ARRIVAL
The view over the hills broadened, growing into a vista of delicate blues and white. Leona stared out over it, her heart touched by the beauty.
“Are we here?” she asked quietly.
Danton looked out of the window where he sat in the carriage, nodding. “Another two miles, my lady. Almost there.”
“Oh!”
Leona was surprised to feel a sudden wave of excitement pass through her. She was almost there! They had reached the coast at Calais two days ago. They had stayed the night in rented lodging, and then headed up by carriage through the countryside. Stopping at an abbey for the night, they had carried on the next day, barely stopping until they reached this place.
They were close now.
Leona watched, entranced, as the delicate blue and white landscape of cliffs and wispy green forest and distant cloud moved steadily backward. She swallowed and felt as if there were little wings fluttering in her stomach. They were almost there.
“My uncle,” she asked Danton cautiously. “What is he...?”
“He's a good man,” Danton said hastily. Leona raised a brow. He had barely let her finish the question. It was not like him to be over-hasty. “Just, honorable, steadfast.”
“Sounds reasonable,” Leona said mildly. She couldn't really imagine her uncle very much better now than before, but at least she knew he was a trustworthy person.
“He is,” Danton continued in a lighter vein. “You'll get along wonderfully.”
“I hope so,” Leona said quietly. She sat back, fingers clenched tight. She had not realized it before, but she was actually nervous about meeting her uncle. She had no idea what he might be like, and her mother could not help her much in that regard.
He is much like my father in appearance, but not like him in temperament. That was what her mother had said, Leona recalled. More stubborn, more strong-willed. Fixed in his ideas.
Leona felt nervous. He sounded like a stern man. She could imagine him finding little merit in his half-wild niece, raised far away.
What if he doesn't like me?
She shivered. It would be horrid to try and exist in a place where you were not liked, especially all alone with no one to come to your assistance or to talk to kindly. She had Danton, she reminded herself.
“You are staying, too?”
“A month, Mademoiselle,” he said seriously. “I manage your uncle's estate near Aix-sur-la-Lise.”
“Oh,” Leona said. “Is it far?”
He smiled, the expression lighting his eyes. “Not too far, Madame. We stayed near there when we stopped at that Abbé.”
“Oh,” Leona said again. It was a day's ride from here, or thereabouts – if she rode tirelessly. She could do it, if she had to. It was good to know friends were close. “I...will you come back, before I go?” she asked.
He looked at his hands. “I hope to,” he said carefully. “I would not wish to part without seeing you again.”
Leona swallowed the lump in her throat. “Nor I you, Danton. You saved my life and,” she added, seeing him raise a hand in protest, “you've been someone to trust. A friend.”
“Oh, Lady Leona,” he said, batting a hand at her as if to ward off her commentary. “It is nothing. I am...I admire you highly. And you brought me back from my darkness.”
Leona blinked back tears. “Well, then,” she said, croaking a little as the lump in her throat threatened her breathing, “we have both saved the other.”
“Quite so, milady,” he said. His voice was also tight.
They sat silently until the driver, riding up an incline, slowed. “Arrive, Monseigneur,” he called down to them. “Annecy.”
Leona swallowed the butterflies in her stomach that tumbled, tremulous, there. They were here!
“Come, let us alight,” Danton said quickly. He was his remote, serious self once more. Leona blinked, drying her last tears, and followed his directive, standing and smoothing down her dress as he lowered himself through the exit and then handed her down.
What if my clothes are odd here? What if I look strange? What if they don't like me..?
Leona bit her full lip, jerking her head in impatience at herself. She would have to face them as she was: if they were going to dislike her, they would have to do that. She couldn't make any change to what they thought.
I just wish I wasn't scared of them.
“Ready?” Danton asked softly.
Leona looked up at him, drawing a shaky, full breath. “Ready.” She nodded.
He smiled fondly. “Brave girl,” he said.
Leona smiled at him, straightened her back, and walked beside him, head held high. She had dressed in black, since it was a house of mourning, and her pale auburn hair was styled up. She could hope that Allie knew some of the court fashions, as she said she did, and that the courts of France and Scotland followed like ones.
The two courts are close – both allies against England. They might be similar.
She would have to hope.
Glancing up at Danton, she walked resolutely by his side down the slight incline toward the house she had not yet seen. Her grandfather's house. The manor of Annecy.
She gasped. A tall gray stone building seemed to grow up ahead of them. It had two wings, both meeting at an impressive front door with a pointed arch, steps leading up to it. It seemed to float, reaching taller than any building she had seen. The walls were crossed with column-like structures that Danton pointed to.
“The buttresses, see?” he explained. “That's why it is so tall.”
Leona looked at the structure, amazed. It was beautiful. It was elegant beyond any building she had seen. It was her ancestor's home.
Danton led her up to the door, heading up the steps to a slight platform outside the front door. They knocked and a servant opened it.
“Leblanc – is the Comte at home?” Danton asked the white-haired man who opened the door – Leona guessed him to be the steward: certainly Danton knew him, which seemed to bode well for her and him.
“He is, my lord. Oh!” he stared at Leona, then stepped back. “Please, enter. He is awaiting your arrival, my lord; my lady.”
Leona felt like she would collapse. Her heart was thudding in her chest, fingers and toes tingling and cold and she felt too stiff, like she might crack, like shards of pottery, if she were to move.
Danton gripped her upper arm, a friendly gesture. They walked in together over the threshold. Leona looked up.
The roof soared over her head, ending in gloom. Windows, high and slanting light into the interior, soared with it, the dust moving in the shafts of bluish rays. She blinked. Looked ahead. Someone was coming down stairs toward them. The light from the windows had dazzled her so she blinked and the shape resolved itself into a tallish man.
The man was dressed in black, with a soft cap on his head of black velvet. He walked with a slow step and his shoes were fur-lined, she noticed, the gown lapping the edges of them and the floor as he walked. He had an upright carriage, strong hands which were clasped now for a moment, and pale skin. “Welcome, niece. Danton, I thank you for bringing her so far.”
“I am at your service, Milord Comte,” Danton said mildly. Leona looked toward him for counsel, but he had stepped to the side, moving into shadows. She stood in the shaft of sunlight, facing the count of Annecy.
“My child,” he said gently.”Welcome.”
He spoke the accents of her mother's language with a smoothness that made it beautiful. Leona had never heard it spoken so musically. It stroked over her soul like velvet, surprising her.
She studied the face of her uncle and had another surprise. It could have been her mother's, rendered male. The long oval face with its aristocratic brow and dark eyes beneath was just like Alina.
“Uncle,” she said. There was no mistaking him.
“I have waited many months to have you here, my child,” he said gently.
“I...” Leona wet her dry lips, feeling at sea. “I am honored, Lord Count.”
“Oh, don't call me Count,” he said, waving a hand as if all ceremony was tiresome stuff. “Where's my hello, uncle?” His smile was wide and happy, a genial smile that seemed at odds on his regal face. She found herself giving him a nervous smile in return.
“Hello, Uncle.”
“There! That wasn't so hard, was it?”
Leona laughed and he kissed her, first on one cheek, then the other, then the brow. It was a formal reception, for all the watching staff, acknowledging her as his kin.
“Niece!” he announced. He looked down at her. “Be welcome in my home. My Heavens, but you look like Louis. It takes my breath away.”
“I do?” Leona was surprised. Louis was her grandfather, father of Alina. She had not thought she looked anything like her mother.
“You do. The eyes are different, but the set of your face, that fine nose, proud jaw...” he stopped, sighing. “Louis would be proud of you, of that I'm certain.”
Leona felt her throat tighten and swallowed, touched. “Thank you,” she said tightly.
“Not at all, niece. Not at all. Sweet, charming and polite!” he announced to the empty hallway. “What a combination. How Annecy will love you! To say nothing of our friends. They'll celebrate you from here to the Loire, my dear.”
Leona felt her face flush with shy pride and she giggled.
“Will Monseigneur Montaigne join us?” she asked.
Danton looked up at her, eyes warm as if he was grateful she’d remembered and acknowledged him.
The count laughed. “Niece! You do me shame. I have clean forgotten my manners. Of course! Danton and I have much to discuss. Come, sir!” he waved to the man. “Come! Let us dine.”
Leona followed him through a vast, point-arched doorway and into a hall. She looked around in wonder. Everything in the house seemed so different from her own home and the dining hall was no exception. She feasted her eyes on the beauty of it.
“It's stunning,” she breathed.
Her uncle flushed. “Oh, niece! I'm honored my humble home meets your approval.”
Leona looked around in wonder. A dining table of precious dark wood took up almost the entire side, high-backed carved chairs set all around. On the other side, windows stretched from floor to ceiling, all set with priceless opaque horn panes. The place was not as large as the great hall, but the sumptuous nature of it made it twice as impacting.
“Come, sit!” he said, waving a hand at the table. “Ferriers?”
“Yes, my lord?” a footman stepped gravely forward.
“Go down and fetch dinner, my good man! We dine early.”
“Very good, my lord.”
Leona was surprised by the servants and her uncle's attitude. At once offhandedly friendly, he also ignored them as if they were not human. A man drew out her uncle's seat and he didn't even notice him, taking a seat as though this was all natural.
Leona copied his example, taking the seat that had been drawn out for her. Uncle Marc stared back at her.
“I still cannot quite believe you're here,” he confessed as the servants moved about, filling their bowls with soup. “Or how much you resemble my brother.”
“I was sorry to hear of his loss,” Leona said, suddenly remembering, with a flush, why she was there. “My mother and aunt were deeply shocked.
“Louis is missed by all of us,” Uncle Marc observed. “He was a great man.”
They all lapsed into silence then. Uncle Marc raised a hand, waving it at the table. “Let us not dwell on sadness! Eat! Please! Be welcome. It is a pleasure to have you here – both of you,” he added, with a smile at the castellan, Danton, who sat rigidly beside Leona.
“You usually use this dining hall?” Leona asked, copying Danton, who had taken a slice of bread, which she laid beside her bowl of soup and then tasted it. Warm, slightly spiced and rich, it was delicious.
“Usually,” her uncle agreed. “Usually when I have company, that is. Eh, Danton?” he added at his silent deputy. “Not that I do all the time, mind. I confess to bad habits. First, of being more reclusive than I must, and, second, of eating in my office. Too much work.”
Leona giggled. He was so open, so readily-welcoming. She couldn't help liking him. “I think those are grievous confessions, milord,” she said.
He laughed. “Most grievous! Though I hope you will remedy me.”
“Oh?” Leona asked, sipping delicately off the ladle as she had been taught to do. “How, milord?”
“Well, I am too reclusive, as I said. Too reclusive.” He broke off more bread, using it to scrape around the soup bowl thoughtfully. “Now we shall have parties.”
“Oh?” Leona frowned. She felt a sudden flame light inside her. She did love parties. Here in the manor they seemed ideally placed. She shut her eyes, imagining the hall full of guests. It was exciting.
“Of course!” her uncle exclaimed. It seemed a favorite expression, for he'd used it at least four times in the half-hour she'd known him. “My lovely young niece comes all the way from distant lands...of course we shall celebrate! And every night, at that. Cheers, eh, Danton?”
“To much celebration, my lord,” he saluted with the glass.
“Celebration,” her uncle agreed, tipping back a generous mouthful of wine. “And lots of 'em, too.”
Leona smiled. She was already starting to like her uncle, and the house was beautiful beyond her imagination. She felt at home here. It was beautiful, as Danton had said. And it had about it a certain delicacy to which she was unaccustomed, but which she already felt she appreciated considerably.
“Come, then!” her uncle exclaimed, rinsing his hands in a bowl brought by a servant, and drying them on a crisp linen square the man held out to him, “let us partake of the next course. I believe perch is on the menu today; fresh from the river. Sounds good, eh?”
Leona nodded and did as he directed, plunging her hands into the water a servant held. It was warm and, when she breathed in, scented delicately with oil of citrus, a smell that wafted up to her and made her feel even more peaceful than before.
She dabbed her hands with linen, then widened her eyes in surprise as the next course was presented on a platter. Her uncle carved the delicate river fish and set it on the trencher before her.
“Thank you,” she said gravely. It smelled rich and wonderfully-cooked. It was.
“Well, nothing too good for my niece,” her uncle said absently. “Now, I was thinking. You'll need new gowns while you are here. This is a house of mourning, but we are three months past the funeral, so I am sure half-mourning is acceptable, or purple. If you wish?”
Leona looked up, feeling bemused. No one had ever offered her a choice like that so spontaneously across dinner. She frowned. “If purple is acceptable, uncle, I'd be delighted.”
“Oh, good. Purple it is. You'll look wonderfully well.”
Leona blushed, lifting a square of linen from beside her plate to dab at her lips. She felt warmth toward her uncle – he was already being so kind to her.
“You are so kind to me,” she murmured.
“Nonsense, niece,” her uncle dismissed vehemently. “You are my kin. My own family. I never had a daughter, or a son, and so now you are my own.”
Leona smiled at him fondly. She could, she realized, really come to like her uncle. He was generous, inclusive and seemed to be fond of her already.
“Thank you, Uncle,” she said warmly.
“Well, then,” he said, waving a hand at her again, dismissing her praise as lightly as he dismissed the offer of a second refill of his wine glass, “we should plan! I have a seamstress here at the manor, though we should check through the stores of cloth. Danton, anything from Bruges?”
“I don't think so, milord,” Danton said.
“I receive some of the trade from Flanders and beyond,” he explained to Leona in a low voice.
“Oh,” Leona nodded.
“Well, then,” her uncle said, drawing their focus back again. “We'll have to ask Leblanc to get the chests down and see what we can find, eh? See what we can find.”
Leona smiled at him and turned her attentions to her plate.
Three more courses later, feeling replete and sleepy, Leona ate a slice of delicious cheese and listened to her uncle and Danton talk. As the meal progressed, the conversation had become more technical, focusing on the business he had to address with Uncle Marc.
At length, the steward appeared, evidently summoned by her uncle.
“My lord?”
“Leblanc – if you could go to the attic and have the chests of fabrics moved? My niece will need to see them to select some.”
“Very good, milord.”
Leona soon found herself, the dishes cleared away, in a room in the upper reaches of the manor, looking at chests upon chests of cloth as LeBlanc, the steward, gravely opened them.
Her uncle and Danton had retired to another room, discussing the business they had. She was alone with the steward and a ransom's worth of cloth.
“...and what thinks my lady of the damask velvet?”
“It's unparalleled,” Leona said demurely. “But I must choose purple. For mourning, yes?”
“Of course, milady,” the man said evenly. “I think we have some silk from Venice. Ah, here...”
Leona could not help but draw in a breath as he revealed it. It sparkled like the depths of ocean, lustrous as rainclouds, as changeable with the play of light. She felt it and closed her eyes.
“It is beautiful,” she said, amazed almost beyond words.
“Very good, milady.”
Later, when he had gone, the chests packed away, Leona tiptoed to the mirror and held it up. The sheer fabric fell from chin to floor, and caught the evening light and the glow of the candles and spun it back, mulberry dark. The rich purple harmonized with her eyes, making them seem pale blue. It brought out the soft red of her hair.
“It is beautiful.”
She was stroking it hesitantly when she heard someone cough in the doorway. She spun round to see her uncle.
“You chose well,” he said approvingly.
“Oh, Uncle! It is beautiful! I can really use this one? Really?”
Her uncle laughed. “It was bought for a lady as beautiful as you,” he said gallantly. “I just have never seen one before now.”
Leona beamed at him. “Oh, Uncle!”
He smiled. “What?”
“Nothing.”
They smiled at each other hesitantly, and then her uncle excused himself to bed. Leona sat with the silk flowing over her body long after he'd gone. She was in a distant country, with people she barely knew. Yet she was happy. She felt loved. She was very happy indeed. If Conn was here, everything would be perfect in truth.