Faydide laughed. “Then do not expect me to speak on your behalf.” She surveyed Isabella. “Though I should have liked to have you in my thrall. Reflect upon it, Isabella. The convent may not be a place of such tranquility as you imagine.”
Isabella waited until Faydide was dressed in all her finery and gliding toward the door. “Did Mallory escort the guests here? I noticed that his boots were mired, as if he had been riding.”
“He has been gone these two days though no one would tell me where,” Faydide confided, then gasped aloud in realization. “Perhaps these guests come to attend Denis’ funeral. Perhaps they are acquaintance of my son, come to pay their respects.”
Isabella did not note that she found that explanation unlikely. She was certain she had never seen any of the three persons in that party.
“I did not realize my beloved brother had returned,” Faydide continued happily. “He will tell me all!” She beckoned to her ladies and left the chamber with haste, abandoning Isabella to a welcome solitude.
Isabella secured the door after her step-mother and breathed a sigh of relief.
If she had needed a hundred reasons why she should have left Marnis with Amaury, it seemed she was to have them and in rapid succession. She shed her garments and lowered herself into the bath, which was indeed chilly, and quickly scrubbed herself clean. For once she was glad to be denied the assistance of a maid, for there was no one to notice the keys she had found in Denis’ purse.
She looked within the trunk of her garments, which held every robe she had possessed since childhood. Most were well-worn and few fit her now, but she lifted out a dark gown of deep red linen spun with wool. It was plain to the point of austerity, but the cloth was of excellent quality. Faydide had bought the cloth and decided against it on the advice of the seamstress: red was seldom a flattering hue for her. The unwanted cloth had passed to Isabella, and the seamstress had advised to make the garment as quickly as possible. The resulting garment would never fit Faydide, for she was much shorter and wider than Isabella, which meant Isabella’s step-mother could not reclaim the gift.
Isabella marvelled now that she had never worn it. The garment would have benefitted from some embroidery on the hems, or perhaps a gold girdle, but it fit her well. Once the sides were laced, she felt like a queen and knew she stood taller. She smiled, acknowledging that a mere day of marriage had given her such a legacy – Isabella was no longer willing to accept whatever she was granted, nor did she feel compelled to even try to hold her tongue.
The keys were fastened to a cord that hung around her waist, one that could not be discerned though she felt the weight of them touch her thigh. She plaited her hair and wound it beneath a wimple, then donned a veil and circlet. She was wed and no longer a maiden, so her hair had to be covered by convention. She wondered what her father would say to her new headdress and anticipated an argument. Even in this matter, she would not let him win his way so readily.
She would soon be a bride of Christ and beyond her father’s authority, after all. Isabella regretted that she did not feel any desire for that life. Aye, she had always wished to be married, to have children, to be active in the world and not hidden away.
It seemed that was not to be.
Otherwise, her garb was both somber and unornamented, perhaps a fitting sign of her fate. She wore her best boots and left Amaury’s cloak in her chamber with regret. She should find a way to return it to him, but she selfishly wished to keep it.
If only for the memories it prompted.
She heard the sounds of merriment in the hall below, took a deep breath at the top of the stairs and descended to meet her father’s guests. Her belly grumbled loudly in complaint and she hoped the meal would be served soon.
The maiden provedto be Marguerite de Haniers, and the men accompanying her were two of her older brothers. They stood on either side of their sister as if to defend her. Isabella had the sense that she was supposed to know why they were at Marnis but, of course, she did not. She smiled and strove to avoid the assessing gaze of the younger of the brothers, wishing she could vanish into the kitchens and just eat. The older brother appeared to be displeased about some detail. Perhaps he thought his sister had been slighted in some way.
The girl paid attention only to her dog, a small sleek creature named Felix.
There were a number of people from the village in the hall, apparently invited to the lord’s board on this night, which hinted at a great event. Isabella recognized the miller seated near the Captain of the Guard, as well as three of the more affluent merchants and their wives. The women preened and whispered to each other, clearly taking note of every detail of young Marguerite’s clothing and the fine appearance of her brothers. Isabella spoke to the girl about her dog, making the canine’s acquaintance, but neither hound nor maiden were forthcoming.
Faydide always made a great fuss of the seating at the high table and this night was to be no different. She insisted that the trio from Haniers should sit on the right hand of the Lord de Marnis, with the maiden between her brothers. She, of course, would sit on the Lord de Marnis’ left hand, with her brother beside her and Isabella at the end of the table.
“I should think not,” said the eldest brother flatly and Isabella noticed a look pass between him and her father. “My sister was to be paid every honor at Marnis.”
Whyhadthey come?
“And still she will be,” Faydide said sweetly, gesturing to Mallory. “Why, Mallory would be delighted to sit by her side and ensure her entertainment…”
“We are sufficiently well acquainted with your brother, my lady,” the younger brother said firmly.
So they had journeyed together. His tone indicating that their time on the road had not been entirely amiable.
“My sister is come to Marnis to wed,” the older brother said crisply.
Faydide blinked as the hall fell silent. “But Denis is dead.”
Isabella watched her father clear his throat. He looked momentarily discomfited, then stepped to Marguerite’s side with purpose. “Sadly, yes, my son has been cut down in his prime.” He bent over the maiden’s hand and everyone pretended not to notice that the dog snarled. “My lady Marguerite will instead be wedded to me.”
“What is this?” Faydide demanded.
Isabella’s father continued as if he had not heard her. “We shall begin the celebration tomorrow evening, after Denis is buried and our engagement is formalized.” Gaultier smiled at the young girl. “I have ordered your favorite dish, hare in red sauce, for dinner on the morrow, my lady.”
“Oh!” Marguerite flushed with pleasure then lowered her gaze demurely. “I thank you, sir.”