A Lady Under Siege(50)
There was good sense in these words, Sylvanne knew. Clearly, seduction would serve her better than the brooding anger she displayed to Lord Thomas. In a voice laden with self-reproach, she said, “I haven’t found a way to disguise my unhappiness. It’s too fresh, too strongly felt.”
“Our Biblical model accepted her need to play seductress, ma’am,” Mabel continued. “She behaved uncharacteristically for a greater purpose. And so should you, if I may say. So should you. Be sweet to the daughter, become her friend and companion, so that the father will look upon you tenderly. Match his tender regard with your own. Make him fall in love with you.”
Before Sylvanne could give expression to her thoughts the door opened, and a guard informed her of his orders: she was to be brought at once to Daphne’s bedroom. Pointing to the untouched breakfast upon the table, Sylvanne said, “Give us a few moments, there’s a dear,” in a voice she intended to sound honeyed and demure. To her own ears it felt fake, it fairly reeked of insincerity, but it produced the desired effect on the guard. He looked at her uncertainly, then nodded, and left the two women alone. As the door closed Mabel saw her Mistress smile for the first time in a very long time, possibly since the siege had been laid. “You might be on to something, sweet Mabel,” Sylvanne mused. “Come with me to the girl’s bedside, and let’s see whose heart I can win.”
25
Daphne sat up in her bed, watching with delight as her father juggled three small oranges. A dozen more nestled in a wooden bowl on her sheets. “They came all the way from Spain, where it’s sunny and warm,” her father crowed. “I expect they’ll soon make you sunny and warm as well. They are sweet, yet almost sour, and that’s very curious. I’m told they only grow in lands that never see snow.”
In a chair by the bedside, the servant girl Beth had been assigned the task of peeling and segmenting one of these exotic, mysterious fruits onto a silver plate to present to the young lady. Thomas glanced at her, and saw that she had grown bewildered and frustrated, for the skin of her orange was tough and dry, and when she ripped at it, chunks of the watery interior came away with it. Her hands were dripping juice onto the plate, yet she dared not wipe or lick them. Seeing the mess she was making of it, Thomas grew ill-tempered. “Useless girl, give me the damn fruit,” he barked, and taking it from her platter, recomposed himself to a more gentle manner, bowed to his daughter, and handed her a new plate with the pulpy fragments upon it. “For you, my dear,” he said grandly. “Now don’t eat the skin, that dry rind, but suck from it the moist innards.”
Daphne picked up one of the least mangled fragments and tasted the pulpy flesh. “It’s good!” she cried, and both Thomas and Beth applauded happily. She tore into it, then another piece, then another.
“For the price of one of these, I can feed a soldier of my guard for a month,” Thomas told her.
Daphne sucked the juice from every segment, licked the plate, and demanded eagerly, “Give me another.”
“That’s two soldiers,” Thomas hooted delightedly.
“Let me unwrap it myself this time,” she said. “I want to lick my hands, and not waste so much as a single drop. Beth, you look so funny, with your hands wet with juice, yet afraid to wipe them. Lick them, go ahead.” The servant girl looked doubtful, but Thomas scolded her to do as told, and she timidly touched her sticky fingers to her tongue, immediately curling her lips and making a bitter face. Daphne laughed. “Perhaps you got the sour part, for I’ve tasted nothing but sweetness.”
Thomas handed his daughter her second orange. “It might be easier if I slice it for you,” he suggested, pulling his table knife from its sheath.
“No, no,” Daphne protested. “You’ll spill the juice, and a knife shouldn’t be licked. There must be a way to do this, so as to keep the segments intact, and the juice trapped within.” She applied herself to the job, while Thomas watched closely. Meanwhile a guard ushered in Lady Sylvanne, followed by Mabel.
Thomas greeted Sylvanne excitedly. “Ah, there you are at last. I called for you because the oranges have just arrived. Have you ever tasted one before?”
“Never,” Sylvanne replied. She met his gaze, and he was surprised to find that her eyes were placid, not the churning seas of rage he had come to expect.
“No, I shouldn’t have thought so. Well here is your chance—you may have one if you like.”