Nick immediately thought of Didier’s white feather. How would his mother react if Nick told her that he had returned to Hartmoore with not only a new bride but a ghost as well?
“You of all people should know better than to listen to gossip,” Nick chastised, and was satisfied with Genevieve’s flush. “’Twill take time for Simone to adjust to life at Hartmoore. I would hope you will be an aid to her instead of a hindrance by propagating rumors.”
“Nicholas,” Genevieve said, offended, “I would never—”
“Very well then.” Nick rose from his chair and skirted the table. He held an arm toward the doorway, indicating Genevieve should precede him from the room. “Let us seek my brother.”
She pursed her lips at him and sniffed, her nose in the air. But she walked past him into the great hall without another word of the happenings of yesterday.
Nick could only hope that Minerva did hurry and that she would be able to give Didier the peace he sought, before Hartmoore was turned inside out.
22 June 1075
I do hope that Hell is not as bad as I have been taught, for surely that is where I shall spend eternity. I believe Armand has discovered my secret and now I can only pray for his death.
Simone gasped, her hand flying to cover her mouth as her mother’s words jumped from the page.
“What is it, Sister?” Didier lay stretched on his back near where Simone sat cross-legged. He’d been occupying himself by floating his feather from one hand to the other while Simone read to him from Portia’s journals—the only way she could think to keep him away from the guests that lurked about Hartmoore’s chambers and corridors. He turned his head toward her now with an annoyed expression. “Why did you stop?”
Simone swallowed, and her eyes quickly skimmed the rest of the entry. Portia’s shaky writings of that day were unlike any that Simone had read thus far. Until now, the accounts had been rather tame, mentioning Marseilles often, relating minor accomplishments of her children, humorous anecdotes of the townsfolk. But this entry was beyond vitriolic, cursing Armand with such viciousness that Simone was left stunned.
But the writing gave no explanation of the cause of her ire or the nature of the secret Portia believed had been found out.
“Sister, have you been struck deaf?” Didier floated the small white feather across the short span separating him and Simone and wiggled it under her nose.
She swatted at the tickling distraction. “Cease.”
“You stopped reading.”
“I know.” Simone refolded the parchment quickly and placed it on the small stack of read entries. She would not voice Portia’s wrath to the boy who adored her. She tried to hang a bright smile over her frown. “My eyes grow weary. Let us explore the keep instead.”
“You lie—your eyes aren’t weary. Any matter, you told me that I cannot”—his voice became an eerie mimicry of Simone’s—“‘flit about the keep, disturbing Lord Nicholas’s guests.’” Didier stared at her accusingly. “What did you read that you do not wish for me to know?”
Simone searched for a plausible excuse, but any that came to mind sounded blatantly contrived, even for a young boy. She sighed. “Didier, oft times adults say—or write—things unsuitable for young ears.”
“What things?”
“Adult things.” She stood from the bed and began replacing the journals in the trunk still filled with her mother’s gowns.
“Curses? Blasphemies?” Didier sat up, his already luminescent face bright with salacious curiosity. “Tell me!”
“Nay.” Simone’s legs felt weak. Although she had been delighted with the discovery of the journals at Withington’s small inn, she’d had no illusions that her mother’s private writings would lend any insight to the combative nature of Portia’s relationship with Armand. This most recent entry, though, had opened a small fissure in Simone’s perception of her parents’ lengthy marriage and left her shaken and wary.
Would future entries reveal the secret Portia suspected Armand had discovered?
Did Simone truly want to know?
Didier huffed and flung himself onto his back once more when he realized that Simone was not going to accommodate his demands. “You treat me like a child.”
“Youarea child.”
A knock sounded at the chamber door, causing Simone to jump. She gave Didier a warning look before calling out, “Come.”
The door swung open, and her husband’s towheaded first man, Randall, stood in the doorway. He bowed, and Simone immediately noticed the small leather chest under his arm.
“Good day, my lady. The lord requests your presence in his accounts chamber.”
A tingle of excitement teased Simone’s stomach. It seemed the more time she spent with Nick, the more she looked forward to seeing him again. When they weren’t having a row, she was happiest in his presence.
