Margaret looked up from her pheasant, passing a well-practiced eye over Gaston. “I have always thought so.”
Gaston dipped his head at the compliment, feeling just the slightest bit uncomfortable at the tone used. It bordered on seductive.
“I understand that your half-brother is preparing to take his vows, Gaston, Henry said. “Courtenay told me that Richard de Russe is finally preparing to be ordained. A remarkable event, I would say. I did not believe the man serious to take the vow of chastity. A good deal like your father, I am told.”
Gaston met Henry’s gaze steadily. “I have not kept in touch with Richard, my lord. I prefer to ignore my illegitimate relations.”
“But Richard is deacon at Newby Prior, a prestigious post,” Urswick put in. “Surely you consider the man worthy of the de Russe name, bastard or no.”
Gaston shrugged, his only answer. Henry knew better than to press Gaston on the subject of his bastard brothers and turned his eye once again to Remington.
“I understand you have several sisters, Lady Remington,” he said. “Are they married?”
“Not yet, my lord,” she replied, aware that Elizabeth was watching her. “But soon. My youngest sister is marrying Gaston’s cousin, Nicolas.”
“Convenient,” Elizabeth remarked. When everyone looked at her, she made haste to clarify her comment. “She will remain close to you.”
Remington merely nodded; she sensed tremendous hostility from the queen and was not about to enter into any sort of verbal battle. Puzzled at the reception, she lowered her head to her trencher.
The evening passed, the conversation mostly between Gaston and the king. Remington kept silent for the most part, still in awe of her dinner mates and furthermore fearful to antagonize the queen. The woman kept glaring at her.
Lady Beaufort, however, kept her eyes on Remington in a sort of appraising manner, as one would inspect a side of beef. Remington met the woman’s eyes a few times, smiling weakly and quickly returning to her food. Nauseous as she was, it was the only thing she could put her attention to that wasn’t staring back at her.
Gaston kept his hand on her knee underneath the table. Every so often he would squeeze it gently, just to let her know he had not forgotten about her. She appreciated his support and wished she could tell him so.
When dinner was cleared and dessert was brought, an elderly man entered the dining hall and, without a greeting, kicked Christopher Urswick out of his chair next to Henry and resumedit himself. Muttering and tugging at his tunic, he demanded his share of the pastries first.
Obviously, everyone at the table knew who he was, except Remington. She stared at him curiously as he grunted and bickered about anything and everything. Then, his eyes came up and he focused on her.
“Lady Stoneley, I presume?”
Remington blinked, almost as if she had been physically jarred by his words. “Aye, my lord.”
His eyes narrowed, as he looked her over. “Stand up, girl.”
Hesitantly, she stood. The old man let his eyes wander over her a brief moment before turning to Gaston. “She’s marvelous. What in the hell does she want with the likes of you?”
Gaston smiled faintly. “She is with me out of pity, most likely, my lord. She is a gracious woman with a good heart.”
“And a figure to match,” the old man snorted, gazing at her once again. “She’s the best piece of female flesh I have seen in many years, Gaston. No wonder you stole her from that Yorkist bastard.”
Remington sat down quickly, feeling distinctly uncomfortable. She still had yet to discover who this crass man was, but Gaston turned to her.
“Remi, this is the Duke of Bedford. Henry’s Uncle Jasper.”
As if a light suddenly blazed, Remington understood. This small, boorish old man was Henry’s powerful uncle. Militarily, she understood he was brilliant and had been by his nephew’s side for years as Henry fought for the throne.
She found it difficult to believe the man was Uncle Jasper. The man had been of such value to Henry that he had been named the new Duke of Bedford after Henry was crowned. Somehow, she had imagined the duke more….refined. But then again, she had made the same superficial observation of Martin and had been completely wrong.
Gaston served Remington a custard tart himself, smiling gently at her until Uncle Jasper roped him into a discussion. She ate politely, eyes downcast, listening to Jasper rattle on. The ladies of the table seemed to have been forgotten.
The evening wore on and Remington was growing exceedingly bored, even in the company of greats. Lady Margaret and Elizabeth had yet to say one word, even to each other, so Remington pressed herself close to Gaston’s side and sat quietly. His hand, back on her knee, caressed her through her surcoat.
Unfortunately, when the men’s conversation lulled, Jasper’s attention turned to her once again.
“I hear your husband beat you,” he said bluntly. “What kind of bastard is he? I understand he is as black as Satan.”
She looked at him, stunned, and struggled to recover. “He…he is an evil man, my lord. Which is why I am endeavoring to obtain an annulment.”
