heart. This man would soon be claiming her body. It was a husband’s right and she was realistic enough to know that even if she wanted to she would not be able to hold him at bay. But he would never touch her soul.
Nine years, he ignored me for nine years …
‘My lady, as you are doubtless aware, I sent for you because it is time for our marriage. It will be soon.’ His fingers squeezed hers, warming her inside all over again.
There was movement behind her. Abbess Ursula had entered the lodge—the ruby at the centre of her silver cross was glowing like an ember. Elise trailed in behind the Abbess, moving unobtrusively in the shadows behind her.
‘Count Lucien.’ Abbess Ursula inclined her head. ‘I assume you have come to arrange your wedding. Did you have a particular day in mind? I take it some time after the turn of the year will be convenient?’
‘The turn of the year? Lord, no. Since Lady Isobel is here I see no reason to delay.’
The Abbess drew her head back. ‘Count Lucien, Advent is almost upon us. You are doubtless aware there can be no weddings in Advent, and it will be hard to arrange it before then. I realise Lady Isobel is already chafing at her confinement here, but her early arrival has thrown us into disarray and—’
‘I am aware of all that,’ the Count said, voice dry. ‘And I intend to take responsibility for Lady Isobel’s care as soon as possible. Our marriage will take place before Advent begins.’ He looked at Isobel. ‘Do you care to choose the day, my lady?’
Isobel thought quickly. ‘I should like to marry on Winter’s Eve,’ she said, picking a day at random.
‘Winter’s Eve?’ His blue eyes were thoughtful. ‘I’m taking part in a local tournament the following day, but I imagine that might be arranged.’
The Abbess frowned. ‘But my lord, Winter’s Eve … that doesn’t give us long to prepare.’
‘I am sure the bishop will accommodate us. And should he prove difficult, I expect you, Abbess Ursula, as cousin to King Louis, to use your influence.’
Isobel’s mind was awhirl. In truth, she was in a state of shock. Not once in all that time had he shown the slightest interest in her. She had grown used to his neglect. But thankfully it seemed he really did intend to marry her. Of course, she would feel happier if he hadn’t made it plain he would be squeezing the ceremony in before one of his all-important tournaments …
The Abbess sighed. ‘Winter’s Eve is not the best of days for a wedding, my lord. You may not recall, but in some quarters it is known as Witches’ Eve.’
‘Is it?’ the Count said, stiffening.
It might be wishful thinking on Isobel’s part, but it was as though he disliked the way the Abbess was so dismissive of her suggestion. Is he to take my part against the Abbess? Is he to be my champion? It was a novel feeling. Isobel felt herself begin to soften towards him.
You fool, have the long years taught you nothing? You mean nothing to him.
‘Reverend Mother, are weddings actually forbidden on Winter’s Eve?’ he asked.
Abbess Ursula shook her head. ‘No, my lord, but—’
‘Then Winter’s Eve it is.’
The Abbess gave a curt nod. ‘As you wish, my lord.’
Blue eyes held Isobel’s. ‘My lady, you realise our marriage will take place before word reaches your father? Viscount Gautier will not be witnessing our wedding.’
‘I am reconciled to that,’ Isobel said. ‘I realised some while ago that my father would not be attending the ceremony.’
‘Oh?’
‘He no longer enjoys full health.’
Count Lucien’s expression was sympathetic. ‘I was saddened to hear of your mother’s death in the summer, I didn’t know Viscount Gautier was also in poor health.’
Isobel nodded, and jerked her gaze away. Grief welled up and the narrow window behind Count Lucien was lost in a mist of tears. Her wounds were too raw for her to speak about her poor mother. ‘Father has remarried. I am sure he will have mentioned this in your exchange of letters.’
‘Yes, so I recall.’
In her heart, Isobel felt her father had betrayed her mother by remarrying so soon. The words caught in her throat.
It irked her that after prevaricating for so long, Count Lucien had merely to snap his fingers and she must come running. Her new stepmother, Lady Angelina, must have been thrilled when his summons had arrived, for she had wasted no time in packing Isobel off. Isobel could have remained at St Foye’s, but the convent was clearly too close to Turenne for Lady Angelina’s comfort. Notwithstanding this, Isobel would have felt she was betraying her father if she complained at being so easily dismissed.
If only her father had ridden to St Foye’s to bid her farewell. Conques was not far from Turenne. Isobel understood that his illness had probably prevented it, but she would have liked a private message of Godspeed. Instead, her father had simply forwarded Lucien’s summons to Mother Edina. And Mother Edina had duly relayed it to Isobel along with the news that her escort awaited outside the convent gates, and would she please pack up her belongings without delay.
She cleared her throat. ‘My lord, despite his marriage, Father is not in good health. He will remain in Turenne.’
‘I hope he recovers swiftly,’ the Count said.
He looked so sombre, Isobel had a depressing thought. If her father and Angelina had a son, and despite her father’s ill health that was possible, then Isobel would no longer be an heiress. Was Count Lucien regretting arranging a marriage with a woman who might never come into an inheritance?
I want Count Lucien to want me! I don’t want him to reject me because he considers me a poor prospect.
How lowering to feel this way.
‘Count Lucien, a word if you please?’ The Abbess gestured him to one side. They went to stand under the window and although Abbess Ursula’s tone became confidential, she had a carrying voice. ‘I cannot help but notice that Lady Isobel is in need of … discipline. I fear her father gave her too much licence at Turenne.’
The Count drew his head back. ‘Lady Isobel has spent much of her time in St Foye’s Convent—I would venture that the good nuns there, rather than Viscount Gautier, are responsible for her upbringing. She will not prevail on your hospitality for long. I am making arrangements for her to lodge at Count Henry’s palace.’
‘Lady Isobel’s maid is sick, my lord. Lady Isobel will have to remain here until the girl has recovered.’
Before she knew it, Isobel had stepped forwards. ‘I am perfectly capable of packing my belongings myself, Reverend Mother.’
‘And I should be pleased to help,’ Elise said, from her place in the shadows.
The Abbess lifted an eyebrow. ‘Very well. I suppose I should expect nothing less.’
‘What
