Devil's Consort (112 page)

‘This interminable feast will soon be over.’

‘Yes, my lord. I expect it will.’

‘You will become used to such occasions.’

‘Yes.’

I opened my mouth to say something more flattering, but he had turned away—and I caught my mother’s eye again. Like that of a snake: flatly cold and lethally vicious. Her instructions rushed over me in a black wave, delivered in her curt, clear voice as if she were sitting at my side, even drowning out the female gossips.

Don’t speak unless you have something to say, or are spoken to.

Smile, but don’t laugh loudly. Don’t show your teeth.

Eat and drink delicately, and not too much. A man does not wish to see a woman scooping up every scrap and crumb on her plate, or licking her fingers.

I would not, even though my starving childhood had given me a respect for the food on my plate.

Modesty is a virtue. Don’t express strong opinions or argue. Men don’t like a woman to argue with them.

Don’t be critical of the English.

Don’t flirt or ogle the minstrels.

I did not know how to flirt.

If this marriage does not come to fruition because he takes a dislike to you, I’ll send you back to Poissy. You can take the veil under the rule of your sister. I will wash my hands of you.

‘I suppose she is still a virgin. Can she possibly still be a virgin—from that debauched French court?’ The brunette’s whisper reached me like an arrow to my heart.

Pray God this feast came to an end soon.

Henry bowed me from the dais with gratifying chivalry, kissing my fingers, and handed me back into the care of my mother for the final time. Wrapped around in my own anxieties, I noted that the trio of English women rose too: they were indeed to be part of my new household.

And so I was escorted ceremonially to my bedchamber, with much waspish chivvying at how any lack of experience would soon be put to rights, but my mother silenced any more silliness when she promptly closed the door, without any word of apology, on their startled faces. Outside the door they twittered their displeasure. Inside I flinched at the prospect of another homily. I could not escape it, so must withstand whatever advice she saw fit to administer. Soon I would be my own woman. Soon I would be Henry’s wife in more than name and God’s blessing. Soon I would be beyond my mother’s control and Henry would not be unkind to me.

As an unexpected little flicker of expectancy in my future at Henry’s side nudged at my heart, I stood while the gold and ermine was removed, my shoes and my stockings stripped off, until I was clad in nothing but my linen shift. And then I sat as instructed so that Guille, my personal serving woman, could unpin and comb my hair into virginal purity. Isabeau stood before me, hands folded.

‘You know what to expect.’

Did I? I was lamentably lacking in knowledge of that nature. My mother had resembled a clam, Michelle shyly reticent of her experiences with Philip, and I had had no loving nurse to ensure that I knew what to expect. I had quailed at asking Guille for such intimate details.

‘Or did the black crows at Poissy keep you in ignorance of what occurs between a man and a woman?’

Well, of course they had. The black crows considered anything pertaining to their bodies beneath their black robes to be a sin. My knowledge was of a very general nature, gleaned from how animals might comport themselves. I would not admit it to my mother. She would think it my fault.

‘I know what happens,’ I said baldly.

‘Excellent!’ She was clearly delighted that the burden of instruction would not fall on her as she moved to the cups and flagon set out on the coffer, poured the deep red liquid and held one of the cups out to me. ‘Drink this. It will strengthen your resolve. Rumour says that he is experienced, as he would be at his age, of course. He was a wild youth with strong appetites—he led a notorious life of lust and debauchery, so one hears, until he abandoned his dissolute companions.’

‘Oh.’ Obediently I took a sip, then handed the cup to Guille. I did not want it.

‘You will not be unwilling or foolishly naïve, Katherine.’

Would he dislike me if I made my ignorance obvious? That tender new shoot of optimism withered and died.

‘What must I not do that is naïve, Madame?’ I forced myself to ask.

‘You will not flinch from him. You will not be unmaidenly. You will not show unseemly appetites.’

Unmaidenly? Unseemly appetites? I was no wiser. Flinching from him seemed to be something I would very readily do. Will he hurt me? I wanted to ask, but rejected so naïve a question. I imagined she would say yes because it would please her.

The Forbidden Queen
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