“Liar!You do not love me at all! If you loved me, you should not have treated me like a whore! Like some common trull, passing me about like a sweetmeat to be shared! Go away! I hate you!”
“Non, ma Belle, you do not hate me. You are angry, and I understand your anger, but it will pass,” the duc answered her, and leaning over, he kissed her cheek.
“I will never forgive you,”Arabella said honestly.
“Of course you will,ma petite rose d’Anglaise. Of course you will,” he told her with perfect confidence. “Our adventuresd’amourof last night were a shock to you, I understand that, but you will admit that you reached out for passion as you have never before reached out for it. You attainedla grande petite morte, ma Belle! You were magnificent, and I adore you for it!”
Arabella glowered at him stonily.
The duc chuckled, convinced that she was just having a tantrum, a tantrum that she would soon get over. He caught up her hand again and kissed it. “If I promise you never to introduce another into our bed again,ma Belle, will you forgive me?”
“Leave me!”she commanded him icily, ignoring his query.
Rising from the bed, the duc departed her bedchamber, certain that in time his beautiful English mistress would forgive him, although he really did not understand her anger. There had been no real harm done. He and Alain had, indeed, been most tender and gentlemanly.
Arabella kept to her apartments all day, refusing even to join the duc and his guests for dinner. When he entered her bedchamber late that evening, he found Lona sitting by her mistress’s bedside. The servant stood and curtsied.
“My lady is not well, my lord, and has taken a sleeping draught,” she told him. “She begs that you make her excuses to the king tomorrow, but she says she will not be able to join the hunt.”
“Is she truly ill?” he asked Lona. “Or is she simply being petulant?”
“My lord!”Lona looked indignant at the suggestion that her mistress might be shamming.
“That is no answer,” the duc persisted.
“Last night was too much for her, my lord,” Lona said bluntly. “My lady is suffering from nerves, the headache, exhaustion, and the effects of too much weeping. She is a gentle soul and has been badly used, though I know you will not like to hear it.”
The duc looked uncomfortable beneath Lona’s direct gaze. Finally he said, “When she awakens, Lona, tell her that I love her. Reassure her that the events of last night will never be repeated again, as I earlier promised her. I shall make her excuses to the king, and I shall make my own as well, for I will not leave her side in her illness.”
“My lady will be pleased to know that you’ve repented of your wickedness, my lord, but she’ll have a fit if you don’t join the hunt,” Lona told him frankly. “She likes King Charles very much, and she wouldn’t want him worried needlessly. If you don’t go on the hunt tomorrow, the king will, indeed, fret that her ladyship was so poor that you stayed home as well. Someone like that new duchesse—who hates my lady, and would grasp any opportunity to do her a bad turn—is certain to start a rumor of plague then. The next thing you know, we’ll all be forced to pick up and settle somewhere else for the summer. Why, the king might even decide to go to Normandy for the waters, and my mistress could scarce be your guest in Normandy, my lord, could she?”
“You’re a clever girl, Lona,” the duc noted with a chuckle, having fully understood the servant’s not-so-veiled hints. “You can assure me, however, that your mistress is not seriously ill?”
“Aye, my lord, I can.”
“Then I shall spend the day hunting tomorrow with the king and his guests. Tell your mistress when she awakens that I will undoubtedly return home late from Amboise. I shall not see her until the day after tomorrow, at which time I shall expect her to have made a full recovery. Do you understand me, Lona?”
“Aye, my lord,” Lona told him with a knowing grin and another pert curtsy.
“Good night, then,” the duc said, and returned through the connecting door to his own rooms.
When the door had clicked firmly shut and Lona could no longer hear the duc’s footsteps, she said softly, “He is gone, my lady.”
Arabella rolled over and sat up. “‘Twas nicely done, Lona,” she said, “and ‘twas quick thinking on your part when he said he would stay home with me. Thank you.”
“I’m as anxious to go home to England as you are, my lady, and so are the others too,” Lona told her.
“The trip will not be easy,” Arabella said. “We will travel without ceasing, stopping only to change the horses and to eat.”
“I’ll not be unhappy to see the back of France,” Lona said. “This life is too rich for me, my lady. I long for the simplicity of the borders. Besides, ‘tis past time Fergus and I were wed. What shall I pack for you?”
“Only a few changes of clothing, Lona, for I’ll not need all these beautiful clothes at Greyfaire. You may pack the jewelry that the duc has given me, however, for God knows, I have earned it! I shall not wear any of it ever again, but it can be placed with a goldsmith in York and drawn upon for funds to help me keep the estate in the bad years.”
In the early hours of the dawn, Arabella watched from the high windows of her rooms as the duc and Lord Varden rode out from Rossignol to join the royal hunt at Amboise. The chateau’s servants, a small staff, for the duc preferred it that way, were far too busy with their own tasks to notice the departure of their master’s leman. Besides, it was not their business to question Arabella. The coach had been quietly and carefully loaded in the dark hours before the dawn, when the chateau’s groomsmen had slept unawares in their loft above the stables. The mare that Arabella had brought from England was at her house outside of Paris, for the duc had given Arabella a new mare after their first night together, and she felt it unnecessary to bring both horses to Rossignol. They would retrieve Arabella’s English mare on their journey to Calais and leave behind the other beast. FitzWalter and the Greyfaire men escorted their mistress, drawing no attention at all, for such was their usual habit.
Several hours later they reached the inn at Villeroyale where they stopped to await Lord Varden. He arrived shortly before noon. After eating, they set out once again, and for the next several days they traveled round-the-clock, stopping only to change the coach horses, relieve themselves, and eat. From their third day onward until they arrived at Calais, there was the increased danger of pursuit. Arabella had left the duc a brief note saying that she could not forgive him for his conduct toward her and that she hoped he would accept her decision in this matter and not follow her. She had not wanted to do this, but Lord Varden had insisted that she could not simply disappear without causing an uproar. It was always possible that the duc would accept her judgment, but if he did not, perhaps his ego would allow him to believe she would return of her own accord in a few days after she had worked her temper off. These few days could give them the time they needed to reach Calais. Lord Varden had sent one of his own men ahead to arrange for their immediate passage across the channel to England. They must escape France without delay lest the Duchesse de St. Astier betray them.
They reached the safety of Calais in five-and-a-half days’ time, even with a brief stop at Arabella’s small house outside of Paris to collect her mare. They had arrived at Maison Riviere in the middle of the night. Fergus MacMichael crept into the stable to retrieve the beast while the stableboy hired to care for it slept quite soundly during his foray. He left a silver piece by the lad’s head, knowing that when the boy discovered the coin and the missing horse, he himself would depart lest he be blamed for being negligent in his duties. The silver would give him a new start in life. They fled on through Paris, leaving the city well behind them even before the dawn.
