AN EVENING ENCOUNTER
Claudine watched Bernadette, her maid and companion, wistfully. She was laying out silks and satins on the bed before her. The evening sunlight filtered in, making them all glow softly.
“Must I choose one?” Claudine asked.
“You must, milady,” Bernadette said, smiling. “You'll be sure to look lovely no matter which. Though I think the Duke of Fouchet's birthday calls for something special, not so?”
Claudine sighed. “I suppose it does.” Why was it so hard for her to get excited about such things?
I wish I could dance like the other young ladies! Mayhap then I would enjoy it more.
Even the prospect of seeing Francis at the party did not help to raise her spirits. Today her exhaustion had preyed on her worse than usual. She had barely found the energy to stand. She couldn't bear the thought of an evening company of old countesses who would pity her or young ladies and gentlemen who'd cast strange looks at her.
“Milady?” Bernadette prompted gently.
“You choose one for me, Bernadette,” Claudine said sadly. “I cannot decide.”
“Oh, milady. What is it?”
“I don't know,” Claudine said. “I suppose I'm just feeling a bit dismal.”
“Is it your head? My poor Lady Claudine. Would you like something from the kitchens? A syllabub? You ate hardly anything at luncheon today.”
Claudine shook her head. “No. Thank you, Bernadette. I just want to rest.”
“As you wish,” Bernadette said with a small frown. “But here! How about this blue gown? I've not seen you wear it yet. And the blue is so becoming, for you. It shows up your eyes.”
Claudine smiled sadly. “Thank you, Bernadette. I'll do that.”
Bernadette nodded and lifted the creation off the bed. With a v-shaped waist, a wide skirt and long sleeves that lapped down over the hands, the dress was beautiful. It was made of blue silk. Claudine felt a wan excitement as Bernadette helped her out of her night dress and into the dress.
“There, milady! You look a picture.”
Claudine stood back from the mirror, uncertain about that. She tilted her head on one side, surveying the effect.
“I suppose I do look pretty,” she said.
Bernadette smiled fondly. “You do indeed, milady.”
The woman in the mirror had a thin waist, generous hips and a full bust that pushed at the low collar of the dress. Her long arms were covered by the long sleeves and her blonde curls cascaded down loose round her shoulders. Her sky blue eyes shone. They were a shade paler than the dress, a slate blue silk that winked in the evening light as she moved.
“Will you dress my hair now?” Claudine asked. She felt weary again – the exertion of the dressing had sapped almost all her energy.
“Of course, milady. Come, sit.”
Claudine watched the transformation with detached interest, studying herself in the flickering light of the candles on the dressing table. Bernadette arranged her hair expertly into a bun, her face framed by soft curls that escaped it.
I wonder if Francis will be there?
She smiled at the pink-lipped, lovely face in the mirror. She hoped he would be. If she must sit through an evening with people who pitied her or mocked her, at least he would enliven things.
And I have to admit I like him.
She recalled their meeting in the courtyard. She liked him a lot. It would be lovely to sit and spend some time with him. He will be almost sure to be there. He is a nobleman and if I know the duke, he'll have invited everyone at Court.
“Niece?” a voice called. “Are you ready? We should leave.”
“Coming, Uncle. Thank you, Bernadette,” she added. “I should return before midnight.”
“Very good, milady.”
“Claudine! My niece! You look lovely. I feel quite proud to have you grace my arm,” her Uncle Lucas smiled as she appeared, bending his elbow so she could slide her hand into it for support.
“Oh, Uncle. You're so good to me. What would I do without you?”
“I wish I could be even better,” her uncle said musingly. “But such is life.”
They headed through the colonnade and down the stairs, slowly, to the great hall. As they reached the stairs, they found themselves caught in a crush of other guests, scented and elegant, all heading downstairs. Claudine stalled, wanting to hang back to let the faster guests pass.
“My lady. Come, let us walk together. I don't wish to outpace you,” the count of Rheims said from behind her. Claudine looked at her hands.
If he doesn't wish to draw attention to my ailment, why say that? Why cannot he just ignore it?
“The count is kind,” she said thinly.
She walked on down, biting her lip to ignore Mirella and Jacintha, who drifted past.
“I cannot wait to dance,” Mirella said. She looked at Claudine. “Oh! I suppose I shouldn't say that. I'm sorry.”
“Not at all,” Claudine said tightly. “I'm sure you'll enjoy it.”
She cast a glance sideways at her uncle. His eyes had narrowed and he looked defensive.
“Just tell them you're disinclined to join in,” he suggested.
Claudine closed her eyes as tears flowed there. His concerned advice made it worse.
I wish I could join in! I loved to dance. I was so good at it and now they all think I'm a crippled, helpless thing.
The sadness was a living thing within her. They went down the stairs together, where they were stopped at the door by a footman.
“Ah, here we are. The count of Corron, good man, and his niece, the fair lady Claudine.”
Claudine blushed. The footman at the door announced them and she walked in slowly, steadied by her uncle's strong arm. She looked at the floor, hating the feeling of all those eyes on her. She could see compassion in some eyes, scorn in others. The ladies of her own age mainly just looked glad it wasn't they themselves who was so ill.
Why do they have to stare so pityingly?
She tensed and her uncle patted her hand gently. “Almost at the table,” he said under his breath. “I think we're seated at the end. Ah! Yes. My lord duke! A happy birthday to you,” he added as a man stepped out to great them.
The duke, a short man with graying hair and big blue eyes, smiled winningly at Uncle Lucas and bowed to Claudine.
“My lady! Always a beauty. Welcome. Welcome.”
“Good wishes, my lord,” Claudine said faintly.
“Thank you, Claudine.”She kissed the duke on both cheeks fondly, but found she wasn't paying attention. Her eyes were already scanning the long tables of guests, looking for the one face she wished to see. Where was he? He must be here! If Francis wished to see her, he would have come.
I suppose he was just being polite yesterday. She felt disappointed. If he were here, he'd stand out, so her failure to spot him meant he wasn't.
“Come, niece,” her uncle said. “Here we are. Let's sit. I feel hungry enough to not wish to delay my dinner.”
When dinner began, she picked at the soup, the fish, the eggs...she barely felt hungry and her head was starting to hurt.
“Niece?” her uncle whispered. “You are not unwell?”
“No,” Claudine whispered.
“Poor dear,” the dowager countess of Beaufort said from next to her. “This malady must be so debilitating for a girl. If only you could dance and play the harp like the rest can do!”
Claudine winced, her eyes clouded by tears. That was it. Suddenly she couldn't take any more subtle insults. She pushed back her chair and stood.
“Excuse me, Uncle,” she said tightly. “I'm going to the terrace for fresh air.”
Her uncle raised a brow. “Of course, my dear.”
Claudine steadied herself against the chair and then walked slowly from the hall.
Wretched people! Why do they have to be so cruel? I know that's unfair, that they don't mean it but...Oh! How I wish I was well, healed, and whole.
Claudine bit her lip, trying to hold back the tears then, when she felt them start to flow despite her efforts to contain them, she sat down heavily on a stone-carved bench and sobbed.
The night hid her from the door, illuminated fitfully by a torch's flame that wavered and cracked with the wind. She let the sound, and the tinkle of a distant fountain, the whoop of a night bird, calm her.
I want to stay out here. It's safe here.
Concealed by darkness, no one could be cruel to her. She leaned back and closed her eyes. Being alone was better.
Crack.
A twig broke behind her and she jumped. “Who's there?” she whispered. Her head whipped round and she stared.
With his red hair illuminated to warm highlights by the torches, his long, lean face boasting a shy grin, he was so handsome that her heart skipped. She couldn't look away.
“Lady Claudine,” he said, and then he frowned.
She sniffed, cuffing away her tears with the back of her hand. “Lord Francis.” She lifted her tear-stained face to his.
“Why are you sad?” he asked gently.
Claudine gave a mirthless laugh. “Why do you think?”
His green eyes lit with highlights in the torch's flame, stared into hers. “I have no idea,” he said. “Tell me?”
Claudine looked at her hands. “I can't walk, Francis. I can't dance. I can't play the harp, or ride, or sing. I can't do anything anyone else can do. And people keep telling me!”
She was angry, more than sad. Fierce, hot tears ran down her face, pooling at her chin. Now that she had started sobbing, she couldn't stop. It was two years' worth of stored misery. She sobbed so that her shoulders shook and her tears flowed down her face and collected at the collar of her gown. She sobbed until she was empty of tears.
Then she stiffened as an arm crept gently round her shoulders. She felt Francis lean toward her and she leaned against him, letting his gentle presence warm her. She nestled closer.
He bent down to face her and his lips locked with hers. Claudine stiffened, her eyes flying wide open. Then they closed as his mouth gently traced hers, chewing a little at her lip. He let his tongue flick along the line between her lips and she felt her body melt as he did it again, and then withdrew.
More, her body seemed to cry aloud. She tensed and looked at her clasped fingers. He covered them with a big, lean hand.
“My lady,” he murmured. He stroked her hair gently with his other hand, the warmth of his right hand on her own. “I am so sorry you're so sad. I would do anything to take this away from you.”
Claudine shook her head. “Lord Francis,” she said brokenly. “I thank you. Thank you for trying to understand,” she added a little bitterly. She supposed it took some effort. She didn't want to believe he was doing this as sincerely as it seemed.
He went tense and silent beside her. She turned to face him.
To her surprise he was sitting hunched over, his hands clasped. He looked somewhere between bitter and sad.
“What?” she murmured.
He laughed. “No matter. I don't want to burden you. Who am I to do so?”
Claudine felt her eyes widen. “Who are you to not?” she said gently. Her hand reached over and covered his. His fingers were warm. He rested his hand over her own.
“I'm just a count's son from a small country estate,” he said blandly. “With dubious extraction from a foreign, wild people. I shouldn't even be here, much less be talking to you.”
Claudine stared at him. “Francis. What?” She almost laughed. “You are serious, aren't you?”
Francis turned to face her, his expression pained. “I've never been more serious. I shouldn't even be sitting here with you,” he said impatiently. “Your guardian will hate me for it.”
Claudine bit back her mirthless laughter. “Uncle would be pleased to see someone take notice of me, I think,” she said quietly. “I think he'd practically sell me to anyone who seemed in the least bit interested.”
Francis looked at her. To her surprise, he was angry. “That's not how he acts to me,” he said hotly. “So I don't know who told you that but they lied.”
Claudine almost wanted to laugh. She stared at him helplessly. “Francis?”
“What?”
“I don't know if I can believe that, or if you're just being sweet. But...thank you.” She looked down as her voice wobbled dangerously.
He squeezed her hand.
“I only told the truth, my dear.”
Claudine felt the words rock through her like a wave on the riverbank. My dear. He had called her “my dear”. Her heart floated and she felt her body lean against his.
His arm moved to rest on her shoulders. He leaned in, those sweet, marbled green eyes staring into hers, and kissed her.
Claudine melted in his arms and their bodies pressed together in the moonlight. She felt her heart thump with a sweet, rising urgency. She pressed against him, liking the feel of her bosom flattening against that broad chest.
“Claudine,” he whispered, his eyes shut, face crinkled with intensity. “I...we mustn't.”
Claudine breathed out sharply. She knew what he meant. Somehow, her body was prompting her to do things that she knew were sweetly forbidden. She sat back.
He smiled and reached to stroke her hair.
“You are so beautiful.”
Claudine closed her eyes.
“You are so handsome.”
He chuckled.
“You think so?” he asked. He sounded genuinely surprised and she laughed.
“I know so.”
They kissed again.
It was only when she heard the door to the terrace open and someone slip through that Claudine forced herself to stand and walk, slowly, heart thudding, inside; Francis following an instant later.
What a wonderful, wonderful moment.
Throughout that evening she could not stop smiling.