“We approve,” the king said after a moment, his voice low. “Gaston, she’s marvelous. No wonder you are willing to defy God.”
Gaston continued to hold onto her, meeting Lady Margaret’s gaze. “My lady, a pleasure to see you again,” he said gallantly.
Lady Margaret rose from her seat, walking around the table to stand in front of Remington. Good Lord, Remington knew who the woman was and was even more intimidated by her than the king. Dressed in expensive silk and gobs of jewelry, she looked every inch the mother of a king. Remington struggled to keep her nerves from gaining an upper hand.
Lady Margaret put her hand to Remington’s chin, tilting her face up. Their eyes met a moment, brown ones to sea-crystal green.
“How old are you?” Lady Margaret asked.
“Twenty six years, my lady,” Remington replied.
The older woman nodded faintly, scrutinizing every detail of Remington’s face. Finally, she turned to Elizabeth. “What do you think, my queen?”
Elizabeth was a petty, childish girl who was jealous of virtually every beautiful woman she met. It was obvious that Remington was to be of no exception.
“She’s old,” she sniffed.
Remington felt the insult but did not react. Lady Margaret was moving to regain her seat and Gaston directed her to a chair opposite Henry. He seated himself next to her.
Well-dressed servants brought out the trenchers; pheasant in sauce, boiled summer vegetables and bread with butter was abundant. The diners dug in.
“Mother was comparing you to the likes of Christopher de Lohr and William de Wolfe before you arrived, Gaston,” Henry said, ignoring his mother’s earlier threat. “I had no idea she thought so highly of you.”
Gaston’s head came up from his food; he looked at an angered Lady Beaufort. “Nor did I. I am honored, my lady, that you would group me with such legendary men.”
Lady Margaret did not reply; she would not dignify her son’s disobedient remarks. Instead, she focused on Remington.
“How do you find London, Lady Remington?”
Remington was having a difficult enough time eating in the presence of the king; was she expected to eat and talk, too? She swallowed a large bite and almost choked. “I have had no time to see the sights, my lady, but from what I have seen, it is an exciting city.”
Elizabeth was thoroughly riled with the presence of lovely Lady Remington. She’d had no idea how beautiful the woman was and was distinctly upset. Not having her ladies about her to reinforce her vainness was unbalancing.
“It is,” she said coolly. “A pity you will not be here long enough to become familiar with it.”
Remington looked at the queen; younger than herself, she was a plain, blond girl of high breeding. Too high; she appeared fragile and pale.
“I do intend to tour London, someday, highness,” she replied softly. “And may I congratulate you on the birth of your son.”
“Thank you,” she said stiffly.
Gaston knew Remington was going to confront this sort of reaction from Elizabeth and he was pleased she was handling it well. But, truthfully, there was nothing else she could do.
In fact, she had been remarkable since de Tormo had delivered the shattering news. Gaston was terribly proud of her.
“Gaston, I do not think I have ever seen you in a tunic and hose,” Christopher found his voice. “I thought you were, in fact, born with your armor on. This is a remarkable event.”
Gaston looked somewhat sheepish. “You may thank the lady for that. She refused to eat with me if I wore my armor to the king’s table, so I was forced into complying.”
Henry and Christopher chortled. “No armor or weapons of any kind? Even underneath the tunic?”
Gaston looked down at himself; the tunic was stretched taut across his magnificent chest, and his leg muscles were bulging through the breeches. “I have no idea where I would put it.”
Remington even smiled, looking him over with glittering eyes. “My lord looks every inch the nobleman.”
Gaston raised a disapproving eyebrow, but there was a smile on his lips. “Never again, my lady. This is the last time you will see me dressed as a dandy.”
“You look wonderful,” Remington repeated, daring to bring Lady Margaret into the conversation. “Would you not agree, Lady Beaufort?”
