The Scandalous Duchess. Anne O'Brien

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СКАЧАТЬ Duchess is weary, of course. She will be strong again by the morning. I am honoured to be appointed as her damsel, my lord,’ I added.

      ‘I can think of none better.’

      He moved on beside Lady Alice, head bent, absorbed in some household problem.

      Well, that had been entirely impersonal, completely centred on the well-being of the Castilian Queen, as it should be. His smile was such that he would bestow on any one of his retinue from his most eminent physician to Nichol, the gardener at The Savoy. That briefest of conversations had made everything crystal clear. All my worrying had been futile.

      Now it must be for me to put it right in my mind, to return to the calm existence of my previous service at The Savoy. It would be just like before. It would be like stepping back into my old skin, before all the upheaval. Before the Duke had said what he said, and torn my world apart.

      Why did he have to do that, when it was obviously an aberration? Why were men sometimes as insensitive as a wild boar’s charge when faced with a huntsman’s lance? And there he was, entirely oblivious to the disturbance he had created, presumably concerned for nothing more than the perfect lie of the damask along his shoulders, the dramatic gleam of the gold chain against the red and black and gold of the cloth.

      A little bubble of anger in my belly made me wish I had not eaten those final spoonfuls of the highly spiced dish. I regretted it even more when the Duke abandoned Lady Alice and awaited me by the door. My heart leaped, then plummeted as he raised a hand to stop my progress.

      ‘Lady Katherine.’

      ‘My lord?’

      ‘Are you angry?’ he asked abruptly.

      We were, for that one moment, alone.

      ‘No, my lord,’ I reassured him quickly, smiling lightly, as I smoothed what I thought must be a particularly unyielding expression from my face. How well Queen Philippa had schooled me. ‘There is nothing to disturb me except gratitude for your kindness.’

      ‘I will send for you,’ he said with a shadow of a frown.

      I was not to be allowed to slip into my old skin after all. His appraisal, agate-bright, was direct and uncompromising. I met it the same way, until he gestured for me to precede him from the hall, adding imperiously:

      ‘You will come to me.’

      I opened my mouth, to refuse, or so I thought, until, fleetingly, he touched my arm. My adroitly composed refusal promptly fled, my willpower compromised by the slightest pressure of his fingers against my tight-buttoned sleeve. I think I looked at him in horror.

      ‘You give me no peace. Why should that be?’ he demanded.

      I could find no reply at all to that.

      I walked on, conscious that the Duke’s footsteps did not follow me, until a prickle of awareness snatched at my attention. I was being observed from the little knot of newcomers just arrived at the outer door.

      There, muffled in furs, eyes cool and searching on my face, a cage of singing finches much like my own in her hand, was Philippa. My sister. I smiled, and kept my smile lively, even though I did not enjoy the judgemental quality of her expression. Philippa was not smiling.

      In my own chamber, before she could descend on me, I put the rosary away in my coffer. Caught between sister Philippa and the Duke, I must tread carefully.

      ‘Where is he then, Philippa?’

      ‘I have no idea. Picardy, the last I heard.’

      As I seated myself on my bed, my sister began to divest herself of her furs, placing them carefully over a polished settle, sweeping her hand down over the lustrous skins. She was not without means, but she took care of her possessions with a neat exactitude I recognised from our shared childhood. Her voice now, in maturity, was clipped with displeasure. ‘A military expedition, so I’m led to believe, but why he should feel the need to go when…’ She hissed her irritation. ‘I am, as usual, kept in the dark. He gave me the finches to keep me company and sweeten my mood.’

      ‘Very poetic,’ I observed, not daring to laugh.

      ‘Poetic, but useless,’ she remarked, uncharitably I thought. But then, I was not wed to Geoffrey Chaucer. I did not think that it was an experience I would enjoy, despite his erudition and clever way with words.

      Philippa had arrived eventually at my chamber, leaving me much relieved that what I had thought to be a censorious stare had proved to be nothing of the sort, when she had laughed and fallen into my arms. Or perhaps she was keeping the censure for later. I knew my sister well.

      ‘I am so very pleased to be back here,’ she announced. After Duchess Blanche’s death, when her household was disbanded and I had gone to Kettlethorpe, my sister had taken up residence in the Chaucer family property in Thames Street. ‘It was becoming very cramped. I’ve brought the children too, as you saw.’

      As I had. Elizabeth and another Thomas, their ages matching with Margaret and my own son.

      Philippa’s eyes glinted. ‘Are you pleased to see me?’

      ‘Delighted. I’ll happily hand the Duchess over to you, and all her starchy women, while I lurk in the background. Do you speak Castilian?’

      ‘No.’

      ‘A pity.’

      ‘Is she like Blanche?’

      ‘She is nothing like Blanche.’

      ‘So I presume we’re going to Tutbury. Or Hertford.’

      ‘If Queen Constanza can be persuaded that that is where she wishes to go.’

      ‘So it’s like that, is it? Do you come too?’

      ‘I am appointed as a damsel with you. Just like old times.’

      Except that it was not, and never would be, no matter what the outcome of the promised conversation with the Duke.

      Philippa must have seen some shadow of my torment. ‘What’s wrong?’ she demanded.

      ‘Nothing.’

      ‘Missing Hugh?’

      ‘Yes.’

      ‘I saw the Duke being very solicitous.’

      ‘The Duke is always solicitous,’ I replied, more quickly than was perhaps wise.

      ‘To have a tête-à-tête in the Great Hall, with his wife’s damsel?’

      So I had been right about the censure. Philippa had been saving her well-sharpened arrows. Perhaps, divorced from court, dissatisfied with the restrictions on her life because of her perennially absent husband, she had been storing them up for such an occasion as this. It behoved me to keep my wits about me. I might be an innocent party in this situation, but guilt had a habit of encroaching on the edges. I grimaced at the image that sprang to mind, like fat around a bowl of mutton pottage.

      ‘The Duke is СКАЧАТЬ