A Promise of Tomorrow
Page 5
She sighed. “I have no control over a grown man’s lack of manners.”
Ashby sliced their trencher in half. A pretty maid ladled choice bits of meat and gravy over the bread. As was custom, Ashby offered Marielle the first bite.
“For you, my lady. Hopefully, neither my manners nor my French are lacking. I fear I butchered a few phrases this morning. Donatien questioned me several times before I could make myself understood.”
Marielle chewed the venison carefully. She pressed a cloth to her mouth and then sipped from the silver wine goblet before her.
“I fear Donatien was speaking to you about things which you had no background or reference point. England is much too cold to grow grapes, or so I am told.”
Ashby slipped a piece of the meat onto his own knife and brought it to his mouth. “England is cold much of the year. The castles are always drafty. The winds can grow quite fierce at times.” He paused. “But there is nothing like an English spring anywhere. I would lay odds on that.”
“I hear Paris is lovely in the spring and fall.”
He cocked his head. “Have you ever seen it?”
“No,” she replied. “I did grow up in Libourne, which is a fairly large town. Just as Paris, it has a walled gate and marketplace with main roads leading to it in a spoke fashion.”
“I thought you were brought up in a convent.”
It surprised—and pleased—her that he had remembered that detail about her.
“You have a good memory. The convent was located just outside Libourne so, occasionally, I would be allowed to go into town to see my parents or brothers and sisters. I remember the color and the excitement.” Her eyes danced with mischief. “The nuns always warned me about the corruption, though.”
Ashby laughed. “Sounds like the nuns of my acquaintance.”
“My father was a merchant there. He sold carpets from the Far East. He also worked with others and sold their shoes and gloves and hats in our shop.”
“Do you remember living with your family or were you too young?”
Marielle shook her head. “I remember some things. Trade started at dawn. Our shop was open in the front. Dozens of carpets were displayed, though a storeroom in the rear held many more. My father wore a long, dark robe that was required of all merchants in town. At night, my brother, Gustave, would place me upon his shoulders and shutter the front, then we would retire upstairs to our quarters.”
“You sound as if you still miss it. I would think your life would be so much more enjoyable here at Monteville with servants to wait upon you.”
She sat silent for close to a minute, her excellent posture more than likely a holdover from her days with the nuns.
“I would rather work in a shop or hire out as a domestic as my sisters did,” she told him quietly.
Her admission surprised him. “I do not know you well, Marielle, and wouldn’t wish to judge you harshly but it’s obvious that your marriage to the comte enabled you to rise into a different class. You no doubt have luxuries here that your father could only dream of giving you.”
Her angelic face did not match the bitter tone of her words. “Since I had no vocation for the Church, the good sisters returned me to my parents, noting my numerous faults. My parents had no dreams of providing me with anything. They only wished to have someone take me off their hands. All six of their children had left home by the time I arrived again and I’ll tell you, they weren’t pleased that I was back, another mouth to feed when they had thought the Church would assume responsibility for me.
“The day Jean-Paul came to my father’s shop, he was immediately taken with me. He told me he married his parents’ choice the first time and now that they were dead, he would make his own decision and please himself. He thought I would please him. My father let me know I was to accept the comte’s generous offer of marriage. He thought a connection to the de la Tresse family would bring him more business than before. Frankly, I was eager to be gone.”
“But you made the wrong choice?” he asked.
She laughed, low and musically. “Does a woman ever have a choice? I came here. Much as I would like to sew and cook and even stomp the grapes into wine, my husband treats me as if I am as breakable as glass. I am allowed to weave tapestries for my enjoyment. No more, no less.”
She moved closer to him and lowered her voice, taking him into her confidence. “My secret pleasure is to read. I read all the time. If Jean-Paul knew, he would instantly put a stop to it. He would not understand an intellectual curiosity, especially from a woman. He already feels I am overeducated. That the nuns indulged me too much in my love of learning.”
Marielle drew a sip of the wine from the goblet in front of them before she spoke again. “My husband thinks me a child, the malleable girl he married years ago. I would give anything to have a craft and seek membership in a guild. I fear I am not meant for the life I lead.”
Her words surprised him. “If you were free to do so, what kind of craft might you wish to pursue? Would you see yourself as a metal worker? A candlemaker? What about a carpenter or cobbler?”
She contemplated his words and then said, “It would be hard for me to decide. I have so many interests. Perhaps a tanner, who treats animal skins so that they become leather. So many items are crafted from leather. Shoes. Gloves. Outer garments. Even musical instruments. I do enjoy working with my hands. It might be enjoyable to be a clothmaker, using a loom, or even a tailor who cuts the cloth and sews clothing for others.”
She frowned. “Of course, both tanners and tailors are always men.” Her lips twitched with amusement. “But if a woman could pursue any craft, I think I might choose to be an apothecary.”
“Why so?” Ashby encouraged, seeing Marielle come alive at the idea.
“Apothecaries specialize in medications and they treat a wide variety of ailments and illnesses. They are at the heart of a community because so many come to them for treatments and seek their advice.”
She paused and then revealed, “You have seen my secret garden. A neighbor’s wife helped advise me what to plant when I first came as a new bride to Monteville. It has many flowers and all kinds of herbs. I tend to it when Jean-Paul is away. He would never approve of the time I spend in it. But if I could, I would use the herbs there not only in cooking. I would discover their medicinal worth and use them to treat the sick and hurt.”
Marielle shook her head, sadness blanketing her. “What good is it to speak of these things, Ashby? Yes, I should be pleased that I was able to leave my parents’ household and come to such a grand estate as Monteville. They no longer have to be concerned about me. I have a husband who is quite wealthy. I will never go without food or shelter. I should be more appreciative of all I have been given.”
Her mouth trembled. She seemed so lost and alone, despite her station and titled husband.
“Mayhap if you have a child,” he suggested.
“A child?” Her voice quivered with emotion. Ashby longed to touch her face or stroke her hand, to somehow bring comfort to ease the sadness now cast across her features.
“I have longed for a child more than anything in this world. Someone to shower my love upon. To spend my days and nights with. I have endured my husband’s touch a thousand times and still have no babe in my belly or my arms.”
She stood, a look of horror crossing her face. “I cannot believe I have spoken to you of such things. Pray forgive me,” she mumbled and fled the room.
Ashby picked at what remained of his meal, the ache in his heart heavy.
Chapter Five
Marielle bit her tongue as she crossed the great hall, the better to steady her emotions. Why had she poured forth like a river that bursts its dam? She’d played foolish pranks in the past and let her tongue run away with her when she was a child but nothing of this magnitude had ever occurred.
What must Ashby fitz Waryn be thinking? How could she face the Englishman again?
And what would he tell Jean-Paul?
Yet Ashby fitz Waryn didn’t seem a stranger at all to her. The few hours she’d spent in his company invigorated her. It was as if she’d known him all her life and yet they would never run out of things to say to one another. She wondered if it was because he took her for what she was, the chatelaine of Monteville. Although that was her assigned role in life, Marielle always believed she was a pretender. Her husband ignored her for the most part, not allowing her to be a life partner to him. Consequently, the people of Monteville overlooked her. They weren’t disrespectful toward her. They merely paid no attention to her.
The Englishman unthinkingly awarded her with respect, as her position required. He was not dismissive in any way. In fact, he treated her as the woman she longed to be. Marielle mused upon how sad it was when a virtual stranger esteemed her more than her own husband did.
As she patted her face dry, Marielle stole a glance into the blurred glass. Her reflection was as white as a ghost, with troubled eyes. That would never do. She pinched her cheeks until her fingers ached. At least it brought some color to them.
She returned to the great hall in order to repair the damage she’d caused. She didn’t know how but she would need to smooth the situation over. The rounds of cheese and fruits had just arrived, the last course in the meal. Calmly, she surveyed the room. A woman stood before the dais, engaged in conversation with Ashby. Even from this distance, Marielle read her sensual body language. It was Lisette, a flighty servant whom Marielle guessed was trying to arrange a tryst for tonight. Lisette wasn’t one to let a handsome man slip past her.
Stopping to check on a table or two, she gave a word of encouragement and passed along a few compliments. She finally came to their seated guest. As she arrived, Lisette flounced off, obviously not happy with the answer Ashby had given her. Marielle’s heart gave a small leap that he hadn’t succumbed to the vixen and her dark beauty. She ignored its fast beats and seated herself beside him once again.
The look he gave her was subdued. His good manners again shone. Most men would have questioned her outburst or possibly initiated a seduction with her revealing her unhappiness. She expected neither from this Englishman.
“May I offer you some cheese?” Ashby lifted one of the two rounds lying upon the table and sliced a neat piece with his knife. She accepted it, thankful for another moment in which to collect her thoughts.
He cut open an apple and placed half before her before biting into his own section. They ate in companionable silence before she ventured an apology.
“I fear I have badly neglected my duties as hostess,” she said lightly, hoping Ashby would forget the episode from before because she could think of nothing to erase her previous outburst. “With Jean-Paul gone and Marc nowhere to be had, I would be remiss if we did not spend the afternoon together.”
He chewed thoughtfully before replying, “Your duties of this morning have been completed?”
Marielle nodded. “Yes. I had planned a different entertainment for your pleasure this afternoon but, with the rain, I am afraid we shall have to cancel the hunt until tomorrow.”
“As you wish.” His tone was pleasant but he seemed to walk upon eggshells now. She needed to set him at ease and return to their former camaraderie.
“Do you play backgammon?” she asked.
Ashby’s face lit up. “I am champion of Stanbury at the moment. We play for fun each year after the winter crops are planted and more time is spent indoors. Madeleine organizes a tournament just after the Christmas season. It gives the people something to look forward to after the feasting has come to an end.”
“Would you care to pass the afternoon thus engaged?”
He nodded with enthusiasm and gave her a smile. “I hope you are accustomed to losing, my lady. It will become a familiar feeling to you in the next hours.”
They retired after the meal to her chamber. It was connected to the solar itself. Jean-Paul rarely wanted his wife to lie abed with him after a bout of lovemaking. He normally banished her to her own room, which she looked upon as a haven. Rarely did her husband venture past its door. She had books hidden in all sorts of places. Regularly, Marielle juggled the housekeeping accounts in order to save money for a new book. When she was desperate, she would trade in one of her older ones, one that she wasn’t as fond of, though it always proved a difficult decision if she had to give up a favorite companion.
She had a servant light a fire, as the wet October afternoon turned not only dreary but quite cold. That was one thing she’d never gotten used to—the bitter cold. It was as if the chateau drew it into her walls and then breathed gusts of it up innocent spines. A fire in her chamber was one indulgence Jean-Paul never chastised her for. He’d told her she must keep her fingers from a chill, the better to complete her tapestries. If she lived long enough, she might finish enough to line every wall at Monteville.
The thought depressed her.
A peace descended upon the room as they played. Talkative at first, Marielle told Ashby of some of the jokes she played upon the Sisters of Merciful Heart nuns in her years at the convent. He told her of fostering with Ryker Stanbridge at Stanbury and his great love and respect for his friend, Garrett, his liege lord who’d sent him to Bordeaux to learn more of the grape.
“It’s rare to find such a companion as Garrett,” Ashby shared. “We are more brothers than friends, truth be told. His mother, Lady Edith, always made me feel a part of the family at Stanbury. Garrett and I have been through battle and lost loves and spent great times of joy together.”
“You sound as if you miss him a great deal.”
Ashby moved his piece, frowning as he did. “Indeed, I look forward to my return to England. As Garrett’s man of business, I will first stop in London before returning south. But I am eager to see Garrett and Madeleine’s children again. Lyssa enjoys when I take her hunting and Cynric loves nothing more than to throw rocks into the pond. It’s his greatest joy in life to heave a pebble as far as he can into the water and then squeal with loud delight at such a witty accomplishment.”
“It seems you lead quite a domestic life at Stanbury.” The picture Ashby painted made her long to see the castle and surrounding lands.
“Stanbury is my home. I miss it when I’m gone. I adore the children and enjoy entertaining them.”
They fell silent, finishing their game and another two. Marielle took two of the three games and Ashby voiced his delight over her wins.
“God’s teeth, Marielle, but you are quite the player. I have not seen another woman with such determination and luck since Madeleine. Mayhap you and the comte can one day visit England. You might be crowned the new champion of Stanbury.”
Marielle put away the board. “I would like nothing better than that but I have not left Monteville since my marriage seven years ago.”
Ashby looked perplexed. “Not even to visit your own parents?”
She shook her head. “Jean-Paul sees them on occasion when he is in Libourne upon business. He wishes me to stay home.”
He nodded. “Of course. Someone must run the chateau in his absence. I know he is only to be gone a short time this trip but it’s good he has you to oversee all things and deal with the peasants’ legal matters while he is away as all good wives must do.”
Marielle’s jaw dropped in surprise. “Do you jest?” When he frowned at her response, she added lightly, “My husband would never trust me to make such fortuitous decisions while he is away. That is what Etienne and Donatien are for.”
She brooded a moment and then spoke hesitantly. “Not having come from this class, I . . . I did not know this was a practice among the nobles.”
Ashby started to say something but she saw he th
ought better of it.
Marielle realized she’d once again revealed too much and sought to divert his attention. “Come, let us not ruin a pleasant afternoon with such foolish talk.” She indicated a chess set on a table nearby. “Are you up for a game of chess?”
He rose and brought the set to them. With a twinkle in his eyes, he said, “Only if you will let me win.”
She laughed richly, a sound so unfamiliar to her that it gave her pause. Marielle was glad she’d gone back to the great hall to speak with Ashby. His company had made the afternoon pass quickly. She felt certain his remaining time would be without incident.
Until Marc appeared in the doorway.
Marielle’s insides tightened. She stopped breathing. The room filled with a sudden tension as palpable as the rain that cascaded down the windowpane. Marc knew not to come here. This chamber served as her retreat. She never invited guests to it. In fact, she had surprised herself by bringing Ashby. Yet somehow he was different. She wanted him here. She did not want her brother-in-law to set foot in her sacred place of refuge.
“May I watch?”
She couldn’t refuse his request without seeming churlish. “Of course. Have a seat.”
“I shall stand,” he replied and went to the fire. He turned his back on them some minutes before he faced them again.
Marielle found her concentration waning. Marc never ceased to have that effect on her. Her throat thickened. Her breathing became labored. Usually, he stood much too close for comfort, his eyes lingering over her in an unseemly way.
With Ashby present, she sensed only his eyes upon her now but she refused to meet them. Think of the game, she commanded herself. Still, when she moved her queen, her hand trembled slightly. She hoped Ashby would not notice and say something with Marc present.
Marielle swallowed, her mouth gone dry. Her nose began tingling. She prayed the sneeze would stay in. Either God had no time to answer such trivial prayers or He had a poor sense of humor about Him. At her expense.