“You are pleased, then, with marriage?” Evangeline said the first thing that popped in her head. “What I mean is, marriage is something I have never been near enough to observe. I am very close to Muriel, as we are together every day. I imagine marriage is similar to that—a close sort of depending upon each other. And yet I had hoped marriage could be . . . romantic.”
Richard’s gaze wandered to the ceiling for a moment as though he was thinking. “You have made a good description of it, a close sort of depending upon each other. Muriel is your companion, more than a servant, but marriage is nothing like the relationship between a servant and master. Or it should not be. It is a bit like two souls becoming connected, a stronger bond, even, than friendship or family. You shall understand the mystery I speak of, my dear, once you and Shiveley have been married for a few months.”
Hearing him describe that type of bond was beginning to stir a longing inside her—until he mentioned Shiveley. She had no wish to have that sort of bond with him. In fact, the very thought made her sick in her stomach.
Should she try to convince the king that Lord Shiveley was not as virtuous, perhaps, as he thought? That she sensed an ugliness of character to match his less-than-handsome face? That the thought of kissing the man and becoming his wife made her fear she might never be able to eat again?
“Perhaps I will come with you to the Great Hall after all,” the king said. “I am feeling more rested now.”
“Very good.” Evangeline let out a relieved breath. At least she would not be alone with Shiveley.
They walked down the keep steps to the Great Hall where all the guests were waiting. Lord Shiveley’s eyes widened when he saw the king, and he shifted his feet as Evangeline and Richard approached.
“I thought you would eat in your room, Your Majesty.” Shiveley stood, waiting for the king to be seated at the end of the table.
“I changed my mind.”
They sat at the long table with a few other lords and advisors who had traveled with the king, as well as several knights at a separate table.
Evangeline settled herself a few seats away from Richard, allowing some of the earls and barons to sit between her and their monarch, on the opposite side of the table from Lord Shiveley.
The king caught her eye and motioned to her. “I insist you sit beside your future husband. Come, over here.”
Everyone turned to see to whom the king was motioning.
She tried to think of an excuse. Finally, she had no choice but to stand and move to the other side of the table. With as much dignity as she could muster, she sat primly beside Lord Shiveley.
King Richard introduced Evangeline to the nearby guests as Lionel of Antwerp’s daughter and the soon-to-be wife of Lord Shiveley. Evangeline barely heard the guests’ names as she acknowledged each of them with a nod.
The food began arriving, and thankfully Lord Shiveley and the king were listening to an earl tell about his hunt for a deer earlier that afternoon. She talked with the woman next to her—the only other woman at the table—about her journey. The woman was the wife of one of the courtiers, a baron, and they were traveling with the king but would be separating from his retinue soon to go to their home in Derbyshire.
Evangeline was even able to eat some of the food, as it seemed Lord Shiveley would continue to ignore her through the entire meal. As she reached for her goblet, her elbow brushed against his arm. She snatched her arm away as if she’d touched a hot ember.
She felt Lord Shiveley’s eyes on her, but she refused to look at him. From the corner of her eye, she saw him lean toward her. The urge to lean away from him nearly overwhelmed her, but she controlled it. His voice rumbled near her ear, “You are not afraid of me, are you, Evangeline? I do not want a wife who is afraid of me.”
Her spine stiffened and she glanced at him. “Of course I am not afraid of you.”
For several moments he said nothing. Then he leaned even closer, so close she felt his hot breath in her ear, as he growled, “You may not care for me, but you will submit to me.”
Her cheeks burned. She glanced at the king. He was laughing at something someone on the other side of the table had said. Lord Shiveley’s hand pressed against her back. She squirmed, but there was no way to escape the hand without slapping it away or otherwise drawing attention to herself.
Evangeline turned to Lady Pettwood. “Will you walk with me to my room? I am feeling unwell.”
“Yes, of course, my dear. I am very tired myself.”
Evangeline stood, breaking away from Shiveley’s touch. She only had to wait a moment for Lady Pettwood to tell her husband she was leaving, and the two of them took their leave of the king, curtsying and hurrying away.
“Will you be well?” Lady Pettwood seemed genuinely concerned.
“I shall be well in the morning. I only need to go to bed early.”
“It is to be your wedding day.” Lady Pettwood patted Evangeline’s arm. “Do you need me to tell you what to expect? My own daughters are too young yet to need to be told any—”
“No, no, I assure you, I do not need . . . no, though I thank you, Lady Pettwood.”