He didn’t bother trying to hide what he’d found. In a strange way, he welcomed this confrontation.
He turned to face Melisande. “My lady wife.”
She closed the door gently behind her and looked from his face to her treasure box. “What are you doing?”
“I’m trying to discover something,” he said.
“What?”
“Why you married me.”
VALE STOOD BEFORE Melisande with her most intimate secrets in his hand and asked her the stupidest question she’d ever heard.
She blinked and because she couldn’t quite credit him with such idiocy, said, “What?”
He prowled toward her, the snuffbox still in his long, bony fingers. His curling mahogany hair was pulled back in a queue that was coming undone; his face was lined and sad, pouches beneath his eyes testament to his sleepless nights. His wide shoulders were covered in a brown and red coat with a stain on the elbow, and his shoes were scuffed. She had never felt so angry at another person and at the same time been aware of how beautiful he was to her.
How perfect in all his imperfections.
“I want to know why you married me, my one and only heart,” he said, his complete attention on her.
“Are you stupid?”
He cocked his head at her tone and her words, as if his curiosity was aroused more than his anger. “No.”
o;Why, Jack,” said the princess when she saw him, “wherever have you been, and what is that burn upon your leg?”
Jack looked down and saw that the dragon had wounded him with its fire. He danced about and performed a silly twirl.
“I am a will-o’-the-wisp,” he cried, “and I have floated on the wind to see the king of salamanders!” . . .
—from LAUGHING JACK
Jasper wasn’t around when Melisande rose in the morning. She pursed her lips when she saw the empty breakfast room. Was he avoiding her? She’d been blunt the day before—perhaps too blunt. He’d loved Reynaud, she knew, and it took time to recover from such a grievous loss. But it had been seven years. Couldn’t he see that his hunt for the Spinner’s Falls traitor had enveloped his life? A–timnd didn’t she as his wife have the right to point this out to him? Surely she was supposed to help him find happiness—or at least contentment—in life. After all the years she’d loved him, after they’d come so far in their marriage, it wasn’t fair for him to pull away from her now. Didn’t he owe her at least the politeness of listening to her?
After a simple breakfast of buns and hot chocolate, Melisande decided she couldn’t bear rattling about the big town house by herself. She patted her hip for Mouse and went with him to the front hall.
“I am taking Mouse for a walk,” she informed Oaks.
“Very well, my lady.” The butler snapped his fingers for a footman to accompany her.
Melisande pressed her lips together. She’d much rather take her walk alone, but that simply wasn’t an option. She nodded to Oaks as he held the big door for her. Outside, the sun had hidden behind a bank of clouds, making the morning so dark it was like evening. But that wasn’t what made her halt in her tracks. At the bottom of her front steps stood Mrs. Fitzwilliam and her two children, and Mrs. Fitzwilliam was carrying two soft bags.
“Good morning,” Melisande said.
Mouse ran down the steps to greet the children.
“Oh, goodness,” Mrs. Fitzwilliam said. She sounded distracted, and her eyes glittered as if from tears hardly held in check. “I . . . I shouldn’t bother you. I am so sorry. Please forgive me.”
She turned to go, but Melisande ran down the steps. “Please stay. Won’t you come in and have a dish of tea?”
“Oh.” A tear escaped and ran down the lady’s cheek. She swiped at it with the back of her hand like a little girl. “Oh. You must think me a wigeon.”
“Not at all.” Melisande linked her arm with the other woman’s. “I believe my cook is baking scones today. Please come in.”
The children looked eager at the mention of scones, and that seemed to decide Mrs. Fitzwilliam. She nodded and let Melisande lead her inside. Melisande chose a small room at the back of the house that had French doors leading into the garden.
“Thank you,” Mrs. Fitzwilliam said when they’d sat. “I don’t know what you must think of me.”