Page 118 of The Favourite

Jane groaned. “Stop provoking me.”

“I meant no insult,” he murmured, stroking her back. “Indeed, I wholeheartedly approve.”

“Abandoned? Wanton?” Jane repeated. “Those are not words of approval.”

“Believe me, they are in this instance.”

Jane became slowly aware of the fact that the hour could be no more advanced than half past four. It was not even a decent time for bed. Gods, she could feel the wetness between her legs. He was leaking out of her. Jane struggled into a seated position, and he roused himself at once, reaching for her shift.

“Allow me,” he said as Jane tried to cover her exposed breasts from his view. “Now, if you do that, how am I supposed to get your sleeves over your arms?” he tutted, drawing the shift gently over her head, and Jane relaxed enough to poke her hands through the armholes.

Once her shift was on, he sat regarding her with an expression she might have thought was openly affectionate in anyone else. “Shall I order us a bath, Lady Bardulf?” he suggested, catching hold of her hand and kissing the back of her fingers.

Us? Really, she should not be so easily shocked by this point. “Yes,” Jane responded after the faintest of hesitations and was dazzled by the beauty of his smile.

*

The next morning, the news trickled through the palace in a slow but steady stream. Bathilde had finally passed in the early hours of the morning. The courtiers, while anticipating the King’s sadness, were surprised to find all formal palace gatherings summarily canceled, and the entrances to both the King and Queen’s chambers closed off, and their reception rooms left empty and echoing.

Only fish was served that night in the banqueting hall, by somber-faced servants. The master of ceremonies made it clear that only hushed voices were to be used in the castle for the next few days, for the King was not just sad, but deeply grieved by Bathilde’s death.

And so, things continued for the next three days. The King and Queen kept to their private chambers, and nothing was seen of them elsewhere in the palace. Monsieur Barbier, the tailor, attended the Bardulfs in their rooms, promising that their mourning outfits would be ready in three days. He shook his head a good deal over it and said nothing but a death could instigate him to such haste.

Jane thought she had better warn Osanna and Patience of the need for mourning gowns, for surely all the tailors in the capital would soon be employed sewing them once the whole court became aware of the line the royal couple meant to take. She sent her former roommates a note via Wat and received effusive thanks in return written in Patience’s untidy scrawl.

It was on the third day that rumors began to circulate that the King had been sequestered the whole time in his wife’s rooms. Anne returned from the kitchens full of the news. “They say she is having to console him like a lost child,” she announced wide-eyed. Robert and Ayleth exchanged glances while Wat, entering the room, cleared his throat.

“There’s a squire outside, my lady,” he said apologetically. “The Queen has asked for you to attend her this morning in the King’s Presence Chamber.”

“The King’s?” Jane asked in surprise. It was only on special state occasions that the Queen would join the King in his larger, more formal rooms.

“I’ll help you into your mourning,” Ayleth said, quickly coming to her feet. She ended up dressing her hair, too, for Jane did not like to send for Marta, thinking it would be inappropriate to wear an arrangement too fancy, considering the sad occasion.

Alisander did not join them in the bedchamber, and when Jane emerged in her new finery, she was surprised to find he was still seated before the fire. “Come in and let me see you,” he called out as she hesitated in the doorway.

Jane straightened her collar of sapphires and came into the room to show him the full effect. He would not pronounce himself satisfied with her appearance until he had twitched her skirts first this way, then that, and tugged at the puffed effect of her full sleeves so they lay right. “That is better,” he had murmured before dwelling on the sapphires at her throat. “These look well on you, as I knew they would.” He sounded smug. The serpentine design of her bodice, he did not mention at all, though he laid his hand against it and traced the undulating shape with his fingertip absently.

“You will not be joining us?” she asked.

He shook his head. “I had to ask Monsieur Barbier to adjust a few things about the fit of my clothes,” he said fastidiously. “Besides, there is some small, trifling matter I must take care of this morning.”

Jane waited, but nothing more was forthcoming. “Oh,” she said, feeling strangely disappointed. “Well, I will see you this afternoon then, my lord?”

He seemed to debate his answer with himself, then shook his head. “This evening for supper is more likely.” Jane nodded, trying not to feel forlorn. She would just have to make do with that.

To her surprise, she found the King’s gathering was more official in tone than she had anticipated and comprised of his Privy Council members, rather than his favorites. There were hardly any women of the court in attendance at all. In fact, other than the Queen, Mistress Bartree, and herself, she could see no other noblewomen present.

The three of them were decked out head to toe in the white of official mourning, though Jane wore her sapphires and Mistress Bartree wore a fine string of coral beads. Presumably, her sister-in-law, Baroness Kentigern was not willing to part with her own pearls. Either that, or her husband, the Baron, had not permitted her to lend them to his sister.

Whichever it was, Jane saw that Magnatrude Bartree relaxed slightly when she saw Jane wore a splash of color at least. As for the Queen, Jane had never seen her in so many pearls. They studded her sleeves and veil, hung in abundance about her throat and wrists, and even dripped from her fingers. No less than three large pearl brooches punctuated her bodice.

The King, too, matched his Queen in sumptuous, unrelieved white. His hose, tunic, and even his chaperon hat were purest white, though he wore a gold chain of office about his shoulders. Jane saw the ripple of surprise run through the lords and ministers gathered in the state rooms that morning when they saw the display of full mourning from the royal couple.

The King looked pale and grim as he mounted the dais, the Queen upon his arm. Jane and Mistress Bartree retreated to a respectful distance as discussion started with the King being officially commiserated by Lord Vawdrey on behalf of his council.

Jane found it hard to keep her mind on proceedings that morning. Her thoughts kept wandering as to what business her husband might be about that day. He had not been terribly forthcoming, but then, when was he ever? She roused herself from her ruminations to pay attention, when she realized the Queen had started speaking, interrupting Lord Vawdrey’s smooth patter.

“But naturally, Bathilde must have five hundred masses sung for her soul,” the Queen said solemnly. “As befits her station. The monks must be summoned from the cathedral itself to start them. Then, every ecclesiastical college in the capital must send a delegation to cover in shifts, until they are all read over the next five days before she is laid to rest.”