VISITORS FROM AFAR
Bernadette sat at supper in the upstairs room, alone. She looked out over the fields beyond the window.
Strange, how my thoughts wander to him.
She couldn't help it. It was as if, now that she had met Fraser Moreau, she couldn't get him out of her head. She recalled every little thing about him, from the lift of his brow to the quirked smile.
“Stop it, Bernadette,” she chastised herself. She felt her cheeks redden. She was thinking about him in ways that were unseemly for someone who had no real interest in taking on a partner.
I have never managed or governed anything alone before. I want to have my own rein in this place.
It was her home. Her estate to manage. She didn't like the thought of anyone trying to budge her out of it or dominate the space. Marriage was absolutely the last thing on her mind.
“And so the rest must be too.”
“Milady?” Jean, one of the maids who oversaw the household affairs, had appeared behind her with a tray. Bernadette sighed.
“Nothing, Jeanne. I'm finished here. It was delicious,” she added as the maid lifted her plate. It had been: a cassoulet made with fresh beans from the estate gardens. She smiled up at Jeanne, whose aunt was the chef.
“Thank you, milady,” Jeanne replied. “I'll be sure to tell Auntie.”
“Good.”
When she had gone, Bernadette sat alone with a glass of cordial between her hands. She looked out over the fields and considered all that had happened.
Here I am, in this place, with my own estate. Whatever the prompting of my body, I would not wish to change that fact.
She felt her face flush. Her body certainly prompted her in the direction of this man. She recalled the way his lips had pressed on hers and felt her face go red. Her body filled with heat.
He had the most beautiful physique she had ever encountered – muscles stiff and strong when she stroked her hands down his body, his arms powerful where they crushed her to him. And that face.
I shouldn't let my imagination run away.
She sighed and drained the glass of cordial she held, and stood, heading down the stairs. She would sit and sew until it was too dark to see, and then go to bed.
“Evening, milady,” Matthias, her footman, called out to her.
“Good evening, Matthias.” She nodded. “All well?”
“Indeed, yes.”
“Good.”
Bernadette headed to the turret room, where she sat to sew. She employed five people in the household, a cut by half to the staff who had been here. The ones she had removed worked on the estate farms now, so she had done them no harm. She had Jeanne, her aunt who worked in the bake-house, Amelia, her steward and one footman.
I trust them all absolutely.
It was a good feeling, especially now that her peace here had been disturbed.
She threaded the needle and sought the peace inside herself. She soon found it and settled down to work. She was absorbed in her tapestry when she heard someone at the door.
“Milady?”
She looked up to see the footman there again. “Yes?” she asked. She had been lost in thought, thinking about Claudine and the possibility of visiting her.
“I was asked to alert you to some visitors downstairs, milady.”
“Visitors?” Bernadette set aside her work and stood, feeling her heart give a jolt. “Where? What sort?”
“Three men, milady. Woodsmen. Of course, I know I shouldn't mention such trivial incursions in the kitchen, but Cook said to tell you.”
“Thank you, Matthias,” Bernadette nodded. “And thank her for her loyalty too.”
He bowed deeply. “I will, milady.”
When he had gone, Bernadette stood watching the field beyond the window. What woodsmen would those be? She employed perhaps fifteen on the estate, but if they were any of those men, why would Cook seek to inform her? It wasn't as if she had to know, after all.
“I wonder.”
Instinct told her to go and find out. She decided to put on a cloak and head down to the kitchen in disguise. It would be strange to appear there when, in truth, it was servants' business instead of her own, but she needed to know.
She paused in the doorway, the firelight flickering on the walls. She could hear voices within the kitchen, and something about the tone made her heart thump alarmingly.
“...We should go. No news here.”
“Wait. You never know. Listen.”
“I agree. But we don't want to focus any attention...”
“We'll go tomorrow. We should stay tonight. We still don't know enough.”
They were talking with the accents of the North, and Bernadette was fairly sure that the staff was having trouble understanding them. From time visiting her uncle's estates near Burgundy, she’d heard enough of the dialect to get by in understanding them. They were here seeking information.
Her heart thumped. What information?
“Come on, let's go. The cook said we could sleep in the stables. I suggest we do that.”
“I don't like this.”
“Stop being so twitchy.”
Bernadette listened while the men argued, and then thanked the cook in their flowing dialect and headed out into the night.
She stayed where she was, leaning against the wall in the dark, flame-lit corridor, the shadows dancing fitfully as the fire in the kitchen flickered with the draft, then stilled.
She needed to find out what was going on.
Bernadette felt deeply uncomfortable. She headed quickly back upstairs, not wanting her servants to know she'd been spying. They'd think she was being a bit strange: she thought she was being a bit strange.
But one cannot be overly careful.
Upstairs, she sat down in the solar. The fire burned low in the grate and it was dark in there. It was a good place to sit and think. She leaned back and thought.
If I hadn't just had a visitor, I wouldn't be so worried.
Would it be Lord Moreau? Why would he have sent spies into her household? And verderers, spying in the kitchens, questioning her servants, no doubt.
She shook her head. It all seemed too odd. She restrained the impulse to go and head down to the stables herself. If they caught her listening, who knew what might happen? No. There was little to be served from listening to their discussion now. She knew they were here seeking information and, right now, that was all she need know.
The more she thought about it, the more worried she became. They were clearly assessing the way she ran things here on the estate. She was vulnerable, she knew that. With only five permanent staff and five house-guards, there was no real source of protection. Her kitchen was open to whoever had need of meals and succor, and she liked it that way.
Now she felt unsafe.
An idea occurred to her. With more people in the household, she would probably weather whatever storms were coming. She imagined people trying to enter the house, steal whatever valuables they could lay hands on. Admittedly, if they were here gathering information, then someone had hired them. In addition, if someone could afford to hire three men to snoop, they probably didn't need to steal the one or two jewels and one brass fireguard she owned.
“Well, whatever the case. I am getting prepared. Matthias?” She stuck her head out and called into the hallway.
One of her guards, Hugh, appeared. “Milady?”
“Ah. Hugh. Find Matthias, please? I need a message delivered.”
“Very good, milady.”
When Matthias arrived, she gave him instructions. “Go to my steward and ask him to write a note, inviting Lady Claudine and her family to stay. I intend for them to visit for a week. They can expect some entertainment – a ball or party – while here.”
“Yes, milady,” Matthias nodded. If he was surprised – she did not entertain without any occasion, at least not usually – he didn't show it. “For when, milady, please?”
“Deliver it tomorrow.”
He looked even more surprised, but nodded. “Yes, milady. Very good.”
“Thank you.”
When he had gone, she went to the window. Outside, the sun was almost set, a glow of red on a black horizon. She felt nervous, but slightly better now that she had set her own plans in place.
With a house full of people, it was unlikely that burglars or any other kind of mischief-raisers would strike.
Besides, it was a fine excuse to see Claudine and her adorable baby. It would be good to have a house full of guests. The more she thought about it, the more she liked the idea.
“I wonder if I should extend the invitation.”
She felt her lips lift with a smile. She knew what she wanted. She wanted to invite the count of Remy also.
But he was likely long gone.
No, the guests for the ball would be her friends, and the deTreacy's from the neighboring estate, and perhaps the la Prete family from further north. She was not planning a large-scale pageant. Just a small evening's entertainment.
With those pleasant thoughts on her mind, Bernadette allowed the worries from earlier to cease distressing her.
She headed upstairs to her bedchamber to rest.