Page 340 of Historical Hotties
“Martin didnotsteal the horse, Bas,” she said, although her gaze was focused on Gisella. She was a handsome woman with smoke-colored eyes. “Sweet Saints, you are a lovely girl. We had no idea Bas had taken a wife. Welcome to the family, my dear.”
Gisella smiled at the woman. “Thank you,” she said sincerely, looking around at the friendly faces. “It is such an honor to meet you all. I do hope we shall all become great friends.”
“Your father is Richmond le Bec,” Braxton said, more for the benefit of his brothers and sisters so they would know that Bastian had married well. “I knew Richmond a very long time ago. Pray, sit and tell me how your father has been. I am eager to know.”
Bastian pulled out a bench so Gisella could sit, being elbowed out of the way by both aunts as they seated themselves on either side of her. Beatrice still held on to Gisella’s hand as Cynthia inspected her lovely surcoat and commented on it. Bastian found himself standing over next to Worthington as the older members of the de Russe family virtually encircled Gisellain their quest to know the young woman. They were eager, and friendly, but Bastian actually felt a bit put-off that he was not allowed to sit next to his new wife. He’d rather enjoyed their brief conversation on the stairs, the first civil conversation they’d shared, and he realized he was eager to continue it. But the conversation between them would have to wait as his aunts, uncles, and father closed in on Gisella and demanded her attention.
“Now, about your father,” Braxton said as a servant placed a bowl of something warm and steaming in front of him. “How is the man? The last I saw him was during the wars in Wales. I served with Henry Percy, you know. Has he ever mentioned Hotspur?”
Gisella nodded as people began putting food and drink in front of her. “Aye, he has,” she said, eyeing a very large trencher with eggs in a yellow sauce. “Father has many war stories he tells. The strange thing is that every time he tells them, the number of enemy warriors increases as do the odds of his survival against them. Last I heard, my father faced off against the entire country of Wales single-handedly.”
Braxton and Aramis laughed. “That is how I remember it, also,” Braxton said, looking at Aramis. “Only it was not le Bec who faced the Welsh alone butme.”
Aramis waved him off. “You were far too young,” he told him. “You were strong, that is true, but you were as dumb as a post. You still are. You could not possibly have held off the Welsh on strength alone.”
Braxton scowled at his brother as Gisella interrupted. “Good sirs, I am afraid the only person who can hold such a claim against the Welsh is my father,” she said. “I would not want to dispute him on the fact. He can still use a sword quite ably.”
Braxton’s attention turned from his brother and he began shoveling great spoonfuls of porridge into his mouth, getting iton his beard. “As I recall, Richmond le Bec was badly wounded in the same battle that killed Hotspur,” he said. “That was at least twenty-five years ago.”
Gisella nodded. “That is true,” she said. “He was terribly wounded. My mother said she thought he was going to die but he did not. He recovered, although the old wound pains him sometimes. Papa said he had to live because he wanted to see his son grow up. Mama was pregnant with my eldest brother, Stephan, the same year that Papa was injured, followed by my brother, Gannon, a few years later, and then my sister, Emma. I am the youngest.”
Braxton was still shoveling porridge into his mouth. “War is difficult on the women and children,” he agreed. “My father, Trenton, only inherited the dukedom of Exeter because his older brother, Aramis, was killed in battle. He left behind a wife and two daughters.”
Gisella picked at a piece of bread because Beatrice had carefully buttered it for her. “I see,” she said, cocking her head thoughtfully. “But you said he inherited the Dukedom of Exeter? Did I understand incorrectly that your brother was the Duke of Warminster?”
Braxton’s mouth was full so Bastian, standing on the outskirts of the group and feeling left out of the conversation, spoke.
“My Uncle Aramis inherited the dukedom of Exeter from his father, Trenton, who was the second son of the great Brandt de Russe,” he said. “Last year, Uncle Aramis refused Bedford’s request for more men and money for the war in France and Bedford stripped him of the Exeter dukedom and gave it over to the Holland family. But Gloucester took pity on Uncle Aramis and granted him the Dukedom of Warminster instead. Uncle Aramis, you were never clear onwhyyou received Warminster.You merely said it was for your loyalty to the crown. What did you do for Gloucester?”
Aramis lifted a dark eyebrow. “What do you think?” he said. “I had your aunt contact Lady Gloucester and offer to donate money for the completion of Bella Court, which Gloucester was struggling with at the time. I also gifted them with a barge that transports them down river to London. It was enough for Gloucester to show his great thanks with the Warminster dukedom with a further agreement that I pay a stipend to Gloucester on the proceeds from the wool and limestone mining industry within my realm. It is an excellent business deal, I assure you. Even by sharing the proceeds, the revenue will make our family very wealthy for generations to come.”
Bastian grinned at his uncle, who had a very sharp mind for numbers and business, but his attention returned to Gisella. “Now you know the truth,” he said. “I come from a family of mercenaries and political players. Do not tell anyone that my uncle bought himself a dukedom.”
It was an unexpected attempt at humor, something Gisella hadn’t seen from Bastian. In fact, she was surprised by it, thinking that the man had been so cold and callous that surely he had no sense of humor. But he was smiling at her now and she instinctively smiled in return.
“The knowledge is safe, I swear it,” she said, watching his smile broaden. She wasn’t hard pressed to admit that his smile of big white teeth, straight but for slightly prominent canines, was quite handsome. “But I will spill the secret if you ever tell my father that I said he tells tall tales.”
Bastian chuckled. “I would never do such a thing,” he said. “Especially now that you have threatened me. I see that I have married a formidable woman.”
Gisella laughed softly, thrilled at their first pleasant and humorous exchange. She very much wanted to continue it butBeatrice was putting more food in front of her, insisting she try the eggs with mustard and the creamed fish on a slab of bread. There was also a heavy, rich butter cake with quince that was quite delicious, but Gisella was so full that she could only take a bite to taste it.
Everyone was conversing now with each other and the focus was off of her for the most part, although Braxton would ask her a question about her father now and again. Bastian had been correct. All the man wanted to speak of was Richmond le Bec but Gisella didn’t mind. She liked talking about her father. However, the richness and quantity of the food coupled with no sleep the night before had her increasingly drowsy, so much so that she kept having to stifle yawns as Beatrice and Cynthia chattered on either side of her. She was trying very hard not to fall asleep sitting up.
Bastian was watching his new wife, wedged in between his aunts as they overfed her with nearly everything on the table. He was unable to look at anything other than her, watching her when she spoke, when she smiled, noticing the big dimples she had in each cheek and finding the dimples infinitely appealing. He could also see from the course of the conversation that she was as intelligent as Lady Gloucester had said she was, and her manners were impeccable. She was highly educated and highly trained, as one would have expected coming from the court of Lady Gloucester. She was also incredibly exhausted.
As the morning deepened and Gisella had ingested her fill of food, Bastian watched as she struggled not to fall asleep. She was still part of the conversation, engaging his aunts in a detailed conversation about Leeds wool, but he could see how weary she was. She kept putting her soft, white hand over her mouth to cover the yawns. He knew he should do the polite thing and remove her from the eager clutches of his family, but he couldn’t seem to do it. All he could do, for the moment, was watch her.
He was becoming increasingly fascinated as he watched her move and listened to her speak. Her movements were very graceful and he noted, as he listened to her, that she had a very slight lisp. He liked it very much. The more he observed, the more he liked what he saw and the more guilty he felt for treating her so terribly when they first met. True, he didn’t want to be married, but the more he saw of her, the more he thought that perhaps being married to her wasn’t such a bad thing. At least, he hoped not. He hoped that she wasn’t putting on airs to impress him. She seemed genuine enough but he’d seen many women in his lifetime that had seemed genuine.
Still, it wasn’t fair to judge her, at least not yet. He didn’t know enough about her but he intended to find out. Finally, he took pity on the woman as she struggled to stay awake and he moved to the bench where she sat between Cynthia and Beatrice. Carefully, he pulled her seat away from the table.
“Lords and ladies,” he announced, “my bride and I have been up all night and in case you have not noticed, she is struggling to remain awake. I am therefore taking her to sleep and you may continue your interrogation of her this evening after she has had the opportunity to rest.”
Gisella was startled when he’d pulled back her seat but was quickly very grateful. Bastian collected her elbow, politely helping her from the table as the collection of aunts and uncles and cousins bid her a fond farewell. Beatrice called after her, wanting to know if she had everything she needed for her stay at West Court, and Gisella assured the woman that she did. She then waved courteously as she thanked them for a lovely meal, all the while being led from the great hall by Bastian. When they finally emerged out into the corridor beyond the hall with the main staircase directly ahead, Gisella turned to Bastian.
“I hope they did not think me rude to leave in the middle of their meal,” she said, “but you have my deepest gratitudefor removing me when you did. I swear that I was about to fall asleep at any second. That would have been horribly embarrassing had I pitched forward and planted my face in that lovely dish of eggs and mustard.”
Bastian grinned. “Embarrassing, aye, but quite humorous,” he said. “They would never have let you forget the incident.”
