Chateau of Longing by Monica Bentley

Author:Monica Bentley [Bentley, Monica]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2017-07-29T16:00:00+00:00

* 7 *

She awoke one morning to find Marcel sitting on the edge of her bed.

“Marcel!” she yelped, clutching the sheets to her chin. She looked around for her ladies-in-waiting but saw no one to reproach.

“Oh, please,” he smiled at her. “I was enjoying watching your slumber.”

She darted a glance at him, wondering if he was teasing.

“You’re very beautiful, Lela. You have grown into a beauty far more refined than our Avignon days.”

She scoffed at that.

“Destined to more than fulfill the duty of ornamenting the King’s latest favorite.”

She gasped, her hands rising to her cheeks.

“No, no, no!” he said, lifting a hand to stop her. “I was only teasing. There is no renewed Summons. At least, not yet.”

She sighed.

“You are wise, however, to expect it,” he shook his head. “I am.”

She thrust that unhappy thought aside. “What news, else?”

He smiled that quiet smile of his.

“I would ask how things are running here, yet, I see with my own eyes what wonders you have wrought.”

She chuffed.

“Nay, truly, Lela. Chateau Anjou is a world different from when I first lay eyes upon it. God’s tears! This morning, I walked into the kitchen to see the mistress reconstituting black diamonds for an omelette aux truffe! How in the world did you find Provence truffles in Brittany? Even if they are dried.”

She felt herself beam an impish, if still somewhat sleepy grin at him. “I sent back home for them. It was to be a surprise for you.”

“Home to Provence?”

“No, my kitchen mistress lays in a store of them at Brionde.”

“Ah.”

They sat a moment in silence.

“Well.” He rose, took a few steps toward the archway and rapped out, “Wine.”

She heard a bustle, then a lady-in-waiting rushed in, nodding to her, carrying a tray with her usual morning aperitif these days, two small glasses of a simple dry white pinot gris. Perfect to greet the day with.

He looked them over, smiled quizzically at her, then took a sip. He smiled more deeply and settled back on the bed. The maid, Ninon, a buxom lass of red hair and fair skin, blushed at him on her way out. Clearly she was besotted with Marcel. And why not, Lela argued with herself. His colors today were a more warlike dark blue. It suited him. His boots were spotted with mud in manly fashion. Clearly he had been up and riding early. Still, a last glance of longing from the girl at him made her grit her teeth. It made her want to go home. But Katya first, she reminded herself.

“So, what else have you seen of my work?” she sat back in her pillows, taking a sip.

“Well, the villa girl of Avignon has certainly grown up. You run the chateau – and your own from afar, I imagine – more easily than the headman here runs his measly village. No bedbugs at night. No dog shit from the hallways on my heels. Fresh rushes daily, fresh cut flowers in every room, the staff looking, and smelling,” he raised an eyebrow, “a great deal sweeter than when I first met them.

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