The Virgin's Daughter (Tudor Legacy #1)(41)
“Not since Célie, no. She was well enough, quiet and submissive.”
“If that’s what Nicolas prefers, then he’s hardly likely to want me.” Lucette didn’t know why she was speaking so openly. It must be the lingering weakness of her illness; she must take care not to reveal too much. Embarrassing herself was one thing—jeopardizing Walsingham’s investigation was something else.
“Well, Julien likes you very well. He’s haunted this sickroom corridor nearly as much as Felix. And that has not gone unnoticed by Nic. Whatever catches Julien’s attention so firmly will make Nicolas think it’s something worth investigating.”
Lucette laughed a little. “I’ve seen that in my brothers,” she admitted. “Why are men so competitive?”
“You think it is only men? Women are every bit as competitive—we just have different methods. And we don’t always show that we’re competing, or what it is we’re working toward.”
That was coming uncomfortably close to Lucette’s secret, so she closed her eyes and let a grimace of exhaustion twist her mouth. There was no immediate reaction from Charlotte. After a minute she opened her eyes.
Her friend was studying her with an intensity that tightened lines around her brown eyes. “You’re keeping secrets, Lucette,” she said finally. “You and Julien between you. I know when my brother is lying, and he’s definitely lying about what happened the night you fell ill.”
So Julien had lied for her. Lucette supposed she’d have wondered that before but illness had clouded her usually quick mind. Since she didn’t know what particulars his lie had involved, she simply made a noncommittal sound and kept looking at Charlotte. She would not give her further reason to suspect evasion by looking away.
Charlotte’s sudden smile was all mischief and hope. “I’ve never known Julien to lie over a woman before. I think Nicolas had better move quickly if he doesn’t want to be outmaneuvered by his own brother.”
If Charlotte was determined to plot and plan, then Lucette could give her a convenient—and less dangerous—outlet. “Charlotte,” she said winsomely, “can you help me with my costume for the masked ball? I’ve spent much too long wavering about what to wear and I shall need help with the sewing.”
She almost felt guilty at how her friend’s face lit up with pleasure. “I know the most wonderful seamstress in St. Benoit! I’ll have her here tomorrow. Have you decided, or shall I have to make that choice for you as well as find you a husband?”
Lucette smiled, determined to cause mischief if nothing else. “I shall need feathers on the gown,” she announced. “Lots and lots of feathers.”
—
Nicolas rarely acted in haste. He waited, pondering on the perfect course of action, until Lucette had emerged from the worst of her sickness, until Charlotte and her quiet husband and boisterous daughters arrived. Then he went to the kitchens and sent a maid up to Lucette’s chamber to relieve Anise and send her to him in the small study closet off his bedchamber.
The maid curtsied, but her smile was much more familiar than that of maid and master. Seated behind his desk, Nicolas jerked his chin at her. “How sick was she truly?”
“You think she was pretending?” Anise shook her head. “You can make yourself retch, but you cannot make yourself that clammy and green. She was right ill enough. But she’ll do now.”
“Where did she go that night?”
Anise fidgeted, hands twined in her skirt front. Nicolas already knew where Lucette had been—and Julien also—and he wondered if the maid would bother lying for her.
In the end, Anise knew whose side she needed to be on. “She wanted to visit the Nightingale. See how people live, she said. Harmless enough, surely.”
Nicolas simply kept watching her, waiting for her to say more. Which she did. “You didn’t tell me I had to report everything on her. What’s it to you if she wants to go slumming a bit?”
“If a guest of my father, a lady well-connected to the highest of English nobility, who counts royalty among her friends…if such a lady wishes to leave my father’s house at night, alone and without anyone to aid her should something go wrong…you did not think I would want to know that?”
Anise bit her lower lip, clearly struggling between appeal and dumb resentment. Appeal won. “My lord, you know I would do whatever you ask. She is still weak, and in her illness will be easier to press. Shall I ask her what she was doing?”
“Let her be. We’ll speak again later.”
But not to your advantage, he thought as she curtsied and left. Any dalliance of his had an end date from the very first—if Anise had reached hers a bit earlier than he’d planned, no matter. Better to get her out of the way before things got messy. With Charlotte and her family in noisy residence, the maid’s departure would hardly excite much comment.
But first, best to deal with the scruffy courier from Paris, who was no doubt increasingly impatient as he waited at the Nightingale Inn for a report Julien didn’t seem likely to provide.
Nicolas had plans for that courier.
—
It was another three days before Lucette emerged from her bedchamber. She had considered claiming a relapse out of pure cowardice, but as her body healed, her mind reawakened, and she knew why Julien had been haunting the corridors. As soon as he could, he meant to question her closely about what she had seen and guessed about his contact that night at the inn. He could only be highly suspicious, and she decided she might as well confront him on her own terms.