The Lady Series (51 page)

Belle sat in her apartment’s antechamber, once again dressed in her pink and gray attire. Ribbon love knots were tacked to the surfaces of her sleeves and skirt. She plucked at one. It was a fairly ridiculous affectation, given that this marriage was hardly a love match.

Marriage. The word rang in her. Today, she would wed Squire Hollier, a man who, however kindly, had made it clear he didn’t want her.

But only a fool would ignore the obvious. Squire Hollier wasn’t a strong man. If, as he indicated, he didn’t intend to make her his wife in the true sense of the word, she had nothing to fear from childbirth's perils. Given that, it was likely she’d outlive him.

“It's heavy, Mama,” Lucy cried as she entered the sitting room from Belle's bedchamber. Her daughter was once again dressed in her best blue garments with her pearled cap upon her head. The velvet bag she carried drooped over her hands.

“We should expect nothing less of a gift from a soon-to-be peer,” Peg told the child, her voice alive with pride.

Belle’s maid wore scarlet and yellow; her better garments had come to Graceton with her lady's furniture.

Brigit trailed silently behind them again dressed in her green. Save for the functional brown traveling attire Belle had given her these were the only garments she owned.

Her arms were crossed, her pretty face marred with a sullen look. So it had been since that day in the garden: Brigit standoffish during the day while her nights were spent in tears. That dream of a love match was taking its own sweet time to die.

“Open it,” Lucy demanded in excitement as she dropped the sack into Belle's lap.

“Aye, my lady. Let us all see what he sends you,” Peg urged.

“As you will,” Belle agreed and opened the drawstrings.

What tumbled into her lap were two smaller bags. She laughed. “Oh, Lord! What if this is naught but one of those tricks, where the containers become smaller and smaller?”

Instead, the smaller of the two bags yielded a great square brooch of ancient style. A sprig of holly was carved on its face in the same shape used on the squire’s family crest. Emeralds served for leaves while a small cluster of rubies represented its berries. However fine the pin it was an impersonal gift, meant for any woman as long as she was one of the long line of women who had wed the Hollier men. Still, Belle held it up so the others could see.

“Very pretty,” Lucy said in approval, “but mine is nicer.” She touched her own brooch. The squire had given it to her yesterday. Within a golden oval, filigree twisted and turned. A pearl pendant dangled from its bottom.

“That’s no way to speak, Mistress Lucy,” Brigit said in sharp chide. Although she'd been short with them all these last weeks, she’d been especially so toward Lucy. “Beg your lady mother's pardon.”

Resentment woke in Lucy's gaze. Her lower lip set to trembling. She looked to her mother for rescue. Belle couldn’t give her daughter what she wanted, not when Brigit was right to chasten.

“Sweetling, a polite woman makes no comparisons only offers compliments of another’s gift,” she said, hoping a soft voice would balance the sting of the governess's harshness.

Lucy bowed her head as Belle opened the second bag. This time a strand of pearls spilled out her lap, its gleaming brightness saying no woman before her had ever won it. She caught its loops in her fingers. Nay, it wasn’t all pearls. Every fifth bead was a pink stone. Instead of a clasp of gold, it was silver that held it closed.

As it did with each passing day Belle's love for Graceton’s steward grew. A week ago Jamie had asked her what she intended to wear to the ceremony. Now she saw he'd used that information to have the piece made for her. Though this gift came in the squire's name, it was another man's caring she saw in it.

To hide the sudden rush of joy she was certain stained her skin, Belle donned the strand and came to her feet. It was long enough to reach to her waist.

“Oh they're lovely, my lady,” Peg said in awe. “As befits a noblewoman of your stature, of course,” she completed.

“They are better than my pin,” Lucy said, trying to rectify her earlier error as she caught her mother’s hand in hers.

A quiet wail woke from Brigit. “I cannot bear it,” she cried, backing slowly toward the door that adjoined the two apartments. “I'll not do it, my lady. I'll not pretend joy at your marriage when you've stolen mine from me.”

“Mistress Atwater!” Peg's voice thundered in the chamber. “You overstep yourself.”

“Nay Peg,” Belle said, holding out a hand to stop her maid. “It's about time she lanced what festers in her. Mayhap once she's purged it she'll regain her good humor.”

Belle looked at the governess. “I took nothing from you, Brigit because there was nothing for me to take. Sir Edward told me he couldn’t ask you to wed him.”

“You lie!” Brigit's childish shout echoed around them. Tears filled her dark eyes then trickled down her cheeks. “You're cruel. Each night you keep me so far from him at the table that we cannot share so much as a single word lest we shout it.”

“Brigit, love,” Belle said with a shake of her head, “if I intended to keep you from Sir Edward, I’d have command you to dine in your chambers. Moreover, there's nothing I can do to keep the knight from speaking to you should he wish to do so. That he doesn’t can only mean he chooses not to engage you in private conversation.”

As she heard the truth Brigit's face twisted in pain. “I don’t believe you! You’ve said something to turn him from me because you’re angry over being forced into wedding the squire. Because you're not happy, you can’t bear for anyone else to be either. You want to ruin my life! Well, I won’t let you. I know what I need to do to win him back. I’ll have him, do you hear?”

Sobbing, she turned and ran through the adjoining door to the nursery. As it slammed after her Lucy whimpered and leaned into Belle's skirts. Belle pulled her daughter close, feeling the weight of her own sin settle upon her shoulders. A good mistress would have found a way to stop Brigit's infatuation the moment it began. Because Belle wasn’t clever enough to know how to do that her wee family had lost the peace and happiness they’d once enjoyed.

“Huh, what sort of gratitude is this for the home and employ you’ve given her?” Peg's voice was harsh, her arms tightly crossed over her bodice. “This is your reward for your leniency, my lady. I’d have had her over my knee months ago.”

“But you're not me,” Belle replied. “And you know very well she doesn’t mean what she says. Give her time. Once the wedding is over and Sir Edward departs she'll come to her senses. I hope,” she finished with a sigh then looked at the closed nursery door. “Perhaps she shouldn’t attend the ceremony?”

Peg gave a huff. “Only perhaps?”

This teased a breath of a laugh from Belle. “As you will. We'll leave her here.”

There was a tap on the door. Peg swept across the room to answer it. It was Tom.

“It's time,” he said. “Sir Edward awaits your lady in the hall to lead her to the church.”

By rights it should have been two unmarried men who led Belle to her wedding, but there were only two unwed men of rank at Graceton, Sir Edward and Jamie. Since Jamie had to serve as the squire’s proxy, that left only the knight to do the deed; there were no appropriate married men to lead her home.

Against such a dearth the wedding party made do with but one tradition: music to make Belle’s way to the church merry.

Unfortunately, simple ownership of an instrument was no guarantee of talent, at least not in this village. It was raucous bleats and piercing squeals that followed Belle and Sir Edward as they exited the castle through the postern gate and crossed the footbridge. The cacophony echoed against Graceton's tall river wall as they made their way down the water's edge toward the church.

A laughing Lucy let the wind blow her ahead of them, her hands pressing her cloak hood to her ears to stop the noise. Not allowed such a remedy Belle gritted her teeth and glanced up at Sir Edward. Despite the concealment of his cloak, she found the same pain Brigit knew etched on his handsome features. Against that she doubted he even heard the noise.

As they neared the village church Belle shook her head. What had once been a tidy little chapel beneath its square Norman tower had been expanded with no attempt to ease the transition from ancient walls built of raw flint nodules, some halved to reveal their dark hearts, to smooth blocks of gray stone. Just as with the ornate hall this had been another selfish expenditure, for the enlargement was to make room for the last Lord Graceton's tomb.

Belle stepped inside the door. Her husband’s grandsire had filled the rear of the church with his final resting place. Pillars of marble rose from the tomb’s four corners to support a stone canopy, the lord lying in effigy atop the crypt’s lid, his final repose peaceful. The last Lord Graceton had been a brawny man with a big nose, full beard and a pinched brow. Kneeling around the base of his tomb in poses of eternal adoration and devotion were statues representing the wife and children who'd gone to their heavenly reward before him.

Sawing out a happy tune, the musicians crowded into the doorway behind her and Sir Edward. As Peg and Lucy escaped up the aisle to claim their places near the altar, Belle stripped off her cloak. Sir Edward took it from her, sacrilegiously draping the garment over the head of one of the old Lord Graceton’s children then offered her his arm.

To an off-key lilt echoing into the rafters above them Belle let him lead her up the aisle, past the many tables heavily laden with food. Everyone from castle and village gathered here this day, their number easily reaching four hundred. Perhaps it was the prospect of a rich meal and a day of celebration that drew them, but there was a smile on almost every face.

Fearing her reaction, Belle had kept her gaze away from the altar for as long as she could bear. Now, as she came to a halt before it, she let her gaze shift to Jamie. Her heart melted. Oh, but he cut a fine figure in those golden-brown garments of his. His doublet displayed the broad line of his shoulders while his ruff clung to his strong jaw line. Beneath his brown stockings and golden garters his legs were well-made indeed.

The corners of his mouth lifted into a small smile as he studied her in return, admiring her, just as she admired him. Their gazes met. That hunger she'd come to know so well these past weeks appeared in his blue eyes. It was for her, only for her.

At last, the musicians lowered their instruments and slipped away into the congregation. In the ensuing quiet those who came to witness coughed and shuffled. Sir Edward released her arm. Belle sent him a thankful glance. With a nod he stepped aside, taking his place as witness just as the queen had commanded of him.

Stepping close to the man she loved, Belle looked up into Jamie’s face, praying he could see her affection for him in her eyes. A sudden current of warmth flowed between them.

Tall and lank, Father William had a cowlick at the back of his head that sent a strand of graying hair skyward. His surplice needed a good darning where the moths had gotten to it and his ruff, a good dose of starch.

He glanced from the bride to the groom's proxy then cleared his throat. “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here in the sight of God and in the face of this company to join together Squire Nicholas Hollier, through his proxy Master James Wyatt, and Lady Arabella Purfoy in holy matrimony,” he intoned.

A faithful woman would have listened to the words. Indeed, a faithful woman would have put herself to contemplating the meaning of the rite as she prepared to enter marriage's holy estate. Belle tried, she truly did, but she kept losing herself to the heavenly sensation of standing so near to Jamie.

“If there is any man among you who can show just cause why this couple should not be lawfully joined together let him now speak or else hereafter forever hold his peace.” The minister's voice boomed as he offered the challenge.

Belle started. She hadn’t realized they’d gotten so far into the ceremony. Not expecting an objector from among these humble folk Belle didn’t recognize the sudden hush of the watchers. Then whispers hissed among the congregation. Beside her Jamie drew a swift sharp breath. Belle looked to see what was happening.

Standing at the back of the church was a woman. Beneath a heavy brown cloak she wore a red bodice and brown skirt. A simple kerchief covered her dark hair. Misery pinched her thin face as she stared up the aisle.

Wondering who she was, Belle glanced at Jamie. Pity darkened his gaze. It said he not only knew her, he cared about her.

The same couldn’t be said for those who watched. Their whispers grew into a deep and threatening muttering. Men pushed their womenfolk behind them while mothers hid their children. Near Belle a pregnant woman gasped and turned her face to the side, her hand clutched protectively to the bulge of her belly. Across the congregation many a hand rose, fingers crossed to ward off evil.

“Cecily Elwyn.” The chaplain’s voice again echoed up into the rafters overhead, his tone uncertain. “Have you anything to say against this wedding?”

In the doorway the woman gave a quiet cry then she whirled and ran from the church. Jamie took a step as if he meant to follow her only to catch himself. There was a new tension in his shoulders when he again faced the minister.