Cicely began to cry. “But I don’t want to leave Leighton Hall, Papa,” she told him. “Please don’t send me away! I will be good, I promise! I will never leave the cottage, and my stepmother will never see me again. I swear it!” She sobbed into his shoulder. “Please don’t make me go, Papa!Please!”
His heart was breaking, Robert Bowen thought, but he had no other choice. If Cicely remained Luciana would work herself into a dangerous fury. And he had no doubt that she would attempt to rid herself of the child in any manner possible. Swallowing down his own anguish, he said to his daughter, “Cicely, you are not being punished. This is a great honor you are being given, being allowed admittance into the royal household. Our family is an ancient one but unimportant. Our lack of wealth has not allowed us to marry into the more prestigious families, nor gain any foothold on the rungs of power. Now we are gaining that wealth, but we have no entrée into the court. If you please Queen Joan with your sweetness and your manners you will have an opportunity to meet the most important folk in the land.And that will one day help our family to gain ingress into the court. Queen Joan will see that you make an advantageous marriage. And once you are involved in the court I shall be able to make the best matches for your brothers, thus increasing our family’s strength and importance. I need you to take this first step for Leighton.”
Cicely’s sniffling had stopped. She was an intelligent child. She heard and digested her father’s words carefully. She understood them. “What will you tell my stepmother, Papa?” she asked him astutely. “She will not be pleased I am going to court.”
“I will say that I have found a place for you in the house of a wealthy widow,” he said with a small smile. “In time she will learn the full truth, but knowing then that you can aid our sons one day will help to temper her jealousy towards you, I am certain.”
The child nodded. “Perhaps it will,” she agreed. “When must Orva and I leave? Where are we to go, Papa?”
“Havering-atte-Bower, which is Queen Joan’s favorite residence. It’s about fifteen miles from London. She wants you there in early July, so you have several weeks before you must leave Leighton.”
Orva had sat silent. Now she said candidly, “My lady will need proper clothing, my lord. She must have some jewelry, and an allowance to be paid quarterly. And her own horse. It won’t be easy seeing to these things, for your lady will not want to give Cicely anything. As you can see, the child’s gown is shabby and worn, as are all her few gowns. I do my best to keep them in good repair, but the material will go only so far, and Lady Cicely is growing.AndI have had to loosen the stitching on the toes of her shoes, for her footwear no longer fits.”
“How is this possible?” the earl wanted to know. “My storage rooms are full with whatever you need, Orva.” His look was one of confusion.
“But the Lady Luciana holds the keys to those storerooms, my lord. She has refused my last two requests for material to make my little lady gowns,” Orva said.
“Why did you not come to me?” he asked his daughter’s serving woman.
“It would have but caused more difficulty for us, my lord. I hoped that in time you would see the state of my mistress’s wardrobe, and correct the situation,” Orva said.
“By the rood!” the earl swore softly. “I will not have this! Cicely shall have everything she needs, and more. How dare her stepmother withhold necessities from my daughter.” His arm tightened about the little girl. “You shall be denied nothing, my darling,” he promised her. Then he tipped her from his lap. “I must now go and speak with my wife. In the morning, Orva, you shall have access to the storerooms. Take all you need, but remember I shall have to return the keys to my lady wife the same day, lest I send her into a greater temper than she will already have.” Standing, he bent and kissed his daughter on her forehead, then strode from the cottage to ride home. Entering his house he asked the steward where his wife could be found.
Luciana was in her apartments with Donna Clara, who was brushing her hair. “My head aches,” she greeted him languidly, waving him to a chair.
“Give me the keys to the storerooms,” he replied, not sitting.
A wary look came into her large brown eyes. “Why do you want them?” she asked him boldly. “Do not stop brushing! It eases my pain,” she snapped at Donna Clara. “Must I live in agony always?”
“Give me the keys to the storerooms,” he repeated, not answering her. “Am I master of Leighton or not, madam?”
“Have you found a place for your daughter?” she wanted to know.
“I have,” he said, “and now I will see that Cicely is properly garbed and equipped for her new home.”
“I am the mistress of this household,” Luciana said in a hard voice. “It is my duty to see your daughter supplied with what she needs.”
“You have laid eyes on Cicely but once, and not by choice, madam,” the earl said in an equally hard voice. “You have denied her serving woman the cloth necessary to make the child gowns. Hergarments are worn, shabby. Have you no shame, Luciana? Cicely is an earl’s daughter, not some stranger I have taken in.”
“She is your bastard!” Luciana cried angrily.
“Her mother died before we could wed, but our daughter was legitimated by Rome, Canterbury, and the laws of England,” the earl shouted furiously. “Why do you refuse to admit the truth, Luciana? This was all long before I even knew of your existence. You have given me three sons. My respect for you is great. What more do you want of me?”
“You lovedher!” the Countess of Leighton accused.
Robert Bowen looked surprised. “Loved whom?” he asked her.
“My ladybird,” Donna Clara cautioned, “do not pursue this, I beg you.”
“Your daughter’s mother!” Luciana spat. “And everyone says the brat is her mother’s image. The whore who was your servant’s daughter!”
The Earl of Leighton slapped his wife across her angry face.
Luciana shrieked, outraged, her hand going to her burning cheek.
Donna Clara gasped in shock. Never had she seen her English master lose his control. He was always calm, always the voice of reason. The look in his eyes now, however, was one of uncontrolled fury. Her mistress stood on the brink of disaster.
The red haze faded slowly from before his eyes as the earl fought to regain some measure of control, struggling with himself not to put his hands about her slim white neck and snap it. Finally he felt calm, but he was very angry. His wife stood glaring at him, totally unaware of how close she had come to death. Donna Clara knew, and her eyes filled with relief as Robert Bowen came to himself again, and spoke.
