“I did. As expected, it was not well received—an offense to my sister, an inconvenience to my mother.”
That last surprised only for its honesty. It seemed she was not alone in believing the woman who had slammed the face of her son’s betrothed onto the table was too unfeeling to love. Had she always been? And was it possible Lothaire would believe Laura were she to reveal her encounter with Lady Raisa—that her slap had been provoked?
She was tempted to test him, but as naught had transpired between her and the lady since, perhaps it was best consigned to the past. But if Lothaire did not soon remove the woman from High Castle…
“For what else did you seek me here?” he asked.
Trying not to be unnerved by his impatience, she said, “This day your sister accused me of flirting with Sir Angus whilst he aided me in directing the servants.”
“I am aware.”
Of course he was. Sebille had warned she would protect him from further betrayal.
“My mother told me,” he said, “not my sister.”
She pressed her shoulders back. “Regardless, there is no truth to it.”
“I am glad.”
Glad, but no acknowledgement of her innocence, nor disbelief over the accusation. Now herself impatient to seek her bed, she said, “Your sister indicated Lexeter’s financial difficulties are due to the excesses of a grieving wife.”
Something not quite a smile touched his lips. “She would not have you believe I am at fault for our reduced circumstances.”
“I did not think you were. After all, our first betrothal was sought for my generous dowry.”
He frowned.
“Lady Maude was thorough as my father required. Thus, I was aware the dowry was of greater import than the possibility of mutual happiness. It made me sad until your second visit when we—” She closed her mouth. He did not need to be told what already he knew of their beautiful courtship. Though he believed she had cuckolded him in the end, he could not question how enthralled she had been with the young man who, shed of his mother, had proven they could be wondrously happy.
As if Lothaire was also uncomfortable dabbling in a past that had promised much and delivered naught, he said, “What Sebille believes is mostly true. Months following our father’s disappearance, our mother accepted he was dead and began indulging in the things denied her whilst he lived—finery like that gifted his mistresses, elaborate furnishings, choice foodstuffs, the best French wines. When the steward protested the lightening of Lexeter’s coffers, she dismissed him, took charge of the finances, and cast coin where she pleased. Had our father’s wool business been given the attention it required, the barony could have afforded many of her extravagances, but she had not the mind nor care for such. Shortly after you broke our betrothal, I wrested control of Lexeter from her. But too much damage was done.”
His tale made her ache, that last more so. She had known she hurt him deeply the day she turned from the pond to reveal her reason for rejecting him, but to learn of the burden he had carried alongside that pain…
“It was a difficult year,” he said, “one in which I was able to keep hold of Lexeter by selling off most of the costly furnishings and some of my mother’s fine clothes.”
She wished she had been at his side…
“The barony’s recovery has been slow, so when the opportunity to sooner set it aright was offered in the form of a wealthy heiress—my first wife, Lady Edeva—I took it.” He fell silent, then said, “Now we return to the matter of my second wife, if Lady Beata can be named that.”
Guessing the tale was not one quickly told, Laura settled into her feet.
“Come.” He drew her to the nearest bench, and keeping a respectable distance between them, lowered beside her. “Lady Beata’s father, realizing he was about to lose another infant son to sickness, summoned his daughter from France to take her place as his heir. As this outspoken and rather inappropriate lady was widowed by a man of so great an age she was more a daughter to him, she was called The Vestal Wife. You have heard of her?”
“I have, and that after she lost her husband she was called the Vestal Widow.”
He inclined his head. “Lest the king and queen undertake to wed her to a favorite, Lady Beata’s father attempted to hide the loss of his infant son until he found a husband of greater benefit to his family than to the royal coffers. The lady’s reputation being well known, he had few good prospects. Thus, seeing the potential in Lexeter’s wool, he approached me, confident my need for funds would cause me to overlook her faults. It could not have been easy for him since my father was last seen alive upon his family’s demesne and my mother had long accused them of being responsible for his disappearance.”
“As they were,” Laura prompted.
“Aye, though ’twas not known for certain until the lady’s father enlisted me to aid in stealing her away from Sir Durand, who was to ensure she did not wed without Queen Eleanor’s permission.”
“You forced her to marry you.”
Lothaire eyed her. “I was getting to that, but my trespass against the lady began further back when I required proof she was, indeed, vestal.”
“Proof?”
Despite the dim, she saw a muscle in his jaw convulse. “At my mother’s urging, her physician accompanied me to the barony of Wiltford and the lady was persuaded to undergo an examination.”
Laura had heard such might be done were it suspected a woman would not come to the marriage bed virtuous, but mere imagining of that humiliation so repulsed, her face surely reflected it.
“It was wrong of me, but”—Lothaire’s gaze upon her sharpened—“once, for a time, I had a lady pure of heart, mind, and body. A lady turned only to me.”
The young Laura Middleton. Were she not sitting, her knees might fail her. Sinking her hands into her skirt, she said, “Twice cuckolded, you wished your second wife pure as Lady Edeva and I were not.”
His brow lowered. “Sebille and you talked much.”
“Where her beloved brother is concerned, she believes I am in need of counsel.”
His searching gaze disturbed her, but finally he said, “I sought purity, in part to salve a battered pride, but more for the chance of life with one who did not long for another as my father had done, one whose arms only opened to me as mine would to her.”
“You are saying your first wife longed for another whilst you were wed?”
His tension leapt—so deeply felt she glanced at her hands to be certain they had not strayed to him.
“Of course you wish to know about that as well,” he growled.