Chapter 16
Jessimond’s jaw dropped. Could it be? Had this nobleman fathered her? She found no resemblance between them.
The baron took a step toward her, as if to embrace her. She quickly backed away.
“Don’t go,” he pleaded. “Let me . . . at least let me speak with you a moment.”
Warily, she crossed her arms in front of her and held her ground, her lute acting as a further barrier between them.
Seeing that she wouldn’t flee, the baron said, “I am ashamed to tell you that as a young man, I was most selfish. I would not have wanted you to know me then. I never thought of others. I sought pleasure through women and drink, never wondering what tomorrow might bring.”
He raked a hand through his thick hair. “And then I met Celia. Your mother.”
Those two words made her knees turn to water. Jessimond locked them to keep from collapsing.
“Celia was the loveliest woman I’d ever seen when she arrived at the royal court. Nay, she was still a girl. Only six and ten. So beautiful and full of light and sweetness. I wanted her like no one before.”
“You seduced her,” Jessimond said flatly.
Lord Gregory winced. “Aye. I thought I merely would charm her. Steal a few tender kisses. I never set out to deflower her.” He closed his eyes and drew a deep breath before opening them. “Celia stole my heart, though. One kiss wasn’t enough. Suddenly, I thought of nothing else, night and day. Every waking moment seemed consumed with thoughts of her.”
She could understand what the nobleman said, having been taken with Marcus in the same way.
“Kisses turned into more passionate actions. Before I knew it, Celia was with child.”
Something told Jessimond that she was the child this man spoke of.
“Why didn’t you wed her?” she asked. “It sounds as though you loved her.”
Tears swam in Lord Gregory’s eyes. “I did love her. Deeply. I couldn’t imagine a life without her.” His voice broke. His hands covered his eyes.
Sir Rodric spoke up. “The baron was already betrothed. Had been for years. He couldn’t have wed Lady Celia even if he’d wanted to. And believe me, he did. Legally, though, he already had a wife. The nuptial mass was strictly a formality.”
Jessimond’s heart ached for this broken man who stood before her and even more for the woman he’d obviously left behind.
The nobleman cleared his throat. “I loved Celia Achard. I abandoned her. ’Tis my biggest regret in life, a sin I can never wash from my soul.” He sighed. “I wed as my father expected me to. I tried to be a good husband to Egelina and an even better father to our children.”
Her heart skipped a beat. Children?
“They know about you,” the nobleman said. “My wife died many years ago. I told them then of their half-sister. They’ve wanted me to fetch you ever since.”
He’d known where she was all this time? Jessimond couldn’t speak. It was as if this man had punched her in the belly and all air fled from her. Anger replaced the sympathy she’d felt for him.
Sir Rodric took up the tale. “After Lady Celia gave birth to you, Lord Gregory charged me to take her from London to her home. Her father and brothers were away that summer. She’d told them she was visiting a friend so no family would be at Sturnwick when we returned.”
She wondered how Celia would have explained a baby to her family and decided the young noblewoman would have done what others before her had done, and found a family nearby to take on the babe and raise it as theirs.
“Lady Celia died on the journey home,” Sir Rodric continued.
It was another blow to Jessimond. Already, she’d had fantasies of seeking out her birth mother.
“We were near de Montfort lands by that point, still several days away from Sturnwick. I had met Lord Geoffrey and Lady Merryn at court and knew of their reputation of generosity with their people. I thought it best to leave you on Kinwick lands, my lady,” the knight said. “I hoped a family there would take you in, especially when they found the amethyst brooch I left wrapped inside your blanket. Lord Gregory had gifted it to Lady Celia. I thought you would fare better there than if I turned up at Sturnwick with the daughter of the house dead and her week-old babe. The servants wouldn’t have known what to do.”
Jessimond’s head reeled with all of this news. Sir Rodric mentioning the brooch let her know beyond a doubt that she was the daughter of this nobleman and Lady Celia.
“I changed after that,” Lord Gregory told her. “I quit putting myself first and looked to do for others. I’ve made a difference at Netherfield, Jess.” He paused. “Now, I want to make a difference in your life.
“Come home with me,” he pleaded. “Your brother and two sisters long to meet you. If you’ve left Kinwick and joined this mummers’ troupe, it means you were searching for something that you couldn’t find there.”
She started to speak but Lord Gregory raised his hand. “I know what I did was awful. I know I can never replace the people who took you in. Who loved you. But you have another family, Jess, and they wish to know you. You could live in luxury and be recognized as the lady you are. I will find a husband for you, one nearby so that we can see you often.”
He took her hand. “Please. Come home to Netherfield. At least try to get to know us. I beg you.”
Jessimond jerked her hand from his. “You know nothing about me, Lord Gregory. Who I am. Who my family is. Even if I come from the place you claim Sir Rodric left me.” Rage poured through her. “I don’t care who you are or who you think I am. I am not your child and never will be.”
She whirled and saw Moss standing nearby, watching over her while she spoke to men he didn’t know. He hurried toward her.
“I need Peter,” she cried.
“He’s back at camp,” Moss said.
Jessimond lifted her skirts and ran. She didn’t dare look back. Tears of anger streamed down her cheeks. How dare this man appear and claim her as his, especially after what he did to her mother. As she raced away, her anger melted and turned to sorrow for the lost innocence of her young mother at the hands of that knave. Gregory de Challon had plied an inexperienced young woman with sweet words and sweeter kisses, claiming to love her even as he deserted her and made a life on his own. He’d kept his title, gained a wife, and had children—while Celia Achard had died on the road with Jessimond by her side.
She wondered what her mother had named her. Though she wished she could ask Sir Rodric, Jessimond determined never to reveal to him or the baron that she was, indeed, that babe.
Arriving at camp out of breath, she saw Peter entering with a stack of firewood in his arms. One look at her and he dropped it, hurrying toward her.
Her friend didn’t ask what was wrong. He merely enfolded her in his arms and held her. Jessimond cried a river of tears for the mother she’d lost and would never know. Finally, her sobs subsided.
“Is it Marcus?” he finally asked.
“Nay. Oh, Peter. ’Twas my father.”
“Lord Geoffrey is here? I thought we wouldn’t see him until we arrived at Lord Ancel’s estate.”
Jessimond composed herself. “Not my father. The man . . . the man who . . .” She couldn’t continue.
Somehow, Peter understood and wrapped his arms about her again. Jessimond let him rock her. The steady motion calmed her.
“Lord Geoffrey is your father, Jess. Lady Merryn is your mother. The de Montforts are your family,” Peter softly insisted. “Nothing—no one—will ever take you away from them. You are a de Montfort daughter as much as Lady Alys and Lady Nan are. No matter who claimed to have fathered you and what woman birthed you, you have been a de Montfort since you were only a few days old. Lord Geoffrey and Lady Merryn and all of your brothers and sisters love you and cherish you.
“Sit,” he encouraged. “Tell me everything that happened.”
Slowly, Jessimond recounted the entire incident. Peter kept quiet throughout, merely nodding as she spoke.
“I wish never to see him again,” she said vehemently. “Not after what he did to her.”
Peter said, “I wouldn’t judge Lord Gregory too harshly, Jess.”
When she began to protest, he silenced her. “He was young himself. Foolhardy. Selfish. And betrothed. It sounds as if he did love Lady Celia and regrets his actions. If you choose to have nothing to do with him or your half-brother and half-sisters, that is up to you. At least you now know your background.
“And if you change your mind, you know where to seek him.”
A numbness overtook Jessimond. “I think I will lie down. Could you see to the stew?”
“Of course.”
She stumbled to her tent and collapsed upon the pallet. More tears came as she thought over what Peter said.
Her mother and father had been young. Reckless. They hadn’t thought through the consequences of their coupling. They’d been caught up in loving one another.
She thought of what might have happened if she and Marcus had continued in their love play. Each time he touched her and brought her to new heights of pleasure, she realized how much control he must have exercised in not taking things further. If he had, Jessimond might have found herself in the same position as her mother. Alone. Unwed. With child.
Sitting up, she scooped water from the small bowl next to her bed and splashed it across her face. She breathed deeply and evenly, until she knew she was in control of her emotions once more. Leaving the tent, Jessimond walked determinedly back toward the faire.
As she hoped, Lord Gregory and Sir Rodric stood near where they’d spoken, as if they’d waited for her to reappear. She approached them, steeling herself.
“I am sorry I fled, my lord,” she said to her birth father. “What you revealed took me by surprise.”
He gave her a grateful smile. “I knew it would be difficult for you to hear, Jess.”
“Jessimond. My name is Jessimond.”
“’Tis a lovely name.”
“What was my name? Before?” she asked.
“Lady Celia hadn’t chosen one yet,” Sir Rodric said. “She was waiting to find the exact name that would fit you.”
“My sister named me,” Jessimond revealed. “Nan was walking with my father when they stumbled across me.” She smiled. “She’s still very proud of discovering and naming me.”
“You’ve . . . you’ve had a good life?” Lord Gregory asked hesitantly.
“Aye. A wonderful life with parents and siblings who showered me with love. I have three brothers and two sisters. They’ve all wed now. I am the youngest.”
Still, Jessimond held back. She wasn’t ready to tell these men that she was a de Montfort.
“I plan on returning to Kinwick once the mummers conclude their tour,” she continued.
“Would you ever consider visiting Netherfield, Jessimond?” the baron asked. “Byrom, Lina, and Lora would be delighted to make your acquaintance.”
Her siblings . . .
“Lora is the eldest at eight and ten. Byrom is six and ten. Lina is the youngest at two and ten. My wife, Egelina, died giving birth to Lina.”
She wanted to remain loyal to her de Montfort kin, but Jessimond yearned to meet these three.
“I won’t make any promises to you, my lord, but I will think on it.”
“Would you like me to write to Lord Geoffrey?” he asked. “I know you would need his permission to leave.”
“Nay. If the time comes and I am comfortable coming to Netherfield, I will speak to the earl myself.”
Jessimond saw so many things in the nobleman’s eyes. Hope. Regret. Even love. He had never seen her until today yet she understood that he loved her—because he had loved her mother.
“Celia would be so proud of you, Jessimond,” he said. “You favor her so much but you are much more confident. She was shy and always wanted to please others.”
Jessimond thought she had more in common with her mother than looks. Before embarking on the tour with the mummers, she had been much quieter, a nurturer who looked to help others before herself.
“Thank you for considering a visit one day,” Lord Gregory continued. “I won’t bother you anymore. Sir Rodric and I will return to Netherfield. It lies just south of Denwell, not half an hour’s ride. I want you to enjoy your time singing and not worry if we are in the crowd.”
A deep longing overwhelmed her. Jessimond impulsively embraced him. His arms went about her and held her a long moment before releasing her.
“Thank you for telling me the truth about my origins,” she said. “Mayhap we’ll meet again one day.”
“It will remain my fondest wish,” he said.
Turning to Sir Rodric, the baron nodded. Both men walked away. Neither glanced back at her. Jessimond’s throat swelled, thick with emotion.
When she’d first had the idea, she hadn’t known what touring with the mummers might bring. Now, she’d learned of her birth parents and also fallen in love. She would return to Kinwick a much different person.
Slowly, Jessimond walked back to camp.