She glanced up. Her father had been silent while she reflected on Sister Anne’s past. He was studying her.
“Well and good,” he said at last, “but there are more important things than your nun’s history. I have something to discuss with you, daughter.”
Eleanor raised a questioning eyebrow. “I hope I may be of service to you, my lord.” Her trembling returned and, again, she hid her hands in the sleeves of her robe.
“Well said,” he replied, eyes sparkling with brief amusement before his eyebrows bent once more into their usual stern expression. “Since your arrival, you have been so busy caring for your nephew that I have not had the chance to tell you of my plans. I am arranging a marriage between your brother and the daughter of a friend and former comrade-in-arms.”
“Hugh will not come back from the Holy Land for any marriage, father. I hope this happy alliance can wait.”
“Robert, it is, not Hugh. I’ll settle my eldest when he comes back, unless Prince Edward wants to marry him off to one of his close relatives.” He grunted. “That was a jest, mind you. The prince knows too well that our loyalty is secure. He would never waste such a marriage on Hugh.”
“Perhaps our good king would instead grant the hand of one of his queen’s Savoyard relatives to Hugh?” Eleanor suggested, attempting to match humor with humor. Despite her father’s eagerness to arrange advantageous matches for his children, he had adamantly refused his liege lord’s offer of a similar match for himself. Not many men of his age would have rejected such a profitable alliance that brought with it the comforts of a warmer bed. Nor had she heard any rumors about any longtime leman, whether hidden in the nearby village or in the servant quarters. Not that she would have begrudged him that, but she was touched nonetheless by such fidelity to her dead mother.
Adam’s brief smile faded rapidly. “Our good king is getting old, as are we all, my child, and has lost interest in his queen’s relatives. Now his waking hours are spent dreaming about a shrine to his beloved St. Edward the Confessor.” He lowered his voice. “I admit that I wish our king’s son was not off fighting the Saracens. The Lord Edward should be here to ease his father’s burdens and give comfort to his people.”
King Henry III was suffering from more than just a few inconvenient infirmities related to age and her father knew it well, Eleanor thought. What she had heard from her Amesbury aunt, a woman of extraordinarily good sources, was that the frail monarch was now showing signs of senility and was so ill that a letter had been sent to the Lord Edward begging his immediate return. Many at court were worried about the still unsettled peace in England. Should the king die, civil war could well break out again unless the heir was home to take firm control of the throne. The land could ill afford another such rebellion. It was still bleeding from the last one.
“You mentioned the arranging of a marriage for Robert, my lord. Have you spoken with him about this?”
“I am not without concern for my son’s future happiness, Eleanor,” the baron snapped. “As you would do well to remember, I allowed you to take the veil much against my own wishes.”
Indeed he had, but then few had ever won an argument with his elder sister, Beatrice, she thought. “I remember with gratitude, my lord. Who is the woman and what does she bring to this marriage?”
“Do you remember Sir Geoffrey of Lavenham?”
The name was familiar, but the man she knew was a poor one. Was she mistaking him for his elder brother? She shook her head.
“Perhaps not. I think it was your fifteenth summer when you last saw him. He and I were pages together, and we fought de Montfort at Lewes and Evesham.”
“I was not aware that he had lands to give a daughter.”
“Indeed he was a landless knight at the time you knew him, but his elder brother died of tertian fever some years later and Geoffrey inherited all Lavenham lands and title. His elder brother was a good enough man, but I must say his death was timely, soon after Geoffrey suffered the jousting… Did I not write you of Geoffrey’s accident?”
“Robert did, father. He lost his hand, if I recall, and I do remember him well. He had two sons and a daughter. George is my age…”
“…and would have made you a fine husband, if you had but listened…”
“…and the other two were, indeed I may hope that they still are, a few years older? Yes, that year I lived at Wynethorpe before I took my vows, we all spent much time together.” Eleanor smiled. “There was a young ward, I think, and I also remember Sir Geoffrey’s sweet wife. He was so devoted…”
“The mother of his children is dead. He has since remarried. To the Lady Isabelle.”
Eleanor blinked at the harshness of his retort but chose to ignore it. “The only Isabelle I remember was his ward, his daughter Juliana’s good friend.”
Adam’s face reddened, then he turned away and walked toward the huge stone hearth cut deep into the wall just behind the high table. His limp was marked, made worse with the cold, Eleanor thought, and it pained her to watch him struggle not to grimace. For a long time, he stood in silence, his back to her as he heated a poker. When he thrust the glowing iron into a nearby pitcher of cider, the hiss was like that of a trebuchet flinging a stone at a castle wall, but the cold air soon grew warm with the pungent scent of spices. Eleanor watched and waited for him to speak. As he passed her a steaming cup, she noticed that his hands were shaking ever so slightly.
Adam sipped at his own hot drink in silence. “Geoffrey was besotted with her,” he said at last. “I swear his good wife was barely in the ground before he had the whore in his bed.” The baron looked up, his face a mottled red. “I beg forgiveness for my crude language. That is not something I should have said to a daughter, let alone a woman dedicated to God.”
“You may say what you will, father. I am no longer a child and, thanks to your sister, I am neither ignorant nor disapproving of the carnal pleasures between men and women.”
The corners of Adam’s lips twitched upward. “A spirited enough response and direct enough to match my blunt words. I see the fine hand of Beatrice in that as well. She always was one for plain speech. Her desire to forsake the world for the convent after her husband’s death made as little sense to me as your desire for the same.” He coughed. “That aside, I need a woman’s help and have no other to turn to.”
Anger in her heart swelled with her father’s ever-dismissive attitude toward her wish to enter the convent over his desire to put her into an arranged marriage. Eleanor said nothing but only nodded in response, for she did not trust herself to speak with civility.
“To better answer your question, the Isabelle you mentioned is the one Geoffrey married. Perhaps you did not know that their arrival was not long after yours? Aye, I thought not. From my less than discreet words, you must also realize that I cannot abide the woman. I have had more than I can bear of her voice and company. Now that you have more leisure with Richard’s return to health, I would be most pleased if you kept her out of my sight and well-entertained while Geoffrey and I finish the details of what Robert can offer as a dower and what Juliana should bring as her marriage portion.”
“Who else accompanied…”
“The Lady Juliana, of course, and Henry came as Geoffrey’s heir and interested party to the agreement. His inclusion was intended only as a courtesy, but he has thrown up such earthworks to a reasonable decision that both his father and I are now questioning our wisdom in asking his attendance. I do believe Henry is so niggardly that he resents every pittance removed from his own inheritance. It is Robert’s task to entertain him, however, whether he fancies the responsibility or not.”