Amélie gazed down at the little downy head, one baby fist tight against a baby cheek as if to guard against a milk thief. The wood fire crackled bright and heated the room through from the cold of the windy autumn day. Outside, her parents busied themselves as always, Mother supervising a servant as she swept red and orange leaves from their yard, Father overseeing the repair of a barn door in preparation for the winter to come. The rhythm of brush and mallet, along with the baby’s steady nursing and the warmth of the room, pulled her to a near doze.
But one thing was absent. Or, rather, one person. As if her thoughts called him there, she heard hooves in the yard and Geoffrey’s deep voice salute her parents.
She smiled to herself. Now the day was perfect.
Firm footsteps sounded from the stairwell, and the door opened to a waft of cold air. Geoffrey came in, a fur-edged dark green cloak slung around his wide, powerful chest and shoulders. Smooth calfskin hose and polished leather boots emphasized his strongly muscled legs. He pulled off his rolled-edge fur cap and smoothed his red hair.
“Husband.” She smiled her love at him as she savored his familiar face. Familiar it might be, but still with the power to arouse every inch of her body.
“Amélie.” He came over and pulled up a stool next to her. “My, my, our girl has a fierce appetite.” He raised a gauntleted hand and touched the top of Laeticia’s head. The baby suckled on, oblivious to her father’s presence.
Amélie sighed at her daughter’s intent purpose and looked to Geoffrey. Her insides contracted. His face was set in a mask of sadness.
“Geoffrey, what’s the matter?” she said.
He rested his elbows on both knees and clasped both hands. “I’m afraid I have some bad news, Amélie.”
“Are you ill? Injured?”
“More complicated than that, I’m afraid.” He got up and paced the clean rushes on the floor before the fire.
“Then what?” She wanted to jump up and grab hold of him, shake him into speech, but the greedy bundle in her lap would not allow it.
He paused. “You know I love you, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
“And our daughter?”
“Yes.”
“Please remember that when you hear what I have to say.” Geoffrey resumed his slow tread before the fire, back and forth, back and forth, as if his steps helped him to find words. “When we first met, I told you I was a nobleman. Part of such a life is about duty, and you understand that?”
Amélie nodded. “With all my soul.”
“Last week, I discovered I have a new obligation to fulfill.” He closed his eyes and wouldn’t look at her. “I am to be married.”
A chill enveloped her, like the fire threw ice, not flames. “But you cannot. You are already married to me.”
He opened his eyes and cast her a shamed glance. “I know. But it’s more complicated than that.”
“Oh, is it, noble sir?” Laeticia stirred in her lap, her feed disturbed by her mother’s raised voice. “I cannot see how. You stood next to me before the priest and swore your vows before God himself. How can that be undone?”
“It can’t, it can’t.” Geoffrey dropped to his knees before her and held her face. Grief clouded his gray eyes. “Which is why I’ve put you in a terrible situation.”
“You talk in riddles. All I can glean is you want to marry another.”
“I don’t, Amélie. But my duty insists on it.” He let go of her and raked his spread fingers through his thick hair.
“How can duty, nobility, be more important than a promise before God?”
“I’m not saying they’re more important. Only that I have to fulfill them. As God is my witness, Amélie, I wish I didn’t have to. I still love you, I’ll never stop loving you.”
“But you will go through the lie, the sin, of marrying another.” Amélie bit her lip to hold in her fury. “How could you do this, Geoffrey?”
He looked at her for a long moment. “Not Geoffrey. That’s my father’s name. My real name is Henry. And as a prince, I have to.”
♦ ♦ ♦
Amélie fixed Theodosia with a calm gaze. “Your father is King Henry himself. My handsome stranger was a prince, and I did not know it when I married him and bore his child.”
Theodosia’s lungs wouldn’t fill. Words wouldn’t come. Benedict’s astonished exclamation sounded as if it were underwater.
“Help me, Benedict.” Her mother’s voice too, at a great, great distance.
The room lost color, faded to black and white.