My Lady's Favor

“Belle, get her dressed, please.” His voice held a gruff edge. “There will be little sleep for any of us this night.”

“Yes, my lord.”

Elysia felt like a child, but saw the wisdom of clothing herself. It frustrated her, however, that Conon just stepped in and assumed control. The men, she knew, would decide her fate without her. By the time she returned, Arundel and Conon would probably have the rest of her life planned without so much as a glance in her direction.

She needed to tell them the truth of the situation before they began discussing her future. Elysia looked back to the chamber, weighing her options.

But she did not want to return and bring up the awkward situation in front of a crowd of gossipmongers. She would go to the earl later, when he met privately with Conon, and tell them what really had happened.

Belle hustled Elysia down the hall and to a private chamber. She scarcely noticed what garments Belle chose for her as the maid dressed and groomed her with expert thoroughness.

Elysia focused on the upcoming meeting with the earl and Conon. She would tell them she would not marry again unless forced. Tonight’s experience surpassed humiliation, and for all she knew, it was because of her ineptitude as a wife that her husband died.

“Do not fret, sweeting,” Belle soothed. The French maid had served at Vannes prior to Elysia’s arrival, and Elysia had liked her from the moment they met.

“It had nothing to do with you, you know,” the servant continued. “The lord has been drinking with no care for his health for as long as I have been here, and from what I hear, for twenty years before that. No man can abuse his poor body that way and expect to escape unscathed.”

“Perhaps I hastened him to his grave.” Elysia hid the knife wound on her thigh as Belle helped her into a fresh gown. Elysia would tell Arundel what happened, but she didn’t want the servants to hear the news first. “The excitement of the marriage and the strain of the wedding day. It was too much.”

“If so, he has no one to blame but himself. If you had not consented to wed, he would have found another young woman half his years.”

But guilt racked her. Guilt because the count died. Guilt because she let his nephew and Arundel think her wedding night left her a widow.

The whole mess required unraveling. She would proceed immediately to the earl’s chamber and tell them what happened—and hope with all her heart Arundel did not immediately marry her off to some other unfortunate soul.

After giving instructions to the staff for moving the count’s body and cleaning the master bedchamber, Conon sent for his fellow knight, Leon de Grace, to oversee the movement of the count while Conon met with Arundel.

A trusted friend, Leon had fought beside Conon during Conon’s first battle. Some odd command of the Fates had left them standing when hordes of other men had died all around them. They’d stuck together after that, neither one willing to turn his back on a partnership that seemed somehow preordained. Neither man had a family, but for ten years, they’d counted on one another as if they’d been born brothers.

De Grace arrived immediately, offering his condolences by clapping Conon on the shoulder. “He is at peace now, my friend.”

Conon nodded, heartened by Leon’s presence. Ten years older than Conon, de Grace would handle everything with his usual efficiency. The man was endlessly capable.

“You are to meet with the girl’s overlord now?” de Grace asked, peering around the room as the maids removed the linens to clean the chamber.

“Arundel will want every facet of the bridal contract enforced, of course,” Conon remarked, trying unsuccessfully to keep the bitterness from his voice.

“As is his right, of course.” The voice of wisdom returned as he tore off a bit of bread from the food on the sideboard.

“And I will honor it.” Conon swiped a hand over his face, weary of the day. “I am a man of honor if not wealth.”

“’Tis a better recommendation for a man anyhow,” de Grace reminded him between bites of bread. “If only your uncle had possessed a bit more of the former, you would now be possessed of a bit more of the latter.”

“Aye.” Conon knew his friend meant no insult. “He was a good man once.”

De Grace gazed upon Jacques’s bloated body and nodded. “You lost that man long before tonight, Con. Just remember his bride knows naught of his empty promises to you. ’Tis not her fault he did not keep them.”

Conon thought of Elysia’s frightened eyes tonight, the way she had looked when she’d realized the count was dead. Had that been sorrow he’d read in her expression? Or relief? “Nay, but it is her fault I cannot leave Vannes now. I will need to stay here a bit longer while matters are settled.”

If Elysia carried his uncle’s heir, Conon would need to make arrangements for the child’s care and protection. For that matter, he would be honor-bound to protect the child’s mother.

“We will leave when you are ready. I am in no hurry,” de Grace assured him.

Of course Leon was in no hurry to find work as a mercenary. He had a modest fortune stashed somewhere on the continent thanks to more wars fought than Conon. This new delay was a blow to Conon’s coffers.

They parted company then. Conon traversed the dimly lit corridors toward Arundel’s chamber, preparing himself to face the earl and discuss the fine points of his uncle’s marriage contract. No doubt, Conon’s fears would be confirmed—he would learn his grandmère’s dower property would indeed fall into Elysia’s hands. Before Conon could knock at the earl’s door, it was flung wide by Arundel’s squire.

“Very good, then, St. Simeon,” Arundel muttered, waving him inside the sparsely appointed chamber. “We can proceed now.”

Conon wondered what had become of the furnishings. The last time he had been in this room, rich tapestries adorned the walls and woven mats covered the floors. Now there was little to recommend the cold chamber except the fire that crackled merrily in the hearth.

Ten men crowded in the earl’s small solar, all Englishmen loyal to the earl. The only one Conon recognized was Huntley, Arundel’s crass second in command.

“Sorry about your uncle, St. Simeon. He was a good man.” The earl shook his head in sympathy as he clapped a hand on Conon’s shoulder. “An honorable man, too. ’Twas one of the reasons I consented to wed my ward to him.”

Shaking off Arundel’s grip, Conon did not care to be wheedled. “I will honor the bridal contract. Let us go over it in detail.”

Although the earl nodded politely at Conon’s acquiescence, Huntley had the gall to grin, as if he were solely responsible for winning a great battle.

“But I would see him—” Conon addressed Arundel as he jerked his head in Huntley’s direction “—and his disrespect out of the room before I do so.”

Huntley would have protested, a black look marring his face, but Arundel stepped in. “Perhaps that would be best.” He nodded to Huntley and the other knights. “Excuse us, please.”

Chain mail clinking, the knights filed out of the room with Huntley muttering under his breath. Conon did not care. He turned to the earl, ready to discuss the specifics of Jacques’s agreement with Elysia and her overlord.

“I understand Lady Elysia will inherit the Vannes dower lands, even if there is no heir?” The dower property represented a small fraction of the Vannes holdings, but its worth was immeasurable to Conon. His happiest childhood memories revolved around the nearby keep and time spent there with his grandmother. He had inherited his grandmère’s family pride while a boy at her knee.

“Aye. But she inherits much more if she has conceived.”

Pacing the length of the solar, Conon rubbed his temple in a futile attempt to relieve the pounding in his head. He didn’t want to ask for clarification, but he had to know.

“All of it?”

Arundel pulled the contract parchment from his surcoat and allowed the scroll to unravel onto the chamber’s only table. “Everything. At least until her eldest son comes of age.”

Conon should have expected this. Hell, hadn’t his uncle practically told him as much? Still, he had hoped Jacques would realize how unfair that would be. Conon would be left with nothing, unable to afford a noble marriage and family. He schooled his features in spite of the knife his dead uncle had just twisted in his back.

“It is unlikely there will be an heir after such a brief marriage.” Conon glared at the words upon the scroll, willing them to be different.

“Perhaps,” Arundel agreed, stroking the tuft of beard at his chin. “In which case I will send her home to Nevering until I have found another suitable match for her.”

Conon paused in his pacing. “She would not live on the Vannes dower lands?”

“Nay. She is a wealthy heiress in her own right, and a prize I must safeguard. Her bridal portion is worth almost as much as the Vannes fortune. Many a man would lay claim to her.”

For a moment, Conon envisioned himself wed to the English woman. Although her slender form had looked enticing as hell wrapped in naught but a linen blanket, Conon guessed she was cold as a hard frost. The curves he had detected beneath her impromptu robe didn’t soften her perpetually stiff spine or proud bearing.

Yet her skin had been soft enough beneath his lips, a contrary part of his brain reminded him.