CHAPTER TWELVE
Everything was building up to a spectacular first night of the Chadlington celebration.
After delivering the birthday pup to Jillayne, Belladonna was only able to spend a few moments with the woman before she was pulled away by her mother and servants for a final fitting of her party dress. But she took the dog with her, so very happy for her gift. Belladonna’s last glimpse of tiny, blonde Jillayne was as she hugged the puppy and kissed it, even as she was pulled away.
Pleased that her friend loved the gift but saddened that she wasn’t able to spend a few moments with her, Belladonna had returned to the Savernake encampment with Aston. Once the man had delivered her to the camp, he left her to go about his duties and Belladonna returned to the carriage where her sisters and father were still sleeping. Lulled by the steady sounds of heavy breathing and occasional snoring, Belladonna lay down to rest and promptly fell asleep.
When she awoke, it was to someone knocking on the carriage door. Yawning, she opened it to find Dashiell standing there. He smiled at her and told her that their tents were ready for occupation, so she woke her family and they all staggered to their tents where braziers had been lit and beds had been made. Her father had his own tent, a massive one, while Acacia and Belladonna shared the tent next to it. Lily, unfortunately, was relegated to the tent she shared with Clayton.
They were warm, luxurious accommodations and Belladonna promptly climbed into the bed that the servants had made to try and get a little more sleep before the day truly commenced but, unfortunately, it was impossible because of the noise going on around them.
While some of the soldiers were trying to catch a bit of sleep after the long night, still others were awake, establishing a perimeter around the camp, shouting orders back and forth. The long morning turned into a short afternoon because Belladonna could no longer take the shouting and the commotion. Moreover, she was very excited for the festivities that evening, and sleep simply wouldn’t come. Therefore, she rose while Acacia slept like the dead, and began the process of primping for the feast that evening.
Although the three sisters had a veritable fleet of maids, Belladonna preferred to do much of her personal grooming on her own. Unpacking one of her trunks, the one that contained the tunics for Dashiell, she had a servant run the tunics over to him while she pulled forth the garment she intended to wear – a beautiful mustard-yellow damask with silk accents, and a matching shift.
Donning layers of garments did require help. As the sun began to wane in the west, the maids helped her secure the elaborate dress as Acacia finally awoke and decided she should probably dress, too.
As Acacia stumbled about, bemoaning the fact that her dresses weren’t nearly as beautiful as her sister’s, Belladonna went about styling her hair. She liked to play with hairstyles and she was very good at it. In fact, she had a styling tool that she’d purchased from a merchant who said it had come all the way from Rome, a tube of bronze with a long handle, wooden at the end. When the bronze tube was placed in hot coals for a minute, removed and slightly cooled, wrapping hair around it would curl the hair beautifully.
The bronze curling rod was kept in a satchel along with combs and other hair implements. Belladonna heated the rod in the coals of the brazier and patiently curled her entire head of hair into a cascade of spiral curls. The maids helped a little, but she was determined to do the job herself. With the front of her hair pulled back and bejeweled butterfly combs keeping it neatly pulled back, her hair was positively glorious.
All throughout the encampment now, dusk was falling and the sounds of the night were filling the air along with the smoke from the cooking fires. The herald from Chadlington Castle was walking through the encampment, announcing the feast and inviting guests up to the castle.
As Belladonna finished with her hair, she could hear the man wandering through the camp. Her belly began to twitch with excitement as she thought of Dashiell escorting her to the feast. It would be their first official event together.
Still, she could hardly believe any of this was real. She’d spent so many years pining for the man. Now that her dreams were a reality, she still felt as if it were surreal. Very shortly, Dashiell would show up outside of her tent and he would be dressed in a tunic she made for him herself. Never had a garment been so lovingly sewn. It was enough to send her into giddy fits.
Truly, she never thought she could be so happy.
Outside the tent, she could still hear the herald, so she rushed to the heavy case that held the jewelry. Belladonna’s mother had quite a collection, inherited from generations of her family, and all of that jewelry was passed down to her daughters. They wore it whenever they wished, always to pack it back up into the iron-fortified case that would then be put under guard.
As she lifted the top of the case, rubies and emeralds glittered in the weak light of the tent. Belladonna was looking for a particular necklace, one that was strung with fat pearls and a pendant on the end of it that was made of gold, pearl, and amber. It would be perfect with the dress and after some careful poking around, she found it in its satin pouch. Pulling it forth, she put the magnificent piece around her neck and stood back to look at herself in the polished bronze mirror.
With her curled hair and spectacular dress, Belladonna truly felt beautiful. One of the maids presented her with a small pot of beeswax, with a little ocher in it, that turned her lips a faint shade of red when she smoothed it on. It was such a decadent touch, but one that made all the difference in the world. The young woman gazing back at her in the mirror was someone confident and happy.
As Belladonna looked at herself, she was coming to think that she looked older somehow, but this was the woman she’d always dreamed she would become – one that was loved by the man she loved best in the world.
It showed on everything about her.
“Bella, help me,” Acacia said, breaking into her train of thought. “This dress is too plain for the feast tonight and I do not know what to do about it. What should I do with my hair?”
Belladonna’s happy feelings fled. She turned to her sister, the one she’d been avoiding since that horrible event she’d witnessed. Acacia didn’t seem to understand that Belladonna didn’t want to talk to her, but before Belladonna ignored her plea completely, she remembered what Dashiell had said about it – do not treat her any differently, for she will want to know why.
Perhaps that was true, but it was very difficult to look into Acacia’s face and not explode at her.
“Why are you asking me such a thing?” she said with bitterness in her tone that suggested she would not help. “All you have ever done is criticize me when I wear a pretty garment or dress my hair. You have told me that my vanity is a sin, and now you want my help?”
Acacia tried not to look too contrite or too defensive. “Then don’t help me,” she hissed, turning away. “I will do it myself.”
Belladonna knew she should probably feel bad about the situation, but she couldn’t bring herself to. She was too disgusted with her sister to be nice to her, even after what Dashiell had told her. As she watched Acacia paw through her mother’s jewels, she turned away and addressed one of the maids.
“Send word to Sir Dashiell,” she said. “Tell him that I am ready for him.”
The maid nodded and fled the tent. As Belladonna went to one of her capcases and pulled forth a finely spun shawl, white in color with an edging of gold thread, she heard Acacia speak.
“Why did you send for Dash?” she asked.
Belladonna didn’t look at her as she settled the shawl over her shoulders. Knowing what she knew about her sister and Clayton, she didn’t want to tell her anything that might make it back to the man. She knew she could trust Lily, but Acacia was now another matter altogether. She and Acacia had never been terribly close but, now, Belladonna felt as if there was even more of a barrier between them than ever before.
“He has agreed to be my escort,” she said stiffly. “One cannot attend a party without one. Who shall be escorting you?”
Acacia looked at her with some chagrin. “I… I do not know,” she said. “I suppose any of the knights could. Where is Bent? Or Aston?”
Belladonna couldn’t summon one ounce of pity for the woman. “Mayhap, you should have thought about this before you came along,” she said. “You did not bring any fine clothing and you do not have an escort. You do not even like parties, Acacia. You have told me in the past that they are nothing but sinful orgies. I do not even know why you are here!”
Acacia was trying not to look too unsure of herself as Belladonna snapped at her. Truth be told, she was here because Clayton was here. She hadn’t seen the man in his four months away from Ramsbury when he was on battle campaign, but in the week that he had been returned, Acacia felt as if something between them had changed.
In her mind, something between them had deepened.
He hadn’t told her that he’d missed her, as she had told him, but his actions had spoken for him. Clayton had bedded her more than usual, at least twice a day since his return, giving Acacia a sense of comfort and of being wanted, and the truth was that she didn’t want him to go to this party without her. If he needed her, she wanted to be nearby, although with Lily sharing his tent, she wasn’t sure if such a thing would be possible.
Still, she wanted to be near the man. She was coming to think he needed her, just a bit, and she was coming to be dependent upon him, just in the least. It was something that had never occurred before.
Clayton needed her.
But that wasn’t something Acacia was willing to confess to her belligerent younger sister. Beautiful Belladonna, the woman that all men looked at. She envied, loved, and hated her sister all at the same time. Had she been born with Belladonna’s beauty, things would have been different. She would have been married already, not telling everyone she was pledging herself to Amesbury as a last resort.
What did Belladonna know of being lonely and unattractive?
“I will not bother you any longer with my foolish questions,” Acacia said, turning back to the mirror that a maid was holding up for her. “I shall make do.”
“You haven’t answered my question. Why would you come to a party when you think it is a sinful orgy?”
Acacia was starting to flush in the face. “What does it matter to you?” she said. “My reasons are my own. You needn’t worry about me.”
“Then it is not sinful any longer?”
“I do not plan on sinning.”
Belladonna simply couldn’t keep her mouth shut. Knowing what she did, that was the most ridiculous statement she’d ever heard from Acacia.
“That,” she hissed, “is a lie. You are the biggest sinner of all!”
With that, Belladonna turned on her heel and rushed from the tent. She was so angry that she simply couldn’t face her hypocritical sister any longer and she was afraid that she was going to say something she would soon regret. Just as she rushed from the tent entry, Dashiell and Aston appeared.
Belladonna quickly forgot about Acacia when she saw Dashiell in the beautiful yellow tunic she’d made for him. It matched her dress and she thought he looked enormously handsome in it. But he also wore a big leather belt with his broadsword at his side, several small daggers, and a chainmail coat beneath it. Not exactly party-going attire.
She burst out laughing.
“We are not going to battle, Dash,” she pointed out. “Simply a feast. I do not think you will need your broadsword or mail inside the great hall.”
He cocked an eyebrow at her. “Men are as heavily-armed at a feast as they are on the field of battle.”
“Then you will not remove your mail?”
He sighed, glancing at Aston, who grinned and looked away. “I would prefer not to.”
“Do you really think we will be set upon in the middle of a meal?”
“You will be very sorry I am not armed if we are.”
Belladonna chuckled and shook her head. “Is this your idea of not being a court dandy?”
“Something like that.”
She simply rolled her eyes and went to him, realizing the man was a lost cause. She could never take the knight out of him, nor did she want to. He dressed the same for a great feast as he did for a battle, but if he felt comfortable this way, so be it. Tucking her left hand into the crook of his right elbow, she simply lifted her shoulders.
“Very well, du Reims,” she said. “I will not force you to do anything you are uncomfortable with.”
She tried to walk, pulling him along, but he remained immovable. “I sense you are displeased,” he said.
Belladonna stopped trying to pull him towards the castle, looking up at him with a smile playing on her lips. “This is your personal protest against me turning you into a court dandy, isn’t it?” she teased. “I make you a lovely tunic and you load it up with weapons. You are resisting my wishes until the end.”
The corners of his mouth tugged. “Kicking and screaming all the way, my lady.”
Belladonna was back to chuckling at him. They were still new at this part of their relationship, so she couldn’t get too angry about it. Hopefully, someday he’d learn that he could escort her to a party without preparing for a fight, but she doubted it. He was, after all, Dashiell du Reims, and his weapons were part of him. Gently but firmly, she pulled him along and they began to head towards the warmly-glowing castle.
With Dashiell on one side and the heavily-armed Aston on the other, they passed through the encampment as Dashiell’s fine clothing drew stares and snickers from the men. One of them even made kissing noises at him, but when he turned to see who had done such a thing, no one would confess. They thought it all quite entertaining to tease the master knight, the one who was always so straight and hard with them. But it was in good fun, and Dashiell knew it, which is why he didn’t become irate. He took it in stride.
In truth, he’d never been prouder in his life.
It was with great anticipation that he and Aston escorted Belladonna towards the great hall of Chadlington, beckoned by the smells and sounds, all of them hoping for an unforgettable evening.
For Dashiell and Belladonna, it would be more unforgettable than most.
The great hall of Chadlington was a single long room, and a very old room, as Chadlington was a very old castle.
The great hall resembled a Viking long hall, with wooden support pillars and an enormous open fire pit in the center of it. Smoke billowed up to the ceiling, looking for an escape, but it didn’t always find one. Therefore, the smell of smoke infiltrated everything along with the smell of dogs, of which there were many. Evidently, those at Chadlington were dog lovers, which explained Jillayne’s excitement at the gift of a puppy.
Dogs were everywhere.
In fact, the guests had to wade through a herd of them when they entered. Dashiell and Belladonna were shown to their seats at one of the long tables below the dais, right next to Lily and Clayton, who had arrived before them.
Clayton sat at the very end of the table, ignoring everyone, while Dashiell and Belladonna were seated on the other side of Lily. Aston found his seat somewhere down the table.
Wine was immediately forthcoming, a well-dressed servant shoving a cup into their hands before pouring. As Dashiell’s cup was filled, he eyed Clayton and was reminded that he hadn’t had a chance to tell Belladonna of his conversation with Lord Sherston, mostly because he’d been busy for the afternoon and Belladonna had been resting. He thought to tell her before the feast, but Aston had accompanied them and he hadn’t wanted to spill such secrets in front of the man.
Now, he found himself seated down the table from Clayton, who seemed to be greatly interested in the guests of the hall. Dashiell had a feeling he was looking for Lord Sherston, so he knew he needed to inform Belladonna of his conversation with Anthony Cromford sooner rather than later. Taking a healthy gulp of the sweet wine, he leaned down to her ear.
“I have not had the opportunity to tell you how lovely you look,” he said quietly.
Smiling, Belladonna turned to him. “I was hoping you would think so.”
“I do.”
Her eyes twinkled. “I told you that you looked lovely, too, but you did not want to hear it.”
He laughed softly. “If this is how you will wish me to look every time I escort you, then you will have to let me become accustomed to the idea. Too much finery and flattery all at once will cause my heart to seize.”
She reached out, fingering the tunic, inspecting her own handiwork when the truth was that she simply wanted to touch him. He felt warm and firm beneath her fingers.
“I would not want for that to happen,” she said. “But you look so handsome dressed in a fine tunic. I should think you would want to look this way, always.”
“I will look anyway you wish me to.”
Belladonna’s hand went from fingering his tunic to briefly touching his face before dropping her hand. “You always look handsome and powerful to me, whether or not you are wearing a fine tunic.”
Dashiell could feel that wonderful warmth settling between them, the warmth that made his toes tingle and his heart flutter. To think that this beautiful woman was in love with him was still something he was having a difficult time grasping. But by the look in her eyes, he could see that what Lily told him was true. Every second he spent with her now, he knew it was true.
He wondered if the look in his eyes bespoke of the same thing.
“You are too kind, my lady,” he said softly. “I regret that we have not had much time to speak in the time leading up to this party. We have both been quite busy. I… I have missed talking to you, just the two of us.”
Belladonna was back to beaming. “We are speaking now, aren’t we?” she said. “And I missed talking to you, too, most dreadfully. When you were gone those few days to Selborne, I surely thought I would die from loneliness.”
Her dramatics flattered him but, in that moment, he realized there was yet another subject he needed to discuss with her.
“I understand your longing,” he said. “But the journey was necessary. I went to see Gavin de Nerra to discuss certain political matters that should not concern you. But I also spoke to him about you and me, and the inability of your father to approve a betrothal. In fact, I sought Gavin’s counsel on the matter. He is a wise man and I trust him.”
She was very interested. “What did he say?”
Dashiell took another sip of his wine. “He is going to bring our case to the Archbishop of Canterbury personally,” he said. “He is going to plead on my behalf to see if he can obtain the archbishop’s approval for our betrothal because of your father’s mental condition. Which brings me to something else I must speak to you of.”
“Oh? What is it?”
He lowered his voice as much as he could. “I met Lord Sherston today,” he said, watching her eyes widen. “He is here at the invitation of Clayton, evidently to look you over. Now, before you become upset, be still and listen to me. I spoke with Sherston and told him the situation, and he was quite appalled to realize that Clayton is trying to use him as a pawn. In fact, he was quite in agreement to decline Clayton’s offer of a betrothal to you, but he is not going to do it right away. He is going to delay Clayton as much as he can before giving him an answer.”
By now, Belladonna was quite upset but struggling not to be because he’d asked it of her. “But why should he delay?”
Dashiell could see that she was increasingly distressed and, under the table, he reached out and took her hand, holding it tightly in his big fingers.
“I am afraid that if he immediately declines the offer, then Clayton will simply find another lord to accept his offer,” he said softly. “I need enough time to receive word from Canterbury about our betrothal and Sherston is going to give us the time we need. He will delay Clayton as much as he can. I have a feeling that Clayton will introduce you to Sherston during our time here at Chadlington. So when he does, remember that Sherston is on our side. Will you do that?”
Belladonna was still troubled, but not nearly as much as she had been. She was simply upset that Clayton had invited Sherston to the celebration, clearly to try and force the man upon her.
“I will,” she said, frowning unhappily. “But I cannot believe that Clayton would do such a thing!”
Dashiell shushed her quietly, eyeing Clayton to see if the man had heard her. But Clayton seemed oblivious.
“He is trying to undermine me,” he muttered. “But it will not work. Sherston is as disgusted with his attitude as we are. But whatever you do, never let on that Sherston and I have spoken. Clayton must not know that.”
She nodded solemnly. “I will not, I swear it.”
“Good lass. Now, I think we can enjoy this celebration with some peace of mind.”
Belladonna wasn’t so sure of that, but he seemed certain, so she swallowed any protests or gripes she had. Dashiell was doing all he could to thwart Clayton’s plans and she would have to trust him. She watched him as he drained his cup.
“What you said about the archbishop,” she said, going back to the previous subject. “Gavin de Nerra will really plead our case to the man?”
Dashiell held his cup up for more wine, poured by a hovering servant. “Aye,” he said. “I could ask for no better advocate. I explained that we must gain approval before Clayton becomes the duke, or all will be lost.”
Belladonna’s mood began to sink. Thoughts of Clayton trying to control her future, of her father’s eventual passing, and of the possibility that she and Dashiell might never wed were weighing heavily on her. Dashiell could see the sorrow on her face and he squeezed her hand under the table.
“Do not fret, lamb,” he said quietly. “Clayton will not win in the end.”
She nodded. “I know,” she said, turning towards him. But the entry to the hall was in her line of sight and her eyes widened at something at the entrance. “Dash! Look!”
Dashiell’s head snapped to the hall entry, immediately seeing the Duke of Savernake as he entered the hall with Acacia and Bentley in tow. Men recognized him, and greeted him, and there was a good deal of hand kissing going on as Edward became Paul the Apostle once again and began to bless those in the hall.
Dashiell was already on his feet, rushing towards the duke as Aston, who was closer to Edward, also stood up from the table and rushed to the duke’s side.
“Be at peace, brothers,” Edward boomed in his unusually strong voice. “Men of God, be at peace!”
Since nearly every fighting man in Southern England knew of Savernake’s madness, no one was surprised when he began making the sign of the cross over their heads and muttering prayers in Latin. For Savernake, that had been his usual behavior for some time now. It was oddly comforting and oddly disturbing, all at the same time.
“In nomine Christi, ut benedicat tibi…”
“My lord?” Dashiell said as he came upon the duke. “I was unaware you wished to attend the feast.”
Bentley and Acacia were looking at Dashiell with great concern, as if they had been unable to prevent the duke from wandering. Bentley looked positively guilt-stricken.
“Papa awoke from his nap and began to wander the encampment,” Acacia said. “Drusus tried to stop him and… and Papa hit him over the head. Bent and I decided to escort him so he would not try to hit anyone else. It was… easier this way, Dash.”
Violence was a new thing with the duke, and very surprising for a man who was usually so benevolent. But Dashiell remembered that he’d pushed Belladonna when they were leaving Ramsbury, so perhaps this violence was something they were going to have to contend with now. God only knew how swiftly this madness had claimed the duke, and how every day seemed to bring something new. But Dashiell wasn’t looking forward to Edward de Vaston, who was a truly excellent warrior, becoming physically combative.
That could be a definite problem.
“My lord,” Dashiell said calmly, trying to force the duke to focus on him. “May I return you to your tent? I will have the servants bring you a wonderful meal. I am sure you would be more comfortable there.”
Edward looked at Dashiell, a flash of recognition in his eyes. “My son,” he murmured, reaching out to touch Dashiell on the face. “My good and true servant. You must help me bless these men. They are in need of the word of God.”
“My lord, I am sure they would be honored, but tonight is a celebration, not a mass. Will you return to your tent with me?”
Edward wavered with uncertainty. “But… where men are gathered, God shall also be there.”
“Agreed, my lord. But this is not the time.”
Just as Edward seemed to be considering his words, a new element entered the conversation.
“My lord! You honor us with your presence!”
The greeting came from behind Dashiell and he turned to see Lord Chadlington approaching with his arms outstretched, as if to embrace Edward. But Edward simply lifted a hand and made the sign of cross.
“Peace be with you, my son.”
“But my lord, it is me. It is Bruce!”
“I bless you in the name of the Father, Bruce.”
That wasn’t the response Lord Chadlington was looking for. He came to a confused halt, looking at Edward rather curiously. Dashiell, seeing that the lord was somewhat at a loss, spoke quietly to the man.
“His mind is consumed by madness, my lord,” he muttered. “Surely you have heard tale of this. He believes himself Paul the Apostle. It would be wise of you to treat him that way. The Duke of Savernake, as you knew him, no longer exists.”
Lord Chadlington looked at Dashiell in shock, but quickly recovered. Although he had supplied men for the rebellion against the king, a bad back and bad hips had prevented him from fighting himself. Therefore, he hadn’t known the extent of Savernake’s madness even though he had, indeed, heard the rumors. He addressed Edward far more carefully.
“My-My lord,” he said, indicating the high table where his family was sitting. “Will you sit with us? We would be honored.”
Dashiell wasn’t entirely sure that was a good idea, a situation that turned awkward when Edward completely ignored the request and wandered over to the nearest table, lifting his hand and uttering blessings to the men. The soldiers were eyeing him with some confusion until Dashiell began to silently indicate for them to cross themselves, as one would normally do when receiving a blessing from an apostle.
Some of the men began to respond, encouraging those around them to cross themselves also. Soon enough, the entire table was crossing themselves as Edward gave them his blessing.
Paul the Apostle had found a flock.
“Stay with him,” Dashiell muttered to Bentley. “I will be sitting at the other table and will watch the situation. If you need me, I shall come. Try not to let him hit anyone.”
Bentley wriggled his eyebrows at him, not looking forward to spending the evening trailing the mad duke around. But Dashiell had no intention of doing it because he wanted to spend the evening with Belladonna and he wasn’t about to let Edward ruin it. He’d been waiting for four long years to enjoy a meal and perhaps a dance with Belladonna, so he turned for the table to return to her, hoping the duke wouldn’t spoil his evening and the evening of others.
“Dash?”
Dashiell heard the soft female voice, turning to see Acacia standing beside him. He forced a smile.
“My lady?”
Acacia pointed over to the table that contained her sisters. “Will you take me with you?”
Dashiell held out an elbow to her and she took it, latching on tightly. As they turned to head over to the family, Dashiell caught sight of the end of the table.
It wasn’t how he left it.
Lily, Belladonna, and Clayton were there, but so was someone else. Dashiell could plainly see Anthony Cromford standing at the end of the table, and it was clear that he was in conversation with Belladonna as Clayton mediated. Clayton seemed pleased, Sherston interested, and Belladonna reluctant. Introductions were taking place.
So, the moment had come.
Breathe, Dashiell told himself. He was in control of this situation so there was no reason for him to become irate about it. However… he knew that Clayton would be expecting him to become irate. He knew that for a fact. If he didn’t react the way Clayton wanted him to, then the man might be suspicious. That meant Dashiell was going to have to do exactly what his gut told him to do – rage. With Acacia on his arm, he stormed up to the table and practically pushed Acacia down into a seat.
“Lord Sherston,” he addressed Anthony in a tone that would make most men quake in their boots. “I did not know you were here, also. It is agreeable to see you again.”
Anthony’s head snapped to Dashiell but he kept a polite tone. In fact, it was the same tone Dashiell had heard from the man earlier when they were speaking in confidential conversation – a tone that suggested he was not afraid of the man who had just used a sharp tone with him.
“Dash,” he greeted calmly. “It is good to see you.”
“Did your father come with you?”
“Nay, he did not. It is difficult for him to travel in his old age.”
Dashiell hoped that Sherston realized his sharp attitude was all an act; given their earlier conversation, he would assume so.
“A pity,” he said, softening his harsh stance ever so slightly. “He is a man of wisdom and good conversation.”
Sherston nodded. “He is, indeed,” he said. Then, his gaze moved over to Belladonna. “And he would have found a great deal of pleasure in being introduced to Lady Belladonna and Lady le Cairon.”
So much for softening his harsh stance. Even though Dashiell knew this was an act on Sherston’s part – at least, he truly hoped it was – he still didn’t like the way the man looked at her. But that was his jealousy talking; he didn’t like the way any man looked at her. He stood back and indicated Acacia.
“And this is Lady Acacia, another de Vaston sister,” he said. “She has no escort this evening that I am aware of. Mayhap you would be so kind as to provide her with that honor.”
It was clear that he was trying to divert Sherston from Belladonna. As Acacia flushed violently to the suggestion, Clayton spoke.
“Lord Sherston is here to meet Belladonna,” he said firmly. “I told you that I had Lord Sherston in mind for her, du Reims. What a happy coincidence to find the man here so I could make the necessary introductions.”
It was a shot directly over Dashiell’s bow. As Dashiell turned to Clayton to verbally eviscerate the man, Sherston moved away from the pair and went directly to Belladonna, claiming the seat beside her that had been formerly occupied by Dashiell. He leaned in to the woman rather provocatively and whispered in her ear.
“Slap me in the face,” he murmured.
Belladonna jerked back, her expression full of shock and outrage. “Good Sir, you…”
Again, Sherston leaned forward and shoved his face into the right side of her head. “Slap me,” he muttered again. “Do it quickly!”
Startled, Belladonna did as he demanded. Lifting a hand, she slapped him across the face as hard as she could. Sherston’s head snapped sideways and he looked at her as if she had just grievously insulted him. In a huff, he stood up and marched past Clayton.
“I do not care how beautiful she is,” he hissed at Clayton. “No woman will treat me like that!”
With that, he stormed off, leaving Clayton open-mouthed. But just as quickly, Clayton ran after him to soothe the man. The last Dashiell saw, they were heading over to the northwest corner of the hall where Clayton was trying to apologize and Lord Sherston was pretending to be horribly upset. Dashiell had to fight off a smile as he returned his attention to Belladonna.
“He must have said something quite terrible to you,” he said, surprisingly calm.
Wide-eyed, Belladonna simply nodded. “He… he did.”
Lily was looking at her sister with a great deal of shock. “What did he say, Bella?” she asked.
Belladonna didn’t want to tell her sister the truth, so she leaned forward and whispered the first thing that came to mind, something terribly shocking and crude that she’d once heard from a maid. It was the only thing she could think of. As Lily gasped, appalled, Belladonna stood up and made her way over to Dashiell.
“I do not feel much like feasting this night,” she said to him. “Will you take me back to my tent?”
Dashiell gazed down at her, wondering what Sherston had actually said to her. He couldn’t really tell if she was upset or if she was simply acting the part.
“You cannot let that ruin your evening,” he said. “You have been waiting for weeks to attend this celebration. Do not leave because of what some fool said.”
Belladonna reconsidered, at least for the sake of her sisters, who were still looking at her with shock. She was trying to play whatever game Sherston and Dashiell were playing because Dashiell had asked her to. So, perhaps, leaving a party she very much wanted to attend was, in fact, premature. After a moment, she nodded.
“Very well,” she said. “But you will sit with me. Do not leave my side again.”
“I swear, I will not.”
When they’d reclaimed their seats and trenchers were beginning to be brought forth by the servants, Dashiell leaned over into her ear.
“What did he say to you?” he whispered.
Belladonna turned in his direction, making sure to keep her voice down. “He asked me to slap him.”
“He did?”
“Aye.”
Dashiell thought on that; there was great approval in his eyes. “That was wise,” he muttered. “Now, Clayton will spend all night trying to apologize to him and the both of them will leave us alone. That was a brilliant move on Sherston’s part so he will not be expected to entertain you.”
“Then I did the right thing?”
“You did. But one question.”
“What is it?”
“What did you tell your sister?”
Belladonna nearly choked on the wine she had just sipped. Daintily, she wiped her mouth with her fingers as Dashiell lifted his cup to his lips.
“I told her that he said he was seeking a warm haven for his heated rod.”
Dashiell choked so hard on the wine he was drinking that it came out of his nose.