‘Thank you, Anton,’ Marietta said, gave a faint sigh and fell asleep.
Anton stood for a while, watching as she slept. She had sworn that she was innocent of any crime and he wanted to believe her. He did believe her! He might be a fool to accept her word, and yet his instincts had told him from the first that she could not be guilty of murder.
Would she tell him everything once she was well again?
Her plight touched his heart—a woman and child alone save for her servants. What would become of the young Comte now? He was but a child, and had lost both his father and his birthright. At least his daughter, Madeline, had her father and a loving family, but who did the young Comte have to protect him?
The thought occurred to him that he could stand as both the young Comte’s and his mother’s protector. If he championed her cause something could be done to put right the wrong that had been done mother and son.
Anton shook his head. To become too involved in this woman’s story might be foolish. Perhaps it was best if they parted without speaking of the truth. He had brought her to safety, but when they reached England he would let her go on alone.
‘Where are you headed?’ Anton asked as the horses were brought. Foolish as it might be, he had discovered that he was reluctant to abandon her to her fate. A slight detour on his part would be no trouble. ‘I must go to London soon, but if it is on my way I could escort you to your destination.’
‘I go to stay with a distant cousin.’ Marietta fumbled with the strings of her purse. ‘I have her letter here. Lady Claire Melford. She is the wife of.’
‘Sir Harry Melford. He is my uncle, and has lately been made the Earl of Rundle for services to the King.’ Anton frowned. ‘How come you to know the lady Claire?’
‘Her father was cousin to my father,’ Marietta said. ‘She has written many times, inviting me to stay, but … my husband was too busy to accompany me and I would not desert him.’ Her eyes were on his face. ‘How strange that we should have family ties and not know it.’
‘Fate, perhaps?’
‘Yes, perhaps.’
‘What makes you think Lady Claire will receive you?’ Anton’s eyes narrowed. ‘Will you tell her the truth? Will you tell her that you were accused of murdering your husband by witchcraft?’
‘My husband did not die by my wish nor at my hand,’ Marietta said. Her cheeks were pale and she would not look at him. ‘I was falsely accused because Rouen wanted me to take him as my husband and I would not. He threatened me, tried to force me to wed him, so I ran away … and then he accused me of murder and witchcraft.’
‘I suspected as much. The Bastard of Rouen is a rogue—but had you no one to protect you?’
‘My husband was trying to protect both his son and me,’ Marietta said. ‘He required his bastard to sign a paper renouncing all rights to his fortune in return for money.’
‘But he died before it was accomplished. Does that not seem suspicious to you?’
‘I believe he may have killed my husband, but I could not prove it. People believe the tales that I am a witch, perhaps because I have some skill in healing.’
‘Yes, I know that women healers are sometimes suspected of using the black arts—but you do not dabble in such things?’
‘Never!’
‘I thought not. I do not believe in such powers but many do—and it can be dangerous for women.’
‘I know …’ Marietta looked uncertain. ‘I mean to tell Lady Claire—but perhaps she will not wish to see me …’
Anton hesitated, then, ‘May I see Lady Claire’s letter inviting you to stay?’
Marietta felt inside her purse and took out a sheet of vellum, handing it to him. Anton read the letter and saw that it was addressed and written in fond terms that would indicate a liking on the part of his uncle’s wife. It was clear that Lady Claire liked and approved of the Comtesse.
‘I believe you should give Lady Claire a chance to hear your story,’ Anton said. ‘It will not trouble me to see you safely there, lady—if you should wish for my escort?’
She seemed to hesitate, then lifted her clear eyes to meet his. ‘You have done so much for me already, sir. I cannot repay you, but if you would be so good as to see me to my kinswoman’s house I should be grateful.’
‘Then we shall accompany you, lady.’ Anton inclined his head.
It was foolish to feel pleased that she had accepted his help. Their lives must soon turn in different directions, for he was certain the King would have more work for him and she was not for him—yet there was something that drew his eyes to her again and again as they rode. She was beautiful, but he had met others as lovely. There was pride in her, but something more … something that tugged at the secret core inside him.
His lips settled into a thin line. It would be wrong for him to think of love and marriage with a woman like this, because his stupid jealousy had caused his first wife’s death. Even if Isabella had betrayed him, she had not earned her cruel fate. He did not deserve to find love again and he would not look for it.
He would deliver Mistress Villiers to her kinswoman and then forget her. It would be better for both of them so.
Marietta was aware that Anton looked at her often. What was he thinking? Did he suspect her of murdering her husband?
He had been so gentle when he gave her the medicine that had eased her sickness. For a moment as he had stroked her forehead and comforted her it had been almost as she had seen it in her dreams—when he held her and kissed her and vowed to love her. Her dreams of romantic love had sustained her as she cared for and nursed a husband who was more suited to be her father, but they were all foolishness. She had known marriage, and a kind of love, but the feelings she longed to experience were merely the imagination of a lonely girl.
Marietta fought down the wave of longing and regret. If only she hadn’t been obliged to marry the Comte. She had accepted her fate, and been a good wife to him, but now she was alone, with only a few jewels to help her make her way in the world. Having always been loved and indulged, she was not sure how she could make a living—unless perhaps she could take on some sewing? Her embroidery had often been praised, but would it be good enough to earn enough food to keep her child and her servants alive?
Her thoughts were heavy, sometimes dark and fearful as they rode through countryside that seemed very different from that she had known all her life. England was beautiful in its own way, but it was not France—it was not her home. Her knowledge of the language was not as strong as it ought to be if she were to live here, and not everyone would speak French as well as Anton of Gifford. Her servants would find it even more difficult to adapt, for they knew hardly a word of English.
‘You have looked pensive all morning, lady,’ Anton said when they stopped for refreshment. She was sitting on a fallen tree, her child in her arms, a picture so enchanting that his heart caught. ‘Does something trouble you? The boy is not ill?’
‘No, Charles seems to thrive. I believe he is enjoying the adventure.’
Anton knelt down, looking at the boy’s face. His eyes were wide and enquiring, and, as he saw that he was the centre of attention, he chortled with glee and leaned forward to touch Anton’s hand. Caught by this unexpected gesture, Anton reached out and lifted him, then swung him high above his head, holding him safely so that Charles shouted and laughed, clearly enjoying the encounter.
‘You are good with children,’ Marietta said, and smiled as Anton returned the child to her arms. ‘His father played with him that way sometimes.’
‘He will miss his father, I think.’
‘Yes. We shall both miss the Comte.’
‘Is that why you are sad? Because your husband is dead?’
‘I grieved for his death because it was cruel and wrong, but I am not sad because of it.’
‘Then why?’ Anton’s eyes quizzed her.
‘It is just that everything is new and strange here,’ Marietta said. ‘I dare say the countryside will see
m more familiar as time passes.’ She did not say that she feared for what her future must be without a husband to care for her and her son.
‘Yes, it must seem different,’ Anton agreed, and looked thoughtful. ‘But we shall soon be with Lady Claire, and then you may feel more comfortable. You will be able to care properly for your son there.’
‘He is very precious to me.’
Anton nodded. ‘I can see that, madame. I have a daughter, perhaps a few months older. I think much of providing a good home for her future, for she is all I have left now.’
‘Your wife died?’
‘Yes. It seems that we have something in common—a shared loss. You must cleave to your son and find happiness in him, lady.’
‘Yes, I shall.’ A delicate blush touched her cheeks. He had been married and widowed! How foolish all her dreams had been! He had never thought of her after that day on the Field of the Cloth of Gold. ‘If I can stay with Lady Claire for a few weeks I may find some way to earn my living.’
‘I am sure the Countess has room for one more lady in her household.’
‘I am good with my needle.’
‘Then I am sure she will be happy to have you as one of her ladies.’
‘Yes, perhaps …’
Marietta was thoughtful as they remounted and started on their way once more. Seeing Anton with her son had shown her another side to him. He had a daughter he loved and he had once had a wife. Perhaps the reason he sometimes looked so stern was that he was grieving hard for his wife.
She tried not to think of what might have been. Her future was in the balance, for she could not know how she would be received when they reached the home of her kinswoman.
Marietta was sitting in the inn parlour nursing her son when Anton entered. Charles had been crying and his face was flushed. She thought that he might have a tooth coming through, and she ran her finger over his gums, rubbing on a little of the mixture she used when he suffered this way.
‘What ails the boy?’ Anton asked, frowning.
‘I believe he has a tooth coming,’ Marietta replied without looking up. ‘He cried when I gave him his milk this morning, and he is not usually fretful.’
Anton picked up the little pot she had been using and held it so that he could smell the substance inside. ‘This smells like honey?’
‘It is a mixture of many things, but I sweeten it with honey so that he does not refuse it.’
Anton nodded, his eyes going to her face as she nursed the boy.
‘You look tired. Where is Rosalind?’
‘She is rinsing some cloths for the boy. I cannot expect her to care for him all the time. He kept us both awake last night.’
‘Give him to me,’ Anton said, and took the child into his arms. As if by magic Charles’s cries stopped, and he lay looking up at Anton, eyes wide with wonder.
‘He feels safe with you,’ Marietta said, and smiled.
She could see that he was accustomed to handling a child and wondered at it, for it was unusual in a knight of his standing.
‘My husband loved the boy but he seldom had time for him. Though when he did make the time Charles loved it.’
‘A father should always have time for his son.’ Anton handed the boy back to her. ‘We could rest here for today if you wish? If the travelling is too much for you or the child it would add but one day to our journey.’
‘I thank you, but I am sure you have more important business, sir. Charles will come to no harm if we continue our journey.’
‘Yes, perhaps it is best, for once we are at your kinswoman’s house you will be able to rest and see your child properly cared for.’
‘Thank you …’ Marietta felt a pang of regret. It might have been nice to take the journey more slowly, because it would have given her time to get to know Anton of Gifford—yet perhaps it was for the best after all. ‘You have been kind, sir.’
‘I did what any honourable knight would do when finding a lady in distress,’ he said, and then turned on his heel and walked away.
He was a man of many moods! Marietta held the sigh inside. It would only bring her heartache if she began to like Anton of Gifford too much.
‘Marietta, dearest!’
Claire embraced her, the delight in her face evidence that she was thrilled that her kinswoman had come at last. ‘I am so happy that you have come to visit me. When I wrote I thought you might be too busy to leave your home, for I dare say there are many duties to keep you there?’
‘Once I had many duties, but no longer.’ Marietta saw the questions in her cousin’s eyes. Her heart ached, for she could not tell if she would be welcome once she had confessed the truth. ‘I would tell you privately.’
‘Of course. I have many questions, but they can wait. You have travelled a long way and must be tired. When Anton’s messenger told us you were coming I prepared a chamber for you. I shall take you up, my love, and you may rest and take a little food and wine before you join us.’
‘You are very kind, Countess.’
‘No, my dear. You must call me Claire. I insist on it.’
Marietta smiled, allowing the Countess to lead the way up the wide staircase to the gallery above. A servant sprang to open a door and they went into a room of fair proportions. At once Marietta saw that this was to serve her as a bedchamber, but also as somewhere she could sit alone with her embroidery if she wished to be quiet. She knew instantly that it was one of the best chambers and her guilt was heavy.
‘I shall leave you to rest, my love. We shall talk later.’
‘It is best that I tell you now,’ Marietta said. ‘I would not wish to deceive you.’
‘You look so serious. Tell me, then, since it concerns you.’
‘Sir Anton saved my life. I was being pursued by men who meant to force me to stand trial as a witch. I should have been condemned on the word of a man who has stolen my husband’s estate from my son—and I believe may have murdered the Comte. He accuses me of killing my husband by witchcraft or poison, but I swear to you that I am innocent. I did not kill my husband and I am not a witch.’
‘Of course you are not! I know well that you nursed your husband through his illness last winter. What a wicked man, to steal what belongs to you and your son. If he killed his father he is evil beyond words.’
‘I believe that my husband died of poison. I sent medicine for his chest that night, but he had taken it many times before. I can only believe that something was added to the mixture—something that caused his death.’
‘Oh, the wickedness of it! And then to accuse you of the crime to cover his own! He should be punished for what he has done, Marietta.’
‘I wish I thought it could be done. I was forced to leave under cover of darkness, which must make me appear guilty in the eyes of many. I swear I have never used what skill I have for anything but good—but there are many who condemn me.’
‘It was unfortunate that you were forced to flee, but had you not left you might be dead—and your son.’
‘I have no doubt that Rouen would kill Charles if he had the chance. I did not know what to do for the best. All I could think of was to escape and bring my son here.’ Marietta faltered. ‘I do not know if you wish me to remain now that you know.’
‘Of course you must stay, for as long as it suits you,’ Claire said. ‘My husband would say the same if he were here. He has been called to court, as he frequently is. His Majesty often has some small service that Harry must perform for him, but we have been well rewarded for it so I do not complain.’
‘I am good with my needle. If I may serve you as a seamstress.’
‘Nonsense! You are my dear cousin, and shall be treated as my equal—as you are. We must see what can be done to restore your son’s birthright.’
‘Would your husband speak to King Henry for me?’
‘The best person would be Anton, for he is much in favour at court.’ Claire saw her expression. ‘Have you not told him—asked for his help?’
&
nbsp; ‘He knows the truth, but I did not think to ask him to intercede with the King for I did not know it was possible for him to do so.’
‘I do not know Anton well,’ Claire said, ‘for he has been away some years, but as a boy he seemed honourable and kind. He may still be in the hall downstairs. Why do you not go down and speak to him before he leaves?’
Marietta had moved to the narrow window to glance out at the view. She watched the party of horsemen riding away, Anton at their head. He did not turn back to look for her.
‘It is already too late,’ she said, feeling a wave of loss and regret. He had gone without saying goodbye to her. She had been foolish to imagine that he might care what became of her. ‘He has been kind to me. I suppose he might have helped me had I asked him.’
‘Well, all is not lost,’ Claire told her. ‘I shall send a letter to my husband asking him to visit us, though it may be some weeks before he is able to come home. I know it is distressing for you, but you are safe with me, my dearest. You and your son will have a home with me, and all that is possible will be done to restore at least a part of what you have lost.’
‘For myself, I do not mind. I never wished to be a comtesse, or the wife of a rich man, but my son has been cheated of his rights and that hurts me for his sake.’
‘I should feel the same,’ Claire said, and kissed her cheek. ‘My daughter Annabel has been betrothed to a young man some months, and we are to see her married within the year. Once Harry is home the arrangements will be made. I shall leave you to rest for a while, my love. Come down when you are ready and meet her …’
Marietta thanked her. She sat down on the edge of the large bed, which sank beneath her. It had a goose feather mattress, and would be more comfortable than the beds she had slept in as they journeyed here, for the guesthouses at the various monasteries and inns were not given to such luxury.
She felt like weeping. Whether because Claire had been so kind, or whether because she had the odd feeling of having lost something, she did not know. It was unlikely that she would see Anton of Gifford for a long time, if ever. Why should he bother about a woman he hardly knew?
A Wayward Woman Page 30
