Chapter 183: The Meet
From those fragments, Tabitha had understood enough. She admired the girl. Many women, placed so near a crown, would have looked at the glitter and chosen power over peace. After all, why remain tied to a dukedom, however grand, when one might have the king of England at her beck and call?
Livia had not reached for the glitter of the crown. She had turned from it. She knew the difference between being honoured and being possessed. That alone told Tabitha more about her character than any noble lineage could have done.
"Come, my lady," Tabitha murmured. She offered her hand, and Livia took it.
The physician stepped back respectfully as Tabitha helped her rise. His assistants gathered their things and followed at a careful distance.
Tabitha led Livia toward her chamber. She could not stop the examination but she could ensure Livia was not made to feel alone through it.
Richard had made her promise she would do everything within her power for the lady. Tabitha intended to keep that promise.
*****
Princess Madeleine had not left her apartments since the royal physician departed her chambers. She had received his conclusion in silence, though the disappointment had struck deep. She was not carrying the King’s child.
The knowledge had left her cold. It would have been perfect. The timing would have been perfect, and she would have had every right to remove whatever distractions the King might have.
Distractions such as Lady Bella.
Madeleine’s mouth tightened at the thought of her. She was nothing, yet somehow she occupied space Madeleine had been born and bred to claim. It was insulting.
A woman did not need a crown to become powerful. Sometimes all she needed was a man foolish enough to soften for her.
When Madeleine’s English maid entered to inform her that preparations must begin for the cathedral, the princess merely hissed under her breath and turned her face away.
"What is the point of this farce?" she muttered.
The maid lowered her gaze. "Your Highness?"
Madeleine gave her a cold look, and the maid wisely fell silent.
Priests and noblewomen who would speak to her as though she were some ignorant girl being led toward an honour too large for her understanding. They would tell her of duty and sacrifice. They would remind her that a queen must be gracious and fertile. As though she had not been raised with those words pressed into her bones since childhood.
She already knew what queenship required. What more could any priest teach her? Just a procession of self-important men and women desperate to feel they had approved her. England wanted to pretend it was receiving her into its holy embrace, when in truth it needed her bloodline, and the peace her marriage would purchase.
Madeleine rose at last. She endured the washing first, standing still as warm water was poured and scented cloths were passed over her skin. Then came the layers: a fine linen shift, petticoats, and a gown. Madeleine submitted to it all with a stillness that made her maid nervous.
A veil was pinned carefully over her hair, then drawn forward to soften and partially conceal her face.
The mirror reflected a woman prepared for holy instruction. Madeleine saw a queen being delayed.
Once dressed, she sat in rigid silence while her maid packed a small case with the items required. Prayer book. A change of linens.
A few minutes later, the Queen Dowager’s maid arrived and curtsied from the threshold.
"The carriage is ready, my lady. It is time to leave."
Madeleine rose to her feet. She felt distant from herself. Then she lifted her chin and walked out. Her head remained high, her posture flawless, her steps measured with all the grace expected of a princess. No one watching her would have guessed at the heaviness pressing behind her ribs.
"I should like to take leave of His Majesty before we depart," she told the Queen Dowager’s maid.
The woman curtsied. "Of course, my lady."
Madeleine turned toward the King’s apartments, her own maid and the Queen Dowager’s woman hurrying after her at a respectful distance.
At the entrance to the King’s apartments, two guards stood on duty. They straightened immediately at her approach.
"Announce me," Madeleine said. "I wish to speak with His Majesty."
"Forgive me, my lady," the guard said carefully, "but His Majesty is not available."
"Do you know where he is?" she asked.
"No, my lady."
Of course he was not there. Of course he had not thought to come to her himself. A decent man would have offered some kindness. A king, even an unwilling one, might have understood the importance of appearances. But Henry could not even grant her that.
"Where is Stephen?" she asked.
"The Queen Mother sent for him, my lady."
Madeleine released a quiet breath. The King could not even pretend to care about her, pretend that he would miss his queen to be. She turned from the King’s door and began to walk away. She had taken only a few steps when movement at the far end of the corridor caught her attention. Stephen was approaching, but he was not alone.
A woman walked before him. Madeleine slowed. The woman was dressed provocatively for the palace at that hour, and certainly too boldly for the corridor leading to the King’s private apartments. Her gown, though fine, clung with elegance, drawing the eye to her bossom. The colours suited her complexion too well. There was something foreign in her beauty too.
Madeleine stopped completely. The woman’s face stirred something in her memory. Madeleine had seen her before. She was certain of it. Her gaze narrowed beneath the veil.
Where?
Then it came to her. Lady Bella’s French tutor. What business did Lady Bella’s tutor have near the King’s apartments? And why was she dressed like that as if she were there to tempt the king?
Her hand rose to her veil.
At the other end of the corridor, Stephen saw her. He wished he had turned down another passage. Seeing Princess Madeleine standing before the King’s apartments, and watching them, he understood at once that this could become trouble.
(200 power stones!!!)
