He had land, coin and a title. All Isabella had was her de Neville charm and golden good looks. Looks which would not last for many more years.
All she wanted—all she had ever wanted—was a child.
Isabella put a hand to her heart, careful to avoid brushing her fingers against her collarbone which surely protruded more than ever before. Perchance, within the year she would be a mother!
She had been raised to accomplish such a task.
Sighing deeply, she gazed at the tapestried armchairs and low wooden tables, all of which could be pushed easily aside for dancing. Such life and energy had flowed through this chamber. She had once imagined her own sons and daughters excitedly climbing the spiral staircase. But soon it would be as if her years at Westchester had never been. She would leave no legacy here, save this beautiful room and memories of the beautiful music which had once rippled around the silk-clad walls.
The sound of actual footsteps ascending the spiral staircase made her turn in surprise. No servant would dare interrupt her repose; and neither Catherine nor Edward knew of the secret door.
Did they?
A smile broke over her face when she recognized the tall man who bowed gracefully on the threshold, his dark winter cloak pooling on the polished floor behind him.
“Will, how lovely. Have you come to play for me one last time?” Isabella straightened her shoulders, ensuring that her shawl fell in flattering folds over her tightly fitting gown.
Will had once been a travelling bard and lute player. Isabella had first encountered his dry wit and artful music-making when she was staying as a guest at Windsor. She had beckoned to the talented youth—then no older than a squire—and invited him to perform for them at Westchester.
That was five winters ago. And Will had never left.
Isabella oft-times fancied that Will was the closest thing she had to a friend. They had certainly spent many pleasant hours talking and laughing together. But something must now beamiss, for his blue eyes were no longer alight with merriment and his smiling mouth had turned down at the corners.
“Alas, no, milady.” He stepped forward and she saw, with alarm, that his long fingers were trembling. “Forgive the interruption, but I have come to bid you farewell.”
Isabella frowned. “I am not due to leave until the morrow. Surely, I will see you this night? Will you not perform for us in the feasting hall, as usual?”
Two spots of red appeared on Will’s pale cheeks.
“That would give me great pleasure.” He paused, awkwardly. “These last years have been full of pleasure. It has been my honor to serve you.”
Isabella’s alarm increased at his stammering, but her years of experience as a hostess quickly came to the fore. “Come and sit down.” She took his arm and led him to an overstuffed armchair positioned by the unlit fireplace, sitting beside him and crossing her ankles gracefully. “Tell me what has occurred.”
Will took a deep breath. Now a man of more than twenty summers, his frame had never filled out so though he was tall, he was as slender as a willow branch.
“Lady Catherine has declared that she no longer requires my services.”
Isabella blinked as her mind tried to process this. “She has no need of a musician?”
Will linked his fingers together, possibly in an attempt to control their trembling. “She says she will hire her own musicians.”
Isabella’s confusion was washed away in a hot flush of anger. “But that is foolish indeed. ’Twas one thing for her to bring her own maids. But this!” She jumped up from her chair and began pacing over the rugs. “I swear I will not stand for it. Wait here. I shall go and speak to her this instant.”
“Nay, pray do not do that.” Will rose unsteadily from his chair and stood before her, his arms wavering entreatingly. “Truth be told, I would not have wanted to stay at Westchester without you, milady.”
“Oh.” Isabella blinked. “But what about coin, Will? How are you to live?” Concern for the young man’s wellbeing flooded through her.
“I have some coin set by.” Will tried to smile. “And I can make a living just as I always did, with my wit and my lute. Thanks to your patronage, doors will open to me where’er I go.”
“You must go to my father’s castle at Wolvesley.” Isabella snapped her fingers as the thought occurred to her.
“Thank you, I shall.” Will nodded, though his eyes were wild. “May I speak freely, milady?”
“Of course.” Isabella rearranged her shawl. “I like to think we have long been in the position of speaking freely to one another.”
“Aye.” If Will’s cheeks had been red before, now they were the color of over-ripe plums. “It gladdens my heart to hear you say as much.” The young man ground to a halt.
Isabella stepped closer, wanting to offer reassurance but instead rearing backward at the strong smell of liquor on his breath.
