The Virgin's Daughter (Tudor Legacy #1)(83)
“If I did,” Julien bit off, “at least I would have the decency to do it myself. I don’t suppose you will be dirtying your hands with my torture.”
Was that genuine regret that passed across Walsingham’s face? “Do you think I enjoy living in a world where I can trust no one? But I must live in the world that is, not the one I wish it to be. Answer truthfully, son, and it will go all the better for you.”
“Not when the truth is one you don’t want to hear. Would you rather I lie to you?”
“You know something, Julien, and if you will not share it, I will press until you do.”
Julien closed his eyes and leaned against the wall with feigned indifference. “I shall endeavour to make it worth the interrogator’s time. But I will not lie, not even for my own convenience.”
He kept his eyes closed and heard Walsingham’s soft sigh, as if truly sorrowful, then his footsteps and the heavy door scraping open and closing. Julien shook his head. It seemed his only chance was to figure out whatever useful information Walsingham thought he had and share it before his joints were permanently pulled out of place and he was left crippled.
Though if Julien were crippled, perhaps Nicolas would accept it as proper atonement for his sins and stop torturing them both for what had happened in Paris.
—
They were four days on the road from London, Lucette growing more tense the farther they got from the Tower and Julien. Nicolas’s attention kept her aware of how carefully she had to play her part, not to mention the fact that Richard Laurent hardly left his master’s side. For a man supposed to be a tutor, Laurent seemed comfortable taking menial orders from Nicolas. “He’s a good clerk,” Nicolas told her casually, “and efficient in whatever he’s asked.”
What precisely had he been asked? she wondered. To hire a man to poison the queen? To kill the hired man after and plant evidence against Julien? She wouldn’t put any manner of violence and deceit past Laurent. And the way he watched her on the road to Wynfield Mote warned her that he was not as taken by her charms as Nicolas. She would have to be careful not to spook Laurent. She must have been adequate at impersonating a lovestruck girl, enough that Kit’s frown grew more pronounced as the days passed. He took to separating his sister from Nicolas while they rode, which was a great relief.
When they were still two miles away from Wynfield, she saw the riders approaching and knew them at once: Dominic in the lead, with several men riding behind in the Exeter colours. But it wasn’t all men—there was her mother, riding next to Dominic, and for one moment Lucette was glad that Julien was not there to see how beautiful Minuette still was in her forties. But a moment later she thought passionately that she would gladly suffer the pangs of ridiculous jealousy if only it were Julien riding at her side rather than Nicolas.
But she would not live any longer wishing that things could be different. How many years had she wasted wishing there had never been a king to interfere in her parents’ lives, wishing that she could be certain of her birthright? No more. She had only one life, and she meant to live it as it presented itself. So she smiled at Nicolas and said, “We’ve quite a welcome party.”
“I’m flattered,” he said, his tone carefully balanced between pleasure at being with her and grief at his brother’s betrayal of his English guests. He was very good at hitting the perfect note. If only she wasn’t so cynically certain of his own guilt, she might be deceived. It made her wonder what her family would make of him.
Kit spurred ahead and met the party first. By the time Lucette and Nicolas approached, all the attention was on the two of them: Minuette warm as always, Dominic even more wary than usual.
Being on horseback provided a measure of courteous distance, for which Lucette was grateful. She had been surprised by the swell of tears in her throat and the sudden, intense urge to throw herself into Dominic’s arms and then demand that her wise mother tell her what to do.
But she did infuse her words with genuine gladness as she said, “I am so glad to see you both.”
She saw the quick startled glance of her mother, and the twitch of a muscle in Dominic’s cheek. “We missed you,” he said. And then, as welcome as a streak of sunlight during a spring shower, he smiled at her as he had not since she was sixteen.
Minuette, ever gracious, welcomed Nicolas with a tact that was unparalleled even by the queen. “We welcome your return to Wynfield Mote, Nicolas. We’d rather your brother was with you.”
“That is very kind of you, Lady Exeter.” Nicolas’s English was so charmingly accented that Lucette could not but suspect guile. She pretty much suspected everything he did these days was guile. Certainly he had motivations she had not yet guessed. That was what the next week or two was about: motivations, evidence, and freeing Julien.
With unsurpassed skill, Minuette managed to match her horse with Nicolas’s, leaving Lucette to ride next to Dominic. He shot her a sideways glance and said with remarkable restraint, “Rumour reaches even here, Lucette. From those rumours, I expected today to meet the man you have set your heart on. But you do not quite have the look of a woman lost to love.”
“Have you generally found rumours to be trustworthy?”
“I have generally found them to possess at least a core of truth.”
She chose her words carefully, not wishing to be a liar directly to his face. “I have brought to Wynfield the man upon whom all my thoughts are focused at present.”