  Even though years had passed, the carefree girl was now a somber woman who never laughed, and whose rare smiles never quite reached her eyes. She was simply marking time, suffering through each day on Earth to get herself one step closer to her own death and the joyous reunion with her sainted Engel.

  In the meantime, I wondered if this unexpected declaration of friendship meant she was finally beginning to open up and live again. It was the most emotion I had witnessed from her in weeks. Perhaps this move to England had been good for her after all.

  “I appreciate your loyalty,” I said to Gretchen, meaning every word. Then I turned to Hilda with an expectant look.

  “Of course I would not betray you,” Hilda said with a dismissive wave of her hand, as if the entire notion were ridiculous. “You took me in when every friend had abandoned me. I do not forget my friends, either, Princess.”

  “Well. Who knew I was so popular?” My gaze narrowed, but Hilda simply lifted her chin and stared back at me, silently daring me to question her loyalty.

  “Faulke has a reputation at court as a womanizer,” I said. “I will not tolerate his mistresses.”

  “My lady,” Gretchen began in a hesitant tone. “Prince Hartman had a reputation with women that equaled or surpassed what I have heard of the Segraves. You made your wishes known to the prince and he ignored them.”

  “What makes you think Lord Faulke will be any easier to geld than Prince Hartman?” Hilda chimed in.

  “I am not the foreign princess here,” I reminded them, “and my betrothed is no prince. My power here is considerable. He will respect my wishes…once we discuss the situation and come to an agreement.”

  Hilda made a snorting sound that she quickly disguised as a cough. Gretchen shook her head and then looked down to pick at one of her stitches.

  Now that I heard my grand plan aloud, it didn’t sound so grand after all. It galled me to admit it, but I said, “I would welcome your advice on the matter.”

  Startled, both women looked up again, their stitches forgotten. Surprisingly, Gretchen was the first to speak. “Even if Lord Faulke would swear to be faithful, I fear his oath is bound to be broken. Women pursue powerful men. Most men
eventually succumb to temptation. A man of rank and wealth is rarely faithful. To my knowledge, their wives’ objections have little or no effect on their affairs.”

  Well, that wasn’t helpful.

  “She has a point,” Hilda said. “If a wife objects to her husband’s affairs, the wife becomes a shrew in his eyes. The most likely outcome is that he will seek solace in another woman’s arms. After all, it’s a mistress’s job to take her lover’s side in all arguments with his wife, or anyone else who upsets him.”

  “Are you suggesting that I never argue?” I sputtered. If a docile wife was the key to a faithful husband, I was doomed.

  “Not at all, but you might want to choose battles you can win,” Hilda said. “When a man is known to have carnal appetites, a wise wife is realistic as to how well she can control such a man’s fidelity. Rather than forbid all affairs, perhaps you might ask him to forgo the company of certain types of women, or women in certain places. Prince Hartman could do as he pleased in Rheinbaden, but here your father is the king. Surely Lord Faulke would at least agree to be discreet?”

  Hm. Both women had a point. Although the thought of Faulke with any other woman was surprisingly disturbing.

  “Think about what will happen if Lord Faulke agrees to your edict,” Gretchen said in a quiet voice. “Are you ready for the consequences, if you forbid him any bed but your own? He will seek out your company more often, if he has no other women to…to relieve his manly needs.” She couldn’t quite disguise a shudder. “Although, one assumes the Segraves are not always so dirty and smelly as they were yesterday.”

  The image of mud-streaked sheets came to mind, and the recollection of the Segraves’ smell made me shudder as well. A trickle of uncertainty wound through my chest. Perhaps I was being foolish and should say nothing to Faulke about his affairs.

  I recalled an image of Maria von Tyrol at the royal court in Rheinbaden, smiling at me across the great hall while she rubbed her swollen belly, knowing she could taunt me without consequence. The one and only time I had complained about Maria, Hartman had used his fist to drive home the fact that I was not allowed to question him about his women. When Maria found out about my punishment, she and her friends made my life a misery. I went to Grunental Castle as soon as the opportunity presented itself, and never again returned to the royal court. Some might say I was forced from my rightful place, but after years of torment, I went willingly.