Baron Geffoy casts an admiring glance at Duval. "Except perhaps for his older brother. If I remember correctly, he was never beaten — ”
“Those days are long gone,” Duval says, abruptly dismissing the baron’s attempt at flattery. As Duval lifts his goblet and drains it, and there is a brief moment of awkward silence. Lady Katerine tries to brush over it.
"We have had uncommonly good hunting this year,” she says, but once again Madame Hivern turns the conversation and begins prattling of Fran?ois and his prowess at hunting and how he speared a wild boar single handedly in last week’s hunt.
Is that what lies between them? Does she favor Fran?ois so much that it has driven Duval to hate her? It happens thus in families sometimes, especially the noble ones, where favor translates into titles and holdings. I glance over at Duval, but he looks pointedly at his plate, cutting his venison with angry, precise movements.
I turn my attention across the table to Madame Hivern. Her gown is the color of emeralds and is cut even lower than mine, leaving her entire shoulders exposed as well as revealing the profuse swell of her womanly charms.
“Gavriel, dear,” she drawls. "Who is this maid of yours again and why is she staring at me as if I am a five-legged calf?”
I blush furiously, for I had thought them all so involved in their conversations and plots that they wouldn’t notice my scrutiny.
Duval tosses me a glance, as if to show he is bearing my presence with little grace. “Forgive her, madame. She was raised in the country and is no doubt struck dumb by your beauty and elegance.”
“As are we all,” Baron Geffoy adds, completely missing the deep irony in Duval’s voice. Lady Katerine, however, does not.
“Is she what caused you to stray so far from your young duchess’s side?” Hivern smirks.
Duval lifts his goblet and takes a sip of wine. “I did not stray anywhere. I had business to attend to on behalf of the duchess.”
Madame Hivern looks sharply at me. "Where did you say you were from?”
“She didn’t,” says Duval, and while I do not like that he is speaking for me, I cannot even pretend to understand what is going on between them.
“Have you news of the French?” Baron Geffoy asks. He is no longer jovial but tense and bristly, and for the first time since meeting him, I think I would not want to face him in pitched battle. “There have been rumors of their troops amassing in the north.”
Duval gives a firm shake of his head. “No. There have been no troop sightings or even signs of scouting parties. Your information is mistaken. The duchess has the matter well in hand.”
Madame Hivern leans forward, eyes glittering. “Does she, Gavriel? Does she truly? For it does not appear that way from where I sit.”
Across the table their eyes meet. “That is because you choose not to see it, madame.” His words are tight and hard, like stones from a catapult. “As always, you see precisely what you want to see and no more.” He casts his unflinching regard toward the head of the table, where Baron Geffoy pays careful attention to the slices of pheasant on his plate. Duval stares at him for a long moment before returning his attention to Hivern. “Beware, madame,” he says softly. “Politics can be far more dangerous than you know.” It takes me a full beat to recognize that this is no general advice but a very specific warning. But of what?
She, too, appears puzzled by his words, but before she can speak, Duval turns to me. I barely keep from recoiling at the simmering fury in his gaze. “Since we leave at first light, it would be wise to retire early.” He rises and holds his arm out to me and I quickly get to my feet, thank Lady Katerine for her hospitality, and let Duval lead me away.
Duval escorts me from the room, his lightly banked fury propelling us at a rapid pace, and I am nearly breathless when we arrive at my chamber. I start to ask a question, but he cuts me off with a curt good night, opens my door, and fair shoves me inside, then shuts it with unmistakable finality.
I am alone, and grateful for it, but angry too. It is not my fault he and Hivern have nearly come to blows.
I cannot guess what lies between them, what sort of fallingout they have had. It seems far too heated a feud to be based on Duval’s resenting his mother’s affection for his brother. And how does Geffoy play into all this? For he sat there looking as guilty as Annith did when she was caught snooping through Sister Beatriz’s love poems.
Or was that it? Is the baron contemplating a liaison with Madame Hivern, and is Duval trying to discourage it? De Lornay claimed Duval had the morals of a monk, so perhaps that is at the heart of his and his mother’s animosity: he believes she is taking another lover far too soon after his father’s death.