Bride Of Trouville. Lyn Stone
and who better than yourself? You see how fate has intervened here?”
Fate. As much as he disliked the man, Edouard wondered if Hume might not be right. Strange that providence had thrown the two of them together at such a time. A time when Edouard really did need a new home, a wife and a mother for his son.
If this niece of Hume’s was anything at all like the Lady Honor... Well, it would not hurt to listen to what the old devil had to say.
“You have disposition of her? What of her parents?”
“Dead for some years, my lord. Her son inherits the Baincroft holdings, but Anne owns those adjoining it. You should gain an adequate income from both. Also, you will have at least eight years to enhance her property while administering her young son’s estate for him. War never touched either place and profits from both are excellent. Trust me, these lands are better located than those you offer to purchase from my Honor and Alan of Strode.”
Edouard did not reject the notion out of hand. No woman since the Lady Honor had appealed to him as a candidate for wife. So unsuitable were those available, he had not even considered marriage for some time now. The French court tended to attract women like his mother, jaded, promiscuous and power hungry. Hume’s suggestion bore looking into.
“One lad of ten, you say, and none since? She must be past bearing,” Edouard said. No man wished a barren wife.
Hume appeared worried as he fingered his beard. “Anne’s twenty-seven, I believe. Aye, that would be right, for she wed at sixteen.” He brightened. “’Twas her husband’s fault she quickened no more. I’m certain of it. He was near sixty, after all.”
“Could be,” Edouard replied noncommitally, but Hume’s supposition made sense. She had already borne one child successfully, and would very likely have more with a younger husband. Being a father again appealed to Edouard.
Owning an estate outside of France appealed even more at the moment. Hume’s offer had merit if the woman did prove suitable.
And the baron was right about a mother for Henri. Living between their bachelor keep and the debauchery of the court had rendered the boy something of a hellion. Learning a few social graces from a feminine hand might soften his rough edges.
The more he thought on it, the greater Edouard’s interest grew. He disliked Hume personally, but the man had fathered that wondrous creature Edouard once despaired of losing. Might his sister have produced one as well?
“Describe her to me, warts and all,” he ordered.
Hume laughed. “No warts, my lord. Anne’s very like my Honor in appearance. Skin smooth as new cream. Her hair, a bounteous length of fine, dark waves. Eyes like the deep, mysterious waters of a highland loch.”
So Hume would wax poetic, Edouard mused. He listened tongue in cheek as the proud uncle continued, “I recall that shining mane rippling to her waist the day she wed. Exquisite eyes with a wee tilt to them. Both lasses carry the look of my mother, who remained lovely well past her prime. In temperament, Anne has proved far more tractable than my Honor, however. She did her duty as she was bidden, and will again.”
Edouard wondered what kind of persuasion had been required to compel a sixteen-year-old girl to wed a man more than thrice her age. But Hume seemed confident of the woman’s acceptance should Edouard choose to offer for her.
On the off chance that he might do so, Edouard decided to send Sir Armand with a letter to his factor in Paris. He would order the man to collect and forward all the portable goods from the French properties to Scotland.
The bulk of his ready coin and jewels, Edouard carried with him now, in the event his royal cousin leaned toward confiscation of the estates. The profits of his investments in the low countries could easily be directed to Scotland, as well.
Even if nothing came of the meeting with Hume’s niece, Edouard could build or purchase a place and live quite comfortably near Edinburgh.
The more he thought on it, the more he welcomed this necessary change from his former life. Yes, why not begin anew in Scotland, free of the intrigue and machinations necessary to retain his niche in the royal circles of France? That would suit him admirably, whether he wed this Scotswoman or not.
Until now, he had never seriously considered how weary he was of it all, or how detrimental life at court might be proving to Henri’s character.
Fate might very well be at work here.
Hume shifted impatiently in his saddle. “Well, what say you, my lord?”
“Very well. I will meet this niece of yours. Then we shall see. But I warn you now, I would have no unwilling woman to wife. Should I decide to offer for the Lady Anne, there will be no coercion on your part as there was with your daughter, Hume. Is that clear?” He pinned the man with a warning glare. “None at all.”
The baron answered with a beatific smile. “Oh, none will be necessary, my lord. My niece will delight in you, I am certain.”
Two weeks later, Lady Anne stood in the hall of Baincroft’s Keep, aghast at her uncle’s dreadful suggestion. Another marriage? She could not accept this, would not.
She cursed the wretch who notified him that her husband had died. Though she realized that news from Scotland must reach the French court with some regularity, Anne had hoped that the death of a minor Scots nobleman would prove too mundane to report. Apparently, it had not.
“The comte de Trouville delayed to inspect your dower lands and will be arriving directly. I came ahead to prepare you and to assure you that he is perfect! Just think, my dear, his title equals that of earl, and you shall be a cormtesse, a countess!”
He reached for her hands, but she jerked them away. Then, mindful of his absolute control over her, she softened the hasty act with a forced smile. Nothing would be achieved by rebellion.
True, she had met her uncle only twice before in her life including this visit, but clearly, he took their kinship quite seriously.
“I know what his tide equates to, Uncle. But I swear to you, Robert and I can manage Baincroft quite well on our own. He gained the age of reason three years ago. His people love him and are eager to serve him as lord, despite his youth. I truly have no wish to wed again. Kindly humor me in this, I beseech you.”
She saw at once how his choler rose, and that she could not reason with him, no matter how sweetly she spoke.
“Humor you?” He spat angrily into the rushes and then leveled her with a furious look. He shook a finger in her face. “You heed me, Anne, for I have no time to bring you round nicely or whip you into submission. Trouville is cousin to the French king. I need this connection and I’ll brook no reluctance on your part. You utter one word, offer a single look of denial to this man’s proposal, and that son of yours will be on his way to France with me on the next ship.”
Anne could not stifle her cry of protest.
He nodded and smiled evilly when he heard it. “Aye, you did strike me as a mother hen when you spoke of your one and only chick. You will not see your precious Robert again if you refuse me this. I have the right to his fostering, you know! Eight long years, Anne. Think on that.”
Anne closed her eyes and fought the fury exploding inside her. First, her father had forced her to marry MacBain, a man much older, wealthier, and more hateful than her sire had been. Eleven years, she had spent in hell here. Eleven years of enduring constant calumny, sometimes outright cruelty. And nearly nine years of hiding from his sight the son MacBain grew to hate.
Now her uncle would throw her right back into the pit of despair she had just escaped by the grace of MacBain’s death.
Though it galled her to submit to yet another marriage, keeping Robert by her must be her first concern. Even had he the ability to survive fostering with another, she could never allow him into her uncle’s keeping. He would not last the day.