June 25th, 1613
Four days' journey on horseback with nothing but his own man and a single traveling chest brought His Grace, the Duke of Lonnare, to the familiar lands where his closest friend had been born and raised. Trevithic Castle, the jewel of the duchy of Monceau, stood proud on a prominent rise amid forest and plain, overshadowing the town below with its carefully maintained splendor. It was a fitting place for a royal princess to have made her home, as the Duke of Monceau had intended when he had married the king's sister in the first place. But Charles would only be here for one night, perhaps two. Just long enough to present himself to the lady currently in residence, give her time to pack, and begin the longer journey back to Martel and the King's Court. Messengers had been sent ahead; the servants were expecting a noble and his retinue, and even now, news of his arrival was spreading through the castle itself, no doubt coming to the ears of Lady Alys, wherever she was.
As hooves clattering through the gatehouse and into the oval of the courtyard made themselves known, a flurry of activity swept from the main keep. Grooms to take the horses, servants to take luggage and guide the duke's man to his master's rooms and that which was given over for his own use, and the steward of the castle himself - an aged man who leant heavily on his staff of office - to greet the duke himself. "Your Grace," he declared, "the lady Alys awaits your presence in the library. If you would follow me, at your pleasure." With a bow so staggered it was almost creakingly audible, the old steward turned to make his slow way back into the main keep, shuffling along only just ahead of his noble guest.
Charles gave over his horse and his luggage to the grooms and servants, accustomed to being treated as a favorite of the King's court, but not quite used to the title that had only recently been bestowed upon him and the privileges that came only with it. He offered the steward a nod of his head in greeting and acknowledgement, as was expected, before falling into step just behind the man. "Tell me, does the Lady know who it is that will be her escort?" he asked, feigning curiosity, wondering what she would say when she found out the man who would be leading her back to court was none other than himself.
More than a little out of breath even before they began negotiating the wide staircase up onto the next floor, the steward's reply was offered with a great deal of sadly comical wheezing between every other word. "Lady Alys is ....aware ....from messages sent ....that ....that Your Grace, the ....Duke ....newly invested ....is to be her ....escort." The old man coughed, though there was no need, visibly relieved to have reached the landing above without incident.
Charles furrowed his brows, slowing his pace in hopes the old man would do the same, though he didn't seem to notice. "And did she have anything untoward to say about that?" he prompted further, hoping Alys hadn't had one of her tantrums at the knowledge that he was to be her escort, though the thought of it amused him to no end. He assumed she had learned poise and grace in her five years spent away from the King's Court. With any luck, she was a spoiled child no longer.
For all his aged dignity, it appeared that the steward of Trevithic Castle was a fount of knowledge, especially the kind shared by gossip. "I believe there was some mention made of a duke being a suitable escort for a lady of the blood, Your Grace," he offered, his staff thumping on the thin rug that covered the boards of the floor as he turned to lead the way once again. "Certainly, she expressed a great deal of interest, though we have not had much to tell her. Indeed, she knew more than we, in that Your Grace is the new Duke of Lonnare. Beyond that, I do not believe she knows more than I, and I am only beginning to recall you, Your Grace." He paused, twinkling eyes offering a smile. "May a low servant congratulate Sir Charles Beauforte on his accession to the rank of Duke?"
"You may, indeed, and I would be pleased to accept those congratulations," Charles replied with a warm smile, remembering the old man from his days spent here as a boy, wandering these halls with William and getting into mischief as boys were wont to do.
The old man chuckled, nodding in his absent-minded way. "The lady doesn't know it's you, that much is certain," he wheezed, evidently amused by the prospect of the young woman's surprise. Pausing at the door to the library, he cleared his throat and pushed the door open, stepping in through the open portal. "His Grace, the Duke of Lonnare, my lady."
The room beyond that door was one that had often been forbidden to the children of the castle, being Edward Marillier's refuge from the world and his wife. The library was unique in all Francia; it took the place of a long gallery, the family portraits hung between shelves of books that were each as precious as the others. Tall windows filled the space with light from the vaulted ceiling, to the well-trodden rug that kept feet from echoing against wooden boards. And in the light from one of those windows, Lady Alys Marillier stood, one of those precious books held in her hands, waiting patiently for the Duke to present himself.
She had definitely grown up in the five years that had passed. Gone were the coltish limbs and lack of figure; a woman now stood where the girl had been. Red hair fell down her back in waves, pinned back only from her face, untouched by the more severe court fashions here in her home. Her dress, too, was simple for a lady of her station, and she wore no jewels. But the face ....that was at once familiar and unfamiliar. There were traces of the wayward girl still there, but the eyes were softer, calmer; the smile not so wild as it once had been. She was a woman who had known joy and grief, and they had aged her like wine. And this was the woman whose family was trusting him with her honor.
Only once had Charles ever entered the door to the library, and it had been many years ago on a dare from none other than Lady Alys, five years his junior. She had, apparently, not expected him to take the dare or the punishment that had gone along with it when he'd been caught. He had, however, not betrayed her to her father and revealed who'd put him up to the stunt. As Charles stepped through that portal, it was almost like he was swept back in time, if only for a moment, remembering the laughter that had once echoed through those halls as he and Will and Alys had played there as children growing up. Would she remember him now that so many years had passed, and if she did, what would she think of him now that he was a man' Would she remember him as a beloved brother, a childhood friend, or something else? Perhaps she had forgotten him all together, besotted with the husband she had been forced to marry and then had lost. He had no idea what to expect, and he was not fond of such uncertainty as this.
He almost did not recognize her there, more woman now than girl. He could not see her well from where he stood, her figure framed in the light of a window, but he could tell she had grown taller, the slender reed of a girl having grown into the willowy shape of a woman. The fall of red hair was still the same, a trace of untamed beauty in the copper locks, and he felt a strange yearning deep inside him that he could not quite fathom. He could only wonder what thoughts were going through her head at the prospect of seeing him again, but he did not indulge his ego so much as to think she'd given him much thought during the past five years. "My Lady," he began, offering a polite incline of his head. "I hope I am not intruding on your reading."
For herself, Alys had a good view of the tall man who entered her family's library, his aspect undimmed by the nimbus of sunlight that so clouded his view of her. It took her barely a moment to recall blue eyes and brown hair, that particular walk, and that voice, though it had deepened with time. And sadly, for all his polite courtesy, she forgot her own poise to let herself laugh with unrestrained delight. "Good Goddess," she declared, stepping out of the direct glare of the sun with a smile that was far too teasing. "What can have possessed my uncle to make Bonny Beau a duke?" Or, in the language they'd developed with William as children, when she'd toddled along behind the rowdy boys and tried to keep up with their games ....hello.
Four days' journey on horseback with nothing but his own man and a single traveling chest brought His Grace, the Duke of Lonnare, to the familiar lands where his closest friend had been born and raised. Trevithic Castle, the jewel of the duchy of Monceau, stood proud on a prominent rise amid forest and plain, overshadowing the town below with its carefully maintained splendor. It was a fitting place for a royal princess to have made her home, as the Duke of Monceau had intended when he had married the king's sister in the first place. But Charles would only be here for one night, perhaps two. Just long enough to present himself to the lady currently in residence, give her time to pack, and begin the longer journey back to Martel and the King's Court. Messengers had been sent ahead; the servants were expecting a noble and his retinue, and even now, news of his arrival was spreading through the castle itself, no doubt coming to the ears of Lady Alys, wherever she was.
As hooves clattering through the gatehouse and into the oval of the courtyard made themselves known, a flurry of activity swept from the main keep. Grooms to take the horses, servants to take luggage and guide the duke's man to his master's rooms and that which was given over for his own use, and the steward of the castle himself - an aged man who leant heavily on his staff of office - to greet the duke himself. "Your Grace," he declared, "the lady Alys awaits your presence in the library. If you would follow me, at your pleasure." With a bow so staggered it was almost creakingly audible, the old steward turned to make his slow way back into the main keep, shuffling along only just ahead of his noble guest.
Charles gave over his horse and his luggage to the grooms and servants, accustomed to being treated as a favorite of the King's court, but not quite used to the title that had only recently been bestowed upon him and the privileges that came only with it. He offered the steward a nod of his head in greeting and acknowledgement, as was expected, before falling into step just behind the man. "Tell me, does the Lady know who it is that will be her escort?" he asked, feigning curiosity, wondering what she would say when she found out the man who would be leading her back to court was none other than himself.
More than a little out of breath even before they began negotiating the wide staircase up onto the next floor, the steward's reply was offered with a great deal of sadly comical wheezing between every other word. "Lady Alys is ....aware ....from messages sent ....that ....that Your Grace, the ....Duke ....newly invested ....is to be her ....escort." The old man coughed, though there was no need, visibly relieved to have reached the landing above without incident.
Charles furrowed his brows, slowing his pace in hopes the old man would do the same, though he didn't seem to notice. "And did she have anything untoward to say about that?" he prompted further, hoping Alys hadn't had one of her tantrums at the knowledge that he was to be her escort, though the thought of it amused him to no end. He assumed she had learned poise and grace in her five years spent away from the King's Court. With any luck, she was a spoiled child no longer.
For all his aged dignity, it appeared that the steward of Trevithic Castle was a fount of knowledge, especially the kind shared by gossip. "I believe there was some mention made of a duke being a suitable escort for a lady of the blood, Your Grace," he offered, his staff thumping on the thin rug that covered the boards of the floor as he turned to lead the way once again. "Certainly, she expressed a great deal of interest, though we have not had much to tell her. Indeed, she knew more than we, in that Your Grace is the new Duke of Lonnare. Beyond that, I do not believe she knows more than I, and I am only beginning to recall you, Your Grace." He paused, twinkling eyes offering a smile. "May a low servant congratulate Sir Charles Beauforte on his accession to the rank of Duke?"
"You may, indeed, and I would be pleased to accept those congratulations," Charles replied with a warm smile, remembering the old man from his days spent here as a boy, wandering these halls with William and getting into mischief as boys were wont to do.
The old man chuckled, nodding in his absent-minded way. "The lady doesn't know it's you, that much is certain," he wheezed, evidently amused by the prospect of the young woman's surprise. Pausing at the door to the library, he cleared his throat and pushed the door open, stepping in through the open portal. "His Grace, the Duke of Lonnare, my lady."
The room beyond that door was one that had often been forbidden to the children of the castle, being Edward Marillier's refuge from the world and his wife. The library was unique in all Francia; it took the place of a long gallery, the family portraits hung between shelves of books that were each as precious as the others. Tall windows filled the space with light from the vaulted ceiling, to the well-trodden rug that kept feet from echoing against wooden boards. And in the light from one of those windows, Lady Alys Marillier stood, one of those precious books held in her hands, waiting patiently for the Duke to present himself.
She had definitely grown up in the five years that had passed. Gone were the coltish limbs and lack of figure; a woman now stood where the girl had been. Red hair fell down her back in waves, pinned back only from her face, untouched by the more severe court fashions here in her home. Her dress, too, was simple for a lady of her station, and she wore no jewels. But the face ....that was at once familiar and unfamiliar. There were traces of the wayward girl still there, but the eyes were softer, calmer; the smile not so wild as it once had been. She was a woman who had known joy and grief, and they had aged her like wine. And this was the woman whose family was trusting him with her honor.
Only once had Charles ever entered the door to the library, and it had been many years ago on a dare from none other than Lady Alys, five years his junior. She had, apparently, not expected him to take the dare or the punishment that had gone along with it when he'd been caught. He had, however, not betrayed her to her father and revealed who'd put him up to the stunt. As Charles stepped through that portal, it was almost like he was swept back in time, if only for a moment, remembering the laughter that had once echoed through those halls as he and Will and Alys had played there as children growing up. Would she remember him now that so many years had passed, and if she did, what would she think of him now that he was a man' Would she remember him as a beloved brother, a childhood friend, or something else? Perhaps she had forgotten him all together, besotted with the husband she had been forced to marry and then had lost. He had no idea what to expect, and he was not fond of such uncertainty as this.
He almost did not recognize her there, more woman now than girl. He could not see her well from where he stood, her figure framed in the light of a window, but he could tell she had grown taller, the slender reed of a girl having grown into the willowy shape of a woman. The fall of red hair was still the same, a trace of untamed beauty in the copper locks, and he felt a strange yearning deep inside him that he could not quite fathom. He could only wonder what thoughts were going through her head at the prospect of seeing him again, but he did not indulge his ego so much as to think she'd given him much thought during the past five years. "My Lady," he began, offering a polite incline of his head. "I hope I am not intruding on your reading."
For herself, Alys had a good view of the tall man who entered her family's library, his aspect undimmed by the nimbus of sunlight that so clouded his view of her. It took her barely a moment to recall blue eyes and brown hair, that particular walk, and that voice, though it had deepened with time. And sadly, for all his polite courtesy, she forgot her own poise to let herself laugh with unrestrained delight. "Good Goddess," she declared, stepping out of the direct glare of the sun with a smile that was far too teasing. "What can have possessed my uncle to make Bonny Beau a duke?" Or, in the language they'd developed with William as children, when she'd toddled along behind the rowdy boys and tried to keep up with their games ....hello.