a glimpse of such rare loveliness.”
I turned my head to hide a faint blush. “How did you notice my package?”
“I saw it as soon as you left.”
“How fortuitous that you should happen to be there at that precise moment.”
His boots were coated in dust.
“Have you come from Pontoise?”
He nodded.
“Have you news of my lord?”
“Indeed I do, my lady. He is in good health and spirits and his campaign against the French is going well.”
Richard and I had arrived in Rouen a month ago so that he could take up his post as governor of Normandy. The city of Rouen was the English capital of France, but the French had been trying for the past several years to wrest control of English France. Pontoise was an English town near Paris that controlled a strategic crossing over the River Oise. Whenever the French wanted to use this crossing, they were forced to pay English tolls, and this they did not like.
In early June, three weeks before our arrival, the French laid siege to Pontoise. But Richard appeared at the head of a large army, bringing his best generals. He was determined to teach the French a lesson. While the men fought the French, their wives and children kept me company.
At my asking, the young man went into detail about marches and counter-marches, night-crossings and chases back and forth across the River Oise. His brown hair bounced, as he gestured the army’s movements with his hands, his lips equally mobile and expressive. He smelled of almonds, of nutmeg, and of some exotic spice I could not place. This was such a contrast to other men I knew, who smelled of dogs, horses, mud, and—other unmentionable things.
Who was he? Where did he live?
“Why don’t you stay awhile and refresh yourself?”
I led the way into the great hall of Rouen Castle, summoned the servants, and saw that he was well furnished with refreshments. When I was assured that he had what he wanted, I left.
Around an hour or so later, I reappeared.
He was singing a chanson, accompanying himself on his lute. As soon as he saw me, he rose.
He devoured me with his eyes.
My new dress was of blue-grey silk with yards of material that floated around me as I walked. Pearls adorned the bodice. Pearls swirled in patterns down the sleeves. Pearls inscribed my name around the hem. I wore a matching heart-shaped headdress with a fine gauze veil.
It had been hard to decide which jewels to wear, for I had chests filled with them. It had taken Jenet a whole hour to find them all.
Eventually, I chose a sapphire and pearl necklace with matching earrings.
The silence lengthened as he gazed at me.
I lifted my chin and stared back. What would happen now? But our silent reverie was interrupted by the appearance of the other ladies. Word must have got around that an attractive stranger had arrived, for they wore their best dresses, coloring their cheeks and lips with rouge. After two weeks of nun-like seclusion while our men battled the French, we were dying for male company.
The young man got up and bowed, kissing each hand with a flourish.
I took in their finery and glanced down at my gown.
“You look ravishing, duchesse ,” murmured the young man. “You need no addition to your attire.”
Richard’s sister, now Isabel de Bourchier, married to Baron Henry Bourchier, bit her lip.
Lady Bess de Vere, married to John de Vere, twelfth Earl of Oxford , interrupted. “Do you know Plus Bele Que Flor, The One To Whom I Submit Is More Beautiful Than A Flower ?”
“Now, how does that go, my lady?” said the young man as he sat and strummed some chords on his lute. “ The One To Whom I Prostrate Myself Is More Lovely Than A Flower ?”
Lady Margaret Beauchamp, Countess of Shrewsbury smiled. “ The One Who Lets Me Play For Her Is More Lovely Than A Flower .”
“No,” replied my sister-in-law Lady Lisette Beauchamp , married to George . “ The One Who Lies Beneath Me Is More Lovely Than A Flower .”
I laughed. “No indeed. It
I turned my head to hide a faint blush. “How did you notice my package?”
“I saw it as soon as you left.”
“How fortuitous that you should happen to be there at that precise moment.”
His boots were coated in dust.
“Have you come from Pontoise?”
He nodded.
“Have you news of my lord?”
“Indeed I do, my lady. He is in good health and spirits and his campaign against the French is going well.”
Richard and I had arrived in Rouen a month ago so that he could take up his post as governor of Normandy. The city of Rouen was the English capital of France, but the French had been trying for the past several years to wrest control of English France. Pontoise was an English town near Paris that controlled a strategic crossing over the River Oise. Whenever the French wanted to use this crossing, they were forced to pay English tolls, and this they did not like.
In early June, three weeks before our arrival, the French laid siege to Pontoise. But Richard appeared at the head of a large army, bringing his best generals. He was determined to teach the French a lesson. While the men fought the French, their wives and children kept me company.
At my asking, the young man went into detail about marches and counter-marches, night-crossings and chases back and forth across the River Oise. His brown hair bounced, as he gestured the army’s movements with his hands, his lips equally mobile and expressive. He smelled of almonds, of nutmeg, and of some exotic spice I could not place. This was such a contrast to other men I knew, who smelled of dogs, horses, mud, and—other unmentionable things.
Who was he? Where did he live?
“Why don’t you stay awhile and refresh yourself?”
I led the way into the great hall of Rouen Castle, summoned the servants, and saw that he was well furnished with refreshments. When I was assured that he had what he wanted, I left.
Around an hour or so later, I reappeared.
He was singing a chanson, accompanying himself on his lute. As soon as he saw me, he rose.
He devoured me with his eyes.
My new dress was of blue-grey silk with yards of material that floated around me as I walked. Pearls adorned the bodice. Pearls swirled in patterns down the sleeves. Pearls inscribed my name around the hem. I wore a matching heart-shaped headdress with a fine gauze veil.
It had been hard to decide which jewels to wear, for I had chests filled with them. It had taken Jenet a whole hour to find them all.
Eventually, I chose a sapphire and pearl necklace with matching earrings.
The silence lengthened as he gazed at me.
I lifted my chin and stared back. What would happen now? But our silent reverie was interrupted by the appearance of the other ladies. Word must have got around that an attractive stranger had arrived, for they wore their best dresses, coloring their cheeks and lips with rouge. After two weeks of nun-like seclusion while our men battled the French, we were dying for male company.
The young man got up and bowed, kissing each hand with a flourish.
I took in their finery and glanced down at my gown.
“You look ravishing, duchesse ,” murmured the young man. “You need no addition to your attire.”
Richard’s sister, now Isabel de Bourchier, married to Baron Henry Bourchier, bit her lip.
Lady Bess de Vere, married to John de Vere, twelfth Earl of Oxford , interrupted. “Do you know Plus Bele Que Flor, The One To Whom I Submit Is More Beautiful Than A Flower ?”
“Now, how does that go, my lady?” said the young man as he sat and strummed some chords on his lute. “ The One To Whom I Prostrate Myself Is More Lovely Than A Flower ?”
Lady Margaret Beauchamp, Countess of Shrewsbury smiled. “ The One Who Lets Me Play For Her Is More Lovely Than A Flower .”
“No,” replied my sister-in-law Lady Lisette Beauchamp , married to George . “ The One Who Lies Beneath Me Is More Lovely Than A Flower .”
I laughed. “No indeed. It
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