“No,” I say, careful not to smile. “I was passing through on my family’s business.”
I watch as she mentally combs through the coastal area of Brest, trying to determine what business Duval was up to. After another moment, her lovely mask falls back into place. “You must forgive me,” she says, “but my son has kept so completely to himself until now, I scarcely know how to credit your presence.”
I make my eyes wide and innocent. “But madame, clearly the two of you are estranged, so perhaps he has simply not mentioned such relationships to you.”
Her mouth grows ugly and flat at this blatant reminder, but she bites back her retort as a servant places a tray of spiced wine in front of us. By the time the servant leaves, she has composed herself. I pick up a wine goblet, and she leans forward, changing the subject. “Not all men are the same, you know. with someone such as Gavriel, I would suggest appearing aloof, not chasing too much. He might see that as suffocating rather than charming.” Her words are sharp, but her voice is sweet, like honey on the edge of a blade, and meant to be cutting. I comfort myself with the knowledge that if Duval ever feels smothered by me, it will be because I am holding a pillow over his face and commending his soul to Mortain.
She frowns and continues her prattling. "Why ever did you think it would be a good idea to chase him down? Is that what girls do in the village you come from?”
“I was not chasing him, madame, merely trying to deliver a message. It came after he left this morning and I thought to deliver it myself.”
Hivern holds up her hands in mock horror. “You are his paramour, not his servant. Do not follow him like a dog follows his master.”
My hand tightens on my wine goblet, and I am glad it is silver, not glass, for surely it would shatter under the force of my annoyance with this woman. “Madame, I assure you — ”
“Oh, call me Antoinette, won’t you? I think we shall be fast friends, you and I.”
“Do you think that is a good idea, given the breach between you and your son?”
A hint of cold fury flickers across her face, then is gone. “Perhaps you can help us to heal this rift.”
I set my goblet down on the table and give Madame Hivern my most innocent look. “Is that why you were looking for him? To call a truce?”
Annoyance crosses her face, and she casts about the room as if searching for a distraction. Apparently she finds one, for her expression softens and her eyes shine with the first true emotion she has shown. “My darling!” Hivern’s face is alight with pleasure. “Do come here, I have someone I would like you to meet.”
The man who approaches is tall and slender with dark eyes and fine features and is far too young to be her lover, and yet she has called him darling. He gives me a cautious, considering look, then bends to kiss Hivern’s cheek.
“Ismae, I would like you to meet my son Fran?ois Avaugour. Fran?ois, this is Ismae, Gavriel’s new friend.”
If he has heard tell of his brother’s “friend,” he gives no indication. He bends gallantly over my hand. “Enchanté, demoiselle. Any friend of my brother’s is a friend of mine.”
I murmur some nonsense back, and Madame Hivern pats the seat next to her. “Come join us, my love.”
“But of course.” Fran?ois takes the chair close to Hivern so that he faces me. “How can I resist the two loveliest ladies at court?”
I long to roll my eyes at his words, but I peer up at him through my lashes instead.
“Gavriel’s friend is not used to such polished manners, Fran?ois. She has been too long in the country. You should offer to guide her through her first visit to court when your brother is tending to his other duties.”
His liquid brown eyes meet mine. “I can think of nothing that would give me more pleasure, demoiselle.”
“You are too kind,” I murmur, pleased at how easily I have been pulled into the bosom of Duval’s family. They must hunger after his secrets as much as I hunger after theirs.
“My son was born and raised at court and can steer you safely through its treacherous waters.”
“But surely milord Duval will do that,” I protest.
“Duval can do what?” a deep, familiar voice asks.
“Gavriel!” Hivern’s voice is full of gaiety that is as false as her heart. "What a lovely surprise. we were just getting to know your friend a little better. She is such a charming thing.”
The warm, heavy weight of Duval’s hand settles on my shoulder and I am rendered speechless as he bends down and places a kiss atop my head.
“Dearest Ismae,” Duval says. "Whatever are you doing here? Not that it isn’t a delightful surprise.”
Merde. I have been so busy matching wits with Madame Hivern that I have not given any thought to an explanation for my presence here at court.