Mistaken for a Lady by Carol Townend Page A

clumped into the chamber, a saddlebag over each shoulder. ‘Ned found these for us, my lady,’ she said, as one of the bags slid to the floor with a clunk. ‘He suggested that you use that one, it looks fairly new.’
    â€˜Thank you.’ Francesca pulled the bag towards her and eyed it doubtfully. It didn’t look large enough to contain everything she would need, but it would serve. ‘You’re happy with the other one?’
    â€˜Yes, my lady. Here, let me help.’
    Francesca waved her away. ‘You have your own packing to do, I can manage.’
    Mari nodded. Halfway to the door, she sent her a wry smile. ‘Will we be returning to Champagne, my lady?’
    Francesca sat back on her knees. ‘Of course, we can’t disappoint Helvise.’
    Mari eyed the small pile of clothes Francesca had set aside for the journey. ‘Aren’t you going to take a few of your good gowns? Won’t you need them in Fontaine?’
    â€˜Mari, I am no longer the Fontaine heiress, it wouldn’t be right. In any case, Lord Tristan insists we travel light. Sir Ernis will look after our things, I am sure.’ Thoughtfully, Francesca ran her forefinger along a line of stitching on the saddlebag. ‘Mari, we shall have to send word to Helvise that our plans have changed and our visit to Monfort will be delayed. Don’t let me forget.’
    â€˜Very good, my lady.’
    * * *
    Tristan was in the manor gatehouse, issuing last-minute instructions to Sir Ernis before their departure.
    â€˜Ernis, as we won’t be a large party, all we shall need in the way of food is a small supply of bread and cheese. Some ale and a couple of flasks of wine—you know the sort of thing. We can’t carry much, we simply need something to tide us over in case we don’t happen upon an inn when hunger strikes.’
    â€˜Of course, my lord. We had chicken last night—I could ask the cook to wrap some in muslin for your noon meal.’
    â€˜My thanks. Have someone give it to Bastian, he will be in charge of provisions.’
    A clattering of hoofs drew Tristan to the doorway. Ned was mounted up and heading out of the gate. Thinking it a little unusual that a groom should be riding out alone at this hour, Tristan caught his eye and the lad reined in.
    â€˜My lord?’
    â€˜You’ve an errand in Provins?’
    â€˜No, mon seigneur , I’m headed for the manor at Monfort.’ Ned patted his saddlebag. ‘Lady Francesca has asked me to deliver a letter.’
    â€˜She’s writing to someone in Monfort?’ Tristan waved the boy on his way and glanced thoughtfully at his steward. It was natural to expect Francesca to have made friends during her stay in Champagne. All Tristan knew about Monfort was that it lay a few miles from Provins, he hadn’t been back long enough to name all the landowners. ‘Ernis, who holds Monfort?’
    â€˜Sir Eric, my lord.’
    Tristan leaned on the door frame and folded his arms across his chest. ‘Never heard of him.’
    â€˜Sir Eric fostered at Jutigny with Count Faramus de Sainte-Colombe. He married the count’s daughter, Lady Rowena.’
    Tristan drew his eyebrows together. ‘And my wife is writing to de Monfort because...?’
    Sir Ernis cleared his throat and developed an intense interest in the toe of his boot. ‘I...I don’t think Lady Francesca is writing to Sir Eric or Lady Rowena, my lord. I expect she is writing to one of his servants.’
    Tristan’s eyebrows lifted. ‘She’s writing to a servant?’ Ernis looked up. With a jolt, Tristan realised that his steward was deeply uncomfortable. ‘Can this servant even read?’
    â€˜I have no idea, my lord. Her name is Helvise and I believe she is Sir Eric’s housekeeper. My lord, she met your wife in the market and they became friends. I don’t know much about it except that Helvise has a child and