My Lady's Favor

By month’s end, he could well possess the security he had longed craved, but he would never see the fair lady again.

Chapter Four

S he had lied.

The knowledge ate away at Elysia long after Conon’s departure, keeping her awake into the morning hours. Although she’d never actually told a lie, her failure to correct the popular misconception that her marriage had been consummated was as good as an outright falsehood.

Brooding as she stared into the cold ashes of her bedroom hearth, she regretted her continued silence. She had every intention of revealing the truth to the earl last night when she went to meet with him and Conon.

But she hadn’t been allowed to see them.

Although unaccustomed to such treatment, Elysia knew such was most women’s lot. At Nevering, she had ruled the keep. Even while her brother lived, Elysia had been the one to oversee the linen trade and issue orders. How galling to go from a position of importance—one which she enjoyed immensely—to being treated with open disrespect.

Recalling Huntley’s rude treatment the previous evening riled her all over again. She had assumed the earl instructed Huntley to keep her out of their private meeting, though Conon seemed genuinely surprised when she mentioned she had been denied entry. Perhaps it was only the earl who wanted her kept in the dark.

In her anger, she decided if the earl did not want to share his plans for her, she would not bother to confide the truth to him. This morning, when she had calmed down and realized she had a moral obligation to tell him the truth no matter if she had to fight Huntley to do it, she discovered Arundel had already departed.

Since first light she had paced the floor, fearing for her soul with so grave a sin to hang upon it. She thought, too, of Conon and his fear that an heir would usurp his fortune. But how could she tell him the truth? The matter was most delicate.

She would have to live with his anger for another couple of weeks until it was proven she would not bear the next Count of Vannes. Surely, once she displayed no signs of being enceinte, she would be allowed to go home. She would simply confide the truth to her overlord when she saw him once again.

Who would it hurt if she kept the truth to herself at this point? After all, she would take nothing from Conon’s inheritance except a small dower property, and that could be returned to him as soon as she spoke with her overlord. It wasn’t as if she would be dragging the French estate home on horseback. Besides, Conon had an enormous estate to live in now, so he wouldn’t miss the deed to a minor keep for a few weeks.

Somewhat appeased by her plan, Elysia donned her old gardening kirtle to work among the flowers she’d spied the previous day. She hated idle hands. In the garden she would escape the oppressive keep, with its reminders of the horrible night before, and soothe her frayed nerves with a healthy dose of weeding.

Scarcely aware of the departing wedding guests, Elysia lost herself in the mundane task of tending an unused section of the garden, visualizing the seeds she would have planted to best utilize the space.

The male voice startled her.

“The garden seems to be a common hiding place for you, Countess.” Conon appeared out of nowhere as he had the day before.

When his kiss upon her hand had seared her flesh.

Although he was as incredibly handsome as the previous day, Elysia noted the shadows under his eyes, the sadness that lurked within. Guilt nagged at her.

As Conon helped her to her feet, she tried not to wince at the pain in her thigh from the count’s knife wound.

His eyes narrowed as he assessed her, obviously seeing the hurt.

“What is it?”

Embarrassed and guilty, she could not look at him. “It is nothing, I—”

“You should not be out so soon after a wedding night, Elysia.” His voice was as rough as the hand that still gripped her arm.

“I am fine, truly—”

“There will be talk all over France about the beautiful young English woman who came to Brittany to wed a rich count, poisoned him on his wedding night, then flaunted herself about the gardens the next day as if nothing were amiss.” His words might be accusing, but his tone was merely tired.

Ignoring the unwelcome warmth that still tingled where he touched her, she stepped out of his grasp. “Poisoned? Is that the verdict this morning?”

“Aye.” He smiled halfheartedly. “Though that verdict is subject to change several times by the end of the day and will no doubt become more embellished as the tale travels to all corners of France and England.”

“Do you believe I had a hand in the count’s death?” She brushed the soil from the worn linen kirtle she favored for gardening.

“Your refusal to stay in your chamber like a proper grieving widow today does nothing to ease my mind regarding your possible guilt.”

“What does staying shut up in my chamber have to do with how much grief I feel?” Elysia was surprised at the sting of tears in her eyes.

“You cannot convince me you mourn his loss.”

“Just because I was not overly eager to wed him? By all the saints, that does not mean I wished his demise. I imagine at least half the brides who have ever sought the altar have feared and regretted the choice of husband made for them. That does not make them bloodthirsty killers.”

“Aye. But their husbands do not end up dead on their wedding nights.”

“Very well then, my lord.” How dare he accuse her of something so foul? “Your uncle was poisoned.”

Conon’s eyes widened, a flicker of shock and disappointment crossing his expression.

“Poisoned by drink and self-indulgence,” she snapped.

“And mayhap by uncaring relatives who closed their eyes while he had been slowly killing himself for heaven knows how many years.”

“Touché, chère.” The wind caught his hair and gentled him with unseen fingers. “However, I assure you my lack of interference in my uncle’s life was not the result of indifference. Had he been my father, perhaps I would have felt I had the right to….” He paused in thought, far away from the garden and Elysia. “Yet it does not matter. He is gone.”

“I am sorry.”

“So you say. I merely came to inform you that Arundel departed, and he has left John Huntley to be your guardian while you are in residence here.”

“Sir Huntley?” She could not imagine a more loathsome protector.

“Everyone else is leaving except for Leon de Grace and myself.”

“De Grace is loyal to you, I gather?” Elysia wished she had an ally here. She did not relish the thought of spending any more time at Vannes, but it seemed a small price to pay for her freedom.

“He is his own man, and he seems to think I will need his help in the coming weeks.” A wry smile tugged at the corner of Conon’s mouth. “I could not get rid of him if I tried.”

“You are fortunate to have such a friend.”

“Fortunate with no fortune. But you are right, Countess.” Bowing, he turned toward the stables. He was but a few steps from her when he looked back. “Elysia.”

“Aye?”

“While I understand the need to lose oneself in activity during a crisis, most of our remaining guests do not.” He nodded in the direction of the road, where a small party of knights rode away from Vannes, casting curious glances toward the scene in the garden. “Would it hurt to smother any more wagging tongues?”

“Certainly.” Duly chastened, Elysia nodded, sorry she had not thought to stay within the keep for that very reason. “I will retire to my solar.”

Dusting off her small shovel, she had to admit Conon St. Simeon possessed a quiet wisdom she had not expected in so carefree a man. His frivolity at her wedding, his open liaison with a wealthy widow, had made her regard him as an insubstantial man, but now she doubted such was the case.