Chapter Sixteen: Roseward

Previously: Les du Maurier

 

It was a crisp, cool morning in Ravensbridge. The sun was out, the skies were clear, the colorful leaves were falling.

 

The wedding was held at the cathedral of Ravensbridge. The walls and pews were decorated with colorful autumn flowers. All the nobles in Ravensbridge attended, including the Foxmeres, the Hawkridges, and the Stoneleighs. The Baron and Baroness of Westervale were the last to arrive, and to Mireille's shock, Matilda was visibly pregnant.

 

"Congratulations," she sputtered, staring at the young blond Baroness. Around them, guests were taking their seats in the pews. 

 

"Thank you, my lady," Matilda replied, grinning as she rubbed her belly. "Everyone thinks it's a boy. Can you imagine? My first child will be the heir of Westervale."

 

"Girls can be heirs too," Mireille reminded her, slightly gesturing at herself.

 

"Perhaps in Valeronne," Matilda chuckled. "Here, they want boys."

 

When all the guests were seated, the ceremony began. Thibault stood awaiting his bride, while Lucien stood beside him.

 

Mireille and Élodie were bridesmaids. All the du Mauriers were wearing their house colors, except for Marguerite, who walked down the aisle dressed and veiled in white.

 

Onlookers gasped as the tall bride descended. Mireille had procured the finest Orsynian velvet and silver silk thread. She also gifted Marguerite new diamonds for her special day. Not even Matilda had made such a lovely bride, and it would be years before someone else did.

 

As she slowly walked behind the bride, Mireille noted that Thibault smiled in approval, perhaps even admiration.

 

The ceremony was thankfully brief, and for the first time, Mireille saw the couple kiss. It was light and chaste, but affectionate enough for her. And she was happy to see them smile.

 

And then came the feast. Godwin had arranged for the feast to be held in the great hall of the bishop’s palace adjoining the cathedral. Mireille didn't want these people under her roof again, even if it wasn't going to be her roof for long.

 

As she said before, the Viscountess spared no expense. She'd purchased the most expensive meats from all the butcher shop, and had paid extra for Valeronnese wine, which was extremely difficult to come by in the war. The cooks had used spices imported from Calderra, and by the time everything was served, there was almost enough food to feed the whole town.

 

Mireille had arranged for the Stoneleighs to sit next to her. Now that they were no longer impoverished, they didn't stuff their faces like everyone else.

 

"My Lord Stoneleigh," she greeted with false cheer. "How does Adela fare in the North? When last I saw her, she wasn't particularly happy about her new residence."

 

"The whining continues," the older man grumbled, primly cutting his meat with a knife and fork. "I thank her for her sacrifice, as her bride-price was nothing short of astronomical. But my gratitude is never enough. For heaven's sake, she's a princess now. What more does she want?"

 

 

Mireille didn't know which made her feel sicker: the cavalier way he discussed selling his daughter, or the fact she had a hand in Adela's fate.

 

"I'm sure she could benefit from the presence of her family," she said quietly, glancing down at her uneaten meal. She looked back up to see Lord Stoneleigh's whole body stiffen.

 

"She has to learn to stand on her own," he said tightly. "Besides, we Stoneleighs do not favor the cold."

 

They're not allowed to go, Mireille suddenly realized.

 

Since the beginning, she'd wondered why the King wasn't closer with his Westervale cousins. She wondered if the blood between them was too thin. But then she remembered how they openly obsessed over their royal ties. And that's when it hit her that the reason was far simpler.

 

His Majesty finds them annoying. She blinked as she processed the epiphany. The Stoneleighs were probably insufferable at the wedding, so the King likely barred them from ever visiting Wintervale. He couldn't risk them offending their new in-laws.

 

Adela doesn't know. That made her wince. That poor young woman was left alone to struggle with her new role, and it was all Mireille's fault.

 

I need to research my characters better before I meddle in their lives, she told herself. If she had bothered to pay attention earlier, she would have probably noticed a lot sooner that the King just didn't like his cousins.

 

After the feast, there was drinking and dancing. Godwin had hired over a dozen bards to perform, along with dancers and acrobats. And while everyone was engrossed in the performance, Mireille pulled the Baron aside.

 

"My Lord Ravenshaw."

 

The enjoyment faded from his eyes when he saw her. She felt like the older man had been avoiding her for a while, spending all his time at the capital and extending his honeymoon. He clearly didn't like owing her.

 

"Vicomtesse," he greeted neutrally.

 

"I am happy to see you and your lovely wife again," she began. "For a moment there, I thought the two of you would never return to Ravensbridge."

 

"It's good to be home," he stated noncommittally, eyes darting back to the performers.

 

"My sentiments exactly," Mireille said, grinning broadly. "Home is just the thing I wanted to discuss."

 

***

 

The war didn't end until after winter, so Mireille had to fast-forward, otherwise she would have died of cold and boredom.

 

The blessed news came one afternoon, when Thibault returned from town and loudly announced, "The Duke of Orvienne is dead!"

 

The du Maurier ladies were chatting over embroidery when they got the news. Mireille's eyes flew wide, but she stayed seated, silent, while the others set their needlework down.

 

"It is done?" Sabine asked. "We can return home?"

 

"We can leave immediately if we wish, Mama," he assured, smiling broadly. "The Duke was butchered in his tent by his own men. I suppose they too were tired of war."

 

Mireille raised an eyebrow. Took 'em long enough. 

 

"I'll begin packing," Marguerite said, lightly rubbing her belly. She hadn't confirmed anything yet, but Mireille was certain her cousin-in-law was pregnant.

 

"I can't wait to go home!" Élodie exclaimed. "I'll go tell Lucien!"

 

Mireille rose quietly and left the sitting room. It took everything to contain her excitement as her mind whirled with all the plans she and Thibault had discussed. Her heart pounded in her chest at the thought of her disappointing Westervale chapter finally coming to an end.

 

"My lady?" Godwin asked, when Mireille suddenly entered his study. She gestured for him to remain seated and came to stand in front of his desk. He noticed she was holding a large sealed scroll.

 

"My family and I are returning to Valeronne," she announced. There was a new distance in her voice that surprised both of them. It was like they were strangers all of a sudden.

 

Godwin blinked repeatedly, struggling with yet another one of her surprises.

 

"Are you going on holiday, my lady?" he asked. "Shall I arrange for the maids to accompany you?"

 

She shook her head. "No, Godwin. I'm going home. Forever. My time in Westervale has come to an end."

 

The seneschal was stunned, unable to speak.

 

"You've been here less than a year," he gasped, when he finally recovered his voice. "The manor, my lady, your lands—" 

 

"All yours." She handed him the scroll. Dazed, he accepted the document and unsealed it. "Now you don't have to keep stealing from me."

 

Godwin's eyes snapped up to her, his whole body tense. Mireille was torn between pity and anger as she watched his eyes slowly fill with pain.

 

"You know what frustrates me more than anything?" she rasped. "All you had to do was ask. That was it. Just ask. You want another horse? Rare wine? New clothes? All you had to do was ask.

 

"At first, I wondered why you didn't just ask, and then I remembered something Edith said about those bitches who abandoned me to go north," Mireille continued, turning away to walk around the study, absently touching a book or bust here and there. "They wanted to be me. Despite everything I did for them, they hated me because they couldn't be me. That's why you didn't ask me. Because you didn't just want another horse or tunic—you want to be me."

 

She finally turned back to him. "Well, I got old Corwin to grant your wish. You're Sir Godwin Whitlock now, Lord of Roseward. This house, these servants, the farmlands—all yours. I even had the advocate transfer the Baron’s debt of gratitude to you. Whatever he owed me, he now owes you."

 

Godwin's hands trembled as he stared down at the Baron's decree. There it was, in Corwin Ravenshaw's own hand. 

 

His voice shook when he tried to speak. "My lady...I offer my humblest apologies. I never intended to take more than you could afford."

 

Mireille was now amused. "Save your apologies, old man. And your thanks. Edith also told me that when nobles smile to my face, they're sharpening knives behind my back. Enjoy the knives, Godwin. They are coming for you."

 

***

 

After she left her speechless former seneschal, the Viscountess returned to her room. She looked around at all the pink and roses, and breathed a deep sigh of relief.

 

I fucking hate roses.

 

Soon, she'd never have to see them again. They were Godwin's problem now.

 

A frantic knock fell on her door, interrupting her thoughts.

 

"Come," she called without thinking. It didn't matter who walked through that door. She was free of this place and all the failures associated with it.

 

Edith entered, her brow furrowed, her blue eyes clouded with worry. "You're leaving, my lady?"

 

Mireille was tired. "Yes, Edith. I want to go home. Being with my family has reminded me how much I don't belong here."

 

"Then I am to go with you," her maid said, nodding resolutely. "I've been studying Valeronnese language, customs, and even royal decorum."

 

"But your entire family is here," Mireille replied wearily, her shoulders sagging. "You'd be alone in Valeronne."

 

"You employed my family," Edith reminded her. "Every night, I sleep safe in the knowledge that they are provided for. My only concern is you."

 

Mireille closed her eyes. It's her damn programming. She's still my guide in this ridiculous world.

 

"I want to go with you," Edith pleaded, coming closer. "Please let me go with you. I've so enjoyed our travels and adventures." She paused before lowering her eyes and admitting, "I would not be happy otherwise."

 

You'd probably drink yourself to death in a week, Mireille sighed.

 

"If you do go with me," she finally relented, "we'll have to make some changes."

 

Edith's eyes lit up with hope. "Of course! Anything!"

 

Next: Auremer