She missed Didier.
She missed Nicholas.
When she could, Simone passed the long hours conversing with Lady Genevieve and Jehan. The two elders of the group got on surprisingly well, and oft times Simone enjoyed merely listening to the pair talk of France and children, food and politics, but never about Simone leaving England.
And never, ever about Armand.
They had passed through a cluster of humble cottages on the first full day of travel, and Jehan had used his most excellent skills to trade one of the French guardsman’s mounts for supplies and articles of rough, but clean and sturdy, peasant garb. They all seemed much more comfortable in the humble clothing, save for Charles, who had refused a change of clothes in favor of his fine tunic and chausses. He hadn’t been nearly as dirty as the rest of the party, any matter, merely wet.
So now he smelled of mildew, even if he did sport fine embroidery.
The afternoon on which the small band of travelers passed through the gates of London town came all too quickly for Simone. Although she’d been in the city only once, it seemed memories reached out their soft fingers from every corner, plucking at her endlessly.
There was the inn where she and Armand had stayed, where she’d first learned she was to become Nick’s wife.
There was the market where Nicholas had gifted Didier with his beloved feather.
There were the steps to the abbey, which she’d ascended with Nicholas on the day they’d wed.
And as guards approached to take charge of their mounts, as they made their way to the king’s receiving chamber, as they waited in tense silence for word on whether William would see them, Simone felt her resolve to leave Nicholas slipping through her fingers like water.
Nick led the audience from the king’s receiving room with his back stiff and his jaw clenched. By the morn, the documents would be procured, and it would be as if Simone had never been his wife.
In writing, any matter. Nicholas knew no mere piece of parchment, no matter how royal, would ever be able to erase his black-haired pixie from his heart.
The party was met in an antechamber by a prissy manservant.
“Lord FitzTodd,” the man intoned, his head tilted so far back that Nick could see up his nostrils. “His Majesty bade me show the Ladies FitzTodd to their chambers, while you attend the sentencing.” He sniffed in Jehan’s and Charles’s direction. “We regret we cannot accommodate the whole of your party.”
“What is this?” Charles demanded. “I’ll not be separated from my betrothed!”
The manservant drew back with a sneer.
“She’s not your betrothed yet, Beauville,” Nicholas snapped, and then wanted to bite off his own tongue at his possessive tone. Nick simply wanted to take Charles’s head from his shoulders. He knew he could do it. It really wouldn’t take much effort…
Jehan interrupted Nick’s dark fantasy when he took Simone’s hand. “I shall have some items sent for your comfort, my dear. Is there aught in particular that you desire? Anything at all…?”
“Non,Papa.Merci.” She gave him a wan smile.
“Very well.” He kissed her forehead. “I shall see you on the morrow.”
Charles approached Simone after Jehan had moved away, but she averted her head at his advances. “Charles, please. Do not.”
Nick could not help but smirk at the man’s discomfiture.
“Good night, my love,” Charles said smoothly, and gave a dramatic bow. “Sleep with the angels.”
And then the two men were gone.
“This way, if you please, my ladies.” The manservant swept an arm before him.
Genevieve kissed Nick’s cheek and gave him a sad smile before following the servant.
Simone looked to Nick like she desperately wanted to say something. In her rough, plain gown, her long, dark hair in a simple plait, her huge green eyes sparkling like emeralds in a clear stream, she was a figure in a fantastical painting, and Nick wanted very badly to touch her.
Instead, he bowed. “Lady Simone…” and then he stopped, swallowed. He did not know what to say to her, since he could not say what he felt. “I wish you…contentment in your new life.”
Nicholas thought he saw Simone flinch. “Oh, it is an old life, that,” she said. “Thank you for tolerating me and my family, my lord.Adieu.” She turned, and her soft leather slippers made no sound as she joined his mother and the servant and was just…gone.
