He quickly confessed to having taken a bride upon his return home, earning a sharp glance from the count. “And who might the fortunate lady be?”
“The daughter of the Lord de Marnis, Isabella.”
“Indeed.” The count exchanged a look with his wife and the ardor at the board cooled slightly. Amaury did not imagine that the countess raised a brow, though she said naught. “Perhaps we might confer later this evening.”
“I should welcome that opportunity, sir.”
The first dish was carried from the kitchens, the countess made a light remark, and conversation sparked at the board. A pair of musicians entertained them and the warm welcome reassured Amaury as little else could have done.
This was what he had expected upon his return home.
He was glad to see that some places remained the same.
The meal was fine, with an abundance of meat and a wide array of sauces. It was not fare for a feast, but a family meal in a prosperous holding on a meat day. The count spoke with enthusiasm of his hounds and his hawks, the sisters teased each other about their comparative prowess at the hunt, and the countess interjected a word when she thought her daughters too fulsome. They ended the meal with stewed apples from the countess’ orchards, then an imperious glance from the count saw the hall empty and his daughters vanish.
“There is always spinning to be done,” the countess said with a smile. “And I fear they will undertake any other activity in its stead. I am glad you have come to visit us, Amaury, and offer my own sympathies in the loss of your father. Please linger at Sant-André so long as it suits you. We are happy to enjoy your companionship.”
“Thank you, my lady. I fear this visit will be a short one.”
“Then you must come again,” she said with a smile, then following her daughters.
Amaury noted how the count’s gaze lingered upon his wife, then how she glanced back and smiled from the portal. There was more than warmth between this pair and found himself smiling at their evident affection.
“And so, you were smitten by the sight of Isabella de Marnis?” the count said, pouring them each another measure of wine. They were alone in the hall, the fire burning brightly on the hearth beside them, a pair of hounds stretched out at their feet.
“Hardly that,” Amaury said, knowing this could be one explanation for his hasty nuptials. “As you know, Montvieux is destroyed. I was met upon my arrival by Denis de Marnis, who presented an offer from his father: should I wed Lady Isabella and she should bring forth a son, then the Lord de Marnis would return the seal of Montvieux to me.”
“And make you a daughter-holding of Marnis, no doubt.”
“I can do naught without the seal, sir, and Montvieux should be mine by right.”
“There is that.” The count sipped of his wine, choosing his words. “She is aged for a maiden.”
“Not so aged as that,” Amaury said with impatience. Why did everyone wish to note the shortcomings of his lady wife? “I accepted the offer with few expectations, but I find that I like her well.”
The count smiled. “This is the view of a man who never expected to choose his own bride.”
“I expected my father to have arranged such details, in truth, and that I should return home to find his plan made.”
The count nodded. “He spoke to me of you and Thalia, though we had arranged no match as yet.” He inhaled sharply and averted his gaze. “There was no opportunity to do as much.” He fixed Amaury with a glance. “Where have you been all these months?”
Amaury was confused. “Which months, sir? I have been on crusade in Palestine…”
“These months,” the count interrupted. “Since Christmas last.”
“On the homeward journey, sir. We halted at the abodes of two of our comrades…”
“But you were in Beaune in early December. That is not more than a week’s ride away.”
“Beaune?” Amaury and his comrades had passed through that town a fortnight ago, not the previous December. “Why would you believe I was in Beaune? We attended Christmas mass in Beograd.”
The count regarded him with astonishment. “But I stopped at Montvieux on my journey home from Paris in December. Your father was gracious as ever, though he was concerned about the ambitions of the Lord de Marnis. We talked long into the night. And he had a box of confections that he opened in my presence. He had received it just days before, with a message from you. It had been sent from Beaune.” The count shook his head even as Amaury frowned. “I tell you bluntly that he expected you home by Christmas. He was most merry about your pending return.”
“But I never sent him word of my return,” Amaury protested. “And I was only in Beaune a few weeks ago.”
“Then you did not send him the confections.”
Amaury shook his head.