Laura understood that last. After Clarice’s birth, she had averted her gaze and held her arms close lest someone try to place the infant in them. If not for Maude’s persistence that had been moved to anger, Laura might not have looked upon her child, might not have held her.
It had been difficult, and how she had cried those first times and been repulsed by the babe at her breast, but that had passed. And her heart had opened to Clarice and seen her daughter. Mostly. Clarice did not have her mother’s eyes. Unfortunately, though Laura loved the girl, it had been easier to allow Maude to love her better.
As Lothaire stared, he silently rebuked himself for being so quick to gain his feet. He was as saddle weary as he was determined none would see what went behind his face these past days as he drew nearer life with the woman he had believed lost to him.
The moment he had seen the dark-haired girl trailed by her mother, he had reacted as he should rather than as he wished. Here was the one who had lain beneath Laura’s hand that day at the pond—the reason for their broken betrothal. But though he had expected to be repulsed, he saw only a girl years from a woman, an innocent tainted by her mother’s sin. And as she neared, he saw in the eyes fixed to his that she but tried to appear bold. Vulnerability and uncertainty dwelt there.
“Lord Soames, this is my daughter, Clarice.” Laura halted a reach away. “Clarice, my betrothed, Lord Soames.”
Lothaire inclined his head. “Clarice.”
The girl curtsied. “Lord Soames.”
He glanced at Laura and wished away the pleading in her eyes—wished he had not spoken words that made her believe he would behave poorly toward her child. “I am pleased to meet you, Clarice. On the morrow we shall journey to the barony of Lexeter, my—” He smiled tautly. “Your home. I hope you will be comfortable at High Castle.”
“Are there—?” She closed her mouth.
“What?”
She shrugged. “Other children?”
“I have none of my own.” He looked to Laura. “Yet.”
His betrothed’s eyes lowered, but not before he glimpsed what seemed fear. And wished that away as well. Though she was no longer pure, their marriage would be consummated and he would know her often enough to gain an heir. Mayhap several, though he had said he required only one. But she need not fear him in bed any more than outside it. A child was what he wanted, not revenge.
“However,” he continued, “there are servants’ children with whom you may play.”
“Babies?”
“A few.”
“I will have brothers and sisters?”
Feeling Michael D’Arci’s gaze, he said, “God willing, those as well.”
Clarice took a small step forward. “Mother says I am to call you Lord Soames for now. What am I to call you when she is your wife?”
Lothaire’s chest tightened. In looks she resembled her mother, but more so in her forthright manner that Laura had revealed of herself that day they had first walked—then run—to the pond.
He raised his eyebrows. “What would you like to call me?”
“I have long wanted a father. If you are good to me and my mother, that I would call you.” She raised her eyebrows. “If you agree.”
“I will be good to your mother and you.” That was answer enough. He looked to D’Arci and his wife. “If my chamber is ready, I shall refresh myself ere supper.”
Lady Beatrix smiled. “If ’tis not, soon it shall be. Come. And you, Lady Laura. Our children shall sleep in the solar this eve so Clarice and you may have their chamber to yourselves.”
Laura murmured her thanks and followed the lady, and Lothaire stepped past Clarice who seemed of a mind to remain belowstairs. That made him wonder. Though mother and daughter had been reunited whilst he waited in the hall, they could not have had more than a quarter hour together. Should not the girl wish to stay near Laura after so long a parting?
He could not accurately gauge mother-daughter relations by comparing them to the disagreeable Lady Raisa and his sister, but there seemed something missing between Clarice and her mother.
Shortly, Laura closed the door of the chamber alongside the solar, and Lady Beatrix led him to a room at the far end of the corridor.
“’Tis ready.” She motioned him inside.
He stepped over the threshold and started to close the door. “I thank you, my lady.”
“Lord Soames?”
He stilled. “Lady Beatrix?”
“I fear I t-trespass,” she stuttered as if nervous, “I pray you will forgive me, but my husband and I are fond of Lady Laura and her daughter—so much that were the lady not fearful of being a burden and determined to provide Clarice a home of her own, we would have them remain with us.”
Then Laura had not needed to seek a husband she did not want. Because she truly did not wish to burden D’Arci and his wife? Or did she weary of no position of her own, she who was to have been a baron’s wife?
“Thus,” Lady Beatrix continued, “we would be assured they are happy with you.”
He was not going to like this. “Speak, Lady Beatrix. If I can, I will put your mind at ease. If I cannot, you will have to accept I have good cause.”
She looked dismayed, then annoyed. “I know once you were betrothed to Lady Laura, and I know you broke the betrothal when—”
“I did not break it.”
She blinked.
“Though I would have had Lady Maude not done so.”
Her nose wrinkled, reminding him of a rabbit, albeit a beautiful one. “And yet now you shall wed a woman you believe cuckolded you.”
Bitter laughter broke from him. “Believe? Are you so slow of mind you forget I just met her daughter?”
Her eyes flew wide, replacing the image of the rabbit with that of a hawk who made prey of that other lovely creature.
“I am but slow of tongue, Lord Soames. You are the one slow of mind.” She drew a deep breath. “But I make allowances for your ignorance. At least, I hope that is all it is. If ’tis cruelty…” Now she flashed a smile that brought to mind a wolf. “I give warning. Not only does Lady Laura have a friend in my lord husband, but one amongst the Wulfriths.”
He should not be surprised. “Abel Wulfrith is your brother?”
“A most beloved brother.”
Lothaire nodded. “I met him last year upon the barony of Wiltford the day Sir Durand and Lady Beata wed.” Following annulment of Lothaire’s marriage to that lady, which could have ended in spilled blood had he not overtaken the men sent by his mother to murder the newlywed couple, he did not say.
Lady Beatrix appeared taken aback. “Well, assuredly you know our family’s reputation, even if you have had no occasion to engage my brother at swords.”
“I have had occasion. Several. He offered to hone my sword skill at Wulfen, and I accepted. Had the queen not summoned me to court and offered a great incentive to wed Lady Laura, I would be training with Sir Abel now.”
She blinked. “Regardless, as I shall count it an offense should you ill treat Lady Laura and her daughter, so shall my husband and brothers.”