Bride Of Trouville. Lyn Stone
drew together in a scowl. He had not liked that shaking Trouville had given him. “Nay!”
“Aye!” she declared. “You will. Now you must heed me, Rob.”
Rebellion had him closing his eyes and turning away, but she firmly tapped his knee, her signal that she meant business and he must attend.
When he finally faced her, his resignation apparent in the sag of his shoulders, she continued. “I must marry this man,” she said, clasping her palms together.
He studied them for a moment, sighed loudly, and then gave one succinct nod.
“He wants to meet you. You must watch his words. Say only ‘aye, my lord’ or ‘nay, my lord.”’
Rob chewed his lip and lowered his brows. She knew he was considering whether he could do as she demanded with any success. The French accent would be a great obstacle. Rob must have noted the problem when Trouville threatened him earlier.
“I shall be there. Look to me,” she advised, touching her finger to his eye and then to her lips. “Now for speech practice.”
He clamped the back of one hand to his brow and rolled his eyes, groaning dramatically as he slid to the floor. Anne laughed at his foolery, for the moment forgetting her fears.
Later, as she left Rob in her rooms, perfecting his bow before old Rufus, Anne’s apprehension returned. He had to meet Trouville, there was no getting around that. Pray God the man would be too caught up in the excitement of his impending wedding to pay much mind to a mere stepson.
Her new husband would be gone very soon. Of necessity, Rob must appear at the ceremony, but there would be no time for discourse between them then, surely. If only they could get through this evening’s confrontation without detection, she would keep Rob out of sight until protocol demanded his presence.
If worse came to worst and the comte discovered the truth about Rob, she would have no recourse but to plead mercy. If she pled prettily and often enough, he might permit Rob and her to live on as supplicants. But Anne knew, as surely as she knew her own name, that Trouville would never grant her Robert all that was his by right of birth when he reached adulthood.
Many things could occur between now and that time, however. Her uncle would not be around to observe Rob in the years to come. He had a home and his duties in France. Trouville might make infrequent visits, but she could keep Rob away from him. If fortune smiled, neither of the men should guess until Robert was a man grown, if even then.
By that time, Anne hoped she would have taught her son enough to hold his own. By that time, she would have installed a wife for him with wits enough to supply what he lacked when he needed help. Meg and Michael’s daughter, Jehan, had a good head on her shoulders. Rob would have a young steward, as well. Thomas, his brother-by-marriage, would protect and serve out of love for his lord. Their training was already well underway. She had done all she could for the present.
If not for her all-consuming worry, she could turn all her energies toward making certain Trouville departed the day after the wedding a complacent man. Anne knew she must still give serious thought to how she might send him home satisfied, assured that she would see to his interests here without any further supervision.
The ceremony and small celebration would present no problems in and of themselves. Then she must endure the wedding night, of course.
MacBain had never required anything other than her submission whenever he had come to her. Anne needed no further lessons concerning the futility of resistance.
Mayhaps performing her marital duty would not prove so ghastly this time. No woman could call Trouville loathsome to look upon. And she could not envision him as rough-handed when it came to wooing. The comte did not seem inclined toward brutality unless provoked, and she certainly knew better than to incite a man’s anger.
Meg would assist her in avoiding another pregnancy just as the old herb woman, Agatha, had done in the years following Robert’s birth. Another child must be prevented at all costs. Trouville should not question her future barrenness, given her advanced age. He had his heir, so that should not present a problem.
Her main concern must be in seeing Rob through this day and the next without mishap. Anne simply had little time to dwell on the minor inconvenience of contenting her new husband’s carnal expectations. By the time she counted the twenty cherubs stitched on the bed’s canopy, it would all be over and done, anyway. She would yield the once, and right gladly, to get him out of their lives in short order.
A small shiver of apprehension tingled through her. Surely it was apprehension, was it not?
“Lord Edouard Gillet, comte de Trouville, may I present my son, Baron Robert Alexander MacBain, Lord of Baincroft,” Anne announced. She stepped forward and turned so that she stood to the side and slightly behind Trouville.
Anne had decided to introduce Rob to her betrothed just prior to the evening meal. Planning this night’s repast and the nuptial feast for the following day had provided her the excuse to avoid the comte all afternoon.
She had kept Robert in her chambers practicing his words and his bow, in hopes of keeping him clean and out of mischief. Thank goodness he had left Rufus above stairs as she ordered, for the sight of the faithful old hound might give the whole thing away.
Now had come the moment she dreaded.
Robert bowed perfectly and straightened, looked directly into the comte’s eyes and smiled winningly. He did that so well, she thought. Her son knew his assets and used them to full advantage. That smile ranked foremost among his talents. No one save his old father could ever resist it.
However, here might be another who could. She had the distinct feeling that the comte, at Robert’s age, probably exercised that very same guile in like fashion. He used a more worldly form of it even now.
“Lord Robert,” Trouville said formally. “I am pleased to meet you at last.” He spoke French.
With an economy of movement, Anne gave a quick twist of her fist and pointed at her chest.
“And I,” Rob said clearly.
Anne almost fainted, with relief that Rob had answered at all, and in dismay at his inadvertently poor manners. He had replied in English, because he knew no other way. Too loudly, as well, but that could be attributed to the tension of their first meeting. She hoped.
Even hereabouts, nobles always conversed in French with each other, using the English or Gaelic with lesser ranks. However, if Trouville took offense in this instance, he was too polite to say as much. In fact, he readily switched to English as he introduced his son to Rob. Neither boy said anything, merely bowed simultaneously and regarded each other with great interest.
Anne’s heart leapt when she realized she had completely forgotten Henri and what he might make of Rob. He would not be so distracted as his father tonight, and might even make an overture of friendship toward her son. If not that, at least he would attempt conversation.
She hurriedly gathered them all as if herding unruly sheep and directed them toward the dais. She indicated Henri should sit to his father’s left. She reminded Rob with a brief gesture that he was to stand behind and pour for their guests and herself.
Trouville insisted on holding her chair for her himself, and Anne thanked him for his courtesy. Then his long fingers subtly caressed her upper arms and shoulders over the fitted velvet that covered her. A chill rippled along her spine, though it did not seem an unpleasant sensation.
How forward he was, touching her so. Try as she might, however, Anne could find no will to reject the gesture. No good reason, either, since he would certainly dare far more than this in the very near future. Please him, she reminded herself.
Before they settled well enough to be served, her uncle arrived. Fortunately, his delight over acquiring several minstrels and a hogshead of French burgundy prevented his noticing Rob at all. Far be it from her to tempt fate with further introductions unless it became absolutely necessary.