“Was he, Laura?”
Though her daughter’s willing participation would reflect poorly on Clarice, she could not lie. “He did not force her.”
Now Lothaire hesitated, but though she steeled herself for a knowing glint in his eyes, it did not appear. “As I can attest, boys—even girls—are wont to test the breadth of adulthood ere they are prepared for the consequences,” he said.
To which she could also attest, and not only from the intimacies shared with him.
“However,” he continued, “’tis unlikely Clarice and the boy’s explorations would have progressed further.”
Laura gasped. “Perhaps not then, but eventually he would have ruined her.”
“You do not know that.”
“Do I not?” She surged to her feet, and though she told herself to close her mouth, the rest tumbled out. “Know you how his mother defended him when I told her what I stopped? She said of course her son did not respect one whom all knew to be misbegotten, especially since Clarice was willing to follow her mother’s example. The lady’s only concession was to agree it best her son gain his experience with a girl more easily set out of their household should he get her with child.” Realizing she was shaking, she gripped the table’s edge. “Concession, not consolation. No assurance that what happened to me…” She scoffed. “I need not tell you of my ruin.”
The soft went out of his eyes. “Indeed you need not.” It was so quietly said she felt the hurt of all those years past when she had turned from the pond to reveal the reason for their broken betrothal. In that moment, she longed to tell him all as Michael advised ere they wed. And she might have had he not said, “Do you love him still?”
“Him?”
“Your daughter believes if I can make you fall in love with me as you loved her father, our marriage will be a good one.”
Another blow. Never had Laura spoken ill of Clarice’s sire when she was unable to avoid talk of him, just as never had she spoken well of him. “Sh-she said that?”
“Aye, that for love and loss of her father she has only known you to be sorrowful.”
It was so far from the truth it was tragic. Was that how Lady Maude had explained Laura’s long sleep to Clarice, or had the girl devised the story to fill what might be becoming a widening hole?
She shook her head. “She knows naught of what she speaks.”
“Mayhap, but that does not answer my question.”
Of whether she yet loved the man with whom he believed she betrayed him. Before she could determine if now was the time to reveal the circumstances of Clarice’s conception, he said, “What is Michael D’Arci to you?”
She stared. And understood. But did he truly suspect Michael of impropriety? “The same as ever he has been—like a brother. Why do you ask?” When he did not answer, she said, “Surely you do not think he and I—”
“I know not what to think, Laura.”
He did believe it possible, and it was painfully amusing how near the truth he was. His only error was that he had the wrong brother. Doubtless, here was the reason he had turned cooler toward Michael and her the morn of their departure from Castle Soaring.
As the rain fell harder, no longer tapping—now slashing at the shutters—Laura felt every one of this day’s hours. Or was it every one of the hours since Simon had stolen her happiness? Those too.
Wondering how they had moved from her attempt to comfort Lothaire over his loss of a sire to the loss of his first betrothed, she released her hold on the table. “All I shall say is that you do Michael D’Arci a grave wrong in thinking such ill of him. And now I am most tired.” She skirted the table, crossed the kitchen, and left him alone with his ill-founded suspicions.
Chapter 21
Blisters. A dozen or more small, red-ringed bumps.
She had not known of them until she scratched an itch and her fingertips tripped over the swellings. Holding her breath, she turned her hands front to back. Both afflicted, the left more than the right.
“Dear Lord,” she whispered.
Tina finished lacing the back of her lady’s gown and came around. “Milady?”
Laura retreated a step, held out her hands. “There is something wrong with me.”
The maid’s eyes widened. “So there is, milady.”
Laura’s next words were choked. “The pox?”
Tina bit her lip, and when she moved closer to examine the blisters, Laura lurched back and sat down hard in the chair. “Pray, come no nearer.”
The maid continued forward. “I will not touch, milady. Now hold out yer hands so I may look close upon them, for I have seen the pox at its worst.”
Laura did as told.
Tina leaned this way and that, shook her head. “I am fair certain this be not the pox.”
“What then?”
“I cannot say.” The maid straightened. “Though ye will not like consulting the physician, methinks ye ought to.”
Laura snatched her hands to her waist. “Indeed I do not like it.”
“He will know more than I, milady.”
The thought of being touched by the man whose examination had humiliated Lady Beata made Laura’s stomach roil.
“I should summon him, milady?”
She looked to her hands again, hoped it mere imagining more blisters had arisen. “Aye, but after Clarice and my betrothed have departed.”
“What should I tell Lord Soames?”
Laura was to have accompanied him and her daughter to observe the sheep shearing this second day following the burial of Ricard Soames. Doubtless, they awaited her in the hall.
“As I would not have Clarice alarmed nor disrupt the baron’s day, tell him I slept poorly and require further rest. When they are gone, send the physician to me.”
Tina hastened from the chamber.
Clenching her hands to keep from raking at blisters that had begun to burn, Laura tried to distract herself by deciding what to do with a day whose plans were ruined. If the physician allayed her fears and provided a salve to relieve the discomfort, she would make a menu for next week’s meals, then once more apply herself to the wedding gown Tina had completed the morn of the burial.
She looked to where she had draped it over the chair opposite. It was over-embellished, Tina determined to make use of every bauble of the queen’s generosity. Even had Lothaire not expressed a preference for Laura’s simpler gowns, she would have been uncomfortable in such splendor. Blessedly, Tina had not seemed offended when her lady told the garment was too elaborate and apologized for not paying closer attention beyond its embroidery.
Tina had said she would remove the pearls and silver beads, but Laura had declined and sat up late last eve snipping them away. It was no easy task, the maid’s stitches and knots tight to the cloth, but another hour and it would be done—providing Laura’s affliction did not prove dire.
Shortly, Tina reported Lothaire and Clarice had departed and the physician would come after he gave Lady Raisa her medicinals.
“Did Baron Soames seem upset?” Laura asked where she sat on her hands to keep from scratching at them.
“Nay, milady.”