Mary was in the women’s solar when she became aware of their arrival. The women there rushed out to greet Alnwick’s mistress, Isobel leading the charge, crying out with delight. Mary made no move to follow, her absence unremarked. She was alone in the solar, a feeling of dismay rising in her breast. She had no wish to meet Stephen’s parents, not now, not ever. Especially she had no wish to meet the earl, a very personal enemy of her father’s.
But she had no choice in the matter. Some time later, when the pandemonium in the hall had ceased, a woman appeared in the doorway. Mary had not a single doubt that she was the countess. Automatically she rose to her feet.
Stephen’s mother was a tall woman of indeterminate age, still possessed of a fine figure and still quite handsome. Her yellow velvet surcote was magnificent, elaborately embroidered along the hem and sleeves with multicolored threads, a gold girdle encasing her narrow waist, heavily encrusted with jewels. Her veil was the finest of silks, in shades of crimson and gold. A strand of red rubies on a gold circlet kept it in place, the stones winking on her forehead. She was one of the most imposing women Mary had ever remarked, but not because of her dress. There was strength to be found in her countenance, and her eyes were filled with razor-sharp intelligence. She regarded Mary intently.
Mary wondered if she hated her and was dismayed because of the alliance. “Madame,” Mary murmured.
The countess lifted a brow. Mary was conscious of being studied from the top of her golden head to the tips of the blue slippers she wore. Behind Lady Ceidre, half a dozen ladies, the countess’s entourage, also regarded her with open curiosity and tittering excitement. “Come forward, Princess,” the countess said. It was a command, said softly but imperiously.
Mary did as she was asked.
“I wish to welcome you into our family,” the countess said, her tone softening as she took both of Mary’s hands.
Mary realized she approved. “Thank you.” She spoke stiffly.
“I wish to be alone with my son’s bride,” the countess said. Her ladies, smiling and whispering, disappeared.
“Come, let us sit and get acquainted,” Lady Ceidre said. She took Mary’s arm and led her to a pair of chairs. “You need not be afraid of me.”
“I am not,” Mary replied as they took their seats. In truth, she was uneasy. But not because the countess was formidable, but because she had the insane wish that they could be as a real mother-in-law and bride.
“I hope Stephen has treated you well.”
Mary lowered her eyes, aware of the countess’s unwavering regard.
“Both he and his brothers are so like their father. I am sorry if his lust overruled him when you first met.” Mary’s color heightened. “Still, they all know well enough how to treat a lady. I hope he has played the gentleman since then.”
Mary thought of his astonishing promise to remain celibate. Something twisted inside her. “I… Yes, he has.”
The countess smiled, pleased. “Of course,” she continued, “he was raised at Court, a terribly decadent Court, where ambition, intrigue, and desire ruled the day—as it still does. He had to become hard very young.” Her tone changed; the sadness was unmistakable. “But do not be fooled. There is a softness within, and I am sure a woman like you can bring it forth.”
Mary recalled his soft tone and seductive words of earlier that day. She shifted uncomfortably. “Why do you tell me this?”
“So you might understand my son, the man who is to be your husband. So you can forgive him when he forgets himself.”
Mary did not respond. It would be too easy to become intimate with this woman, it would be too easy to like her. She did not want to like her. Her situation was difficult enough.
“When will you know if you are with child?”
Mary’s eyes widened. Her face burned. “My monthly time is not always exact.”
“That is too bad. If you carry my son’s child, you must tell me at once.”
Mary pursed her lips.
The countess studied her. “I think we should speak freely with one another, don’t you?” She smiled. “I am most pleased with this alliance. Princess. As is my husband, as is my son.” Lady Ceidre took her hand. “You are not pleased. You are miserable.”
Mary took a deep breath, close to tears, undone by her kind tone. “I… Is it so obvious?”
“It is very obvious. Is it Stephen? He does not please you?”
Mary closed her eyes. She must not entertain such a question. Very softly she said, “He is my enemy.”
The countess looked at her.
“You are all my enemies, madame,” Mary said in the same tone of voice.
“An alliance has been made. You would disobey your father, your King?”
