Her voice broke into a sob, and Giselle pulled her close. They hugged for a long time as neither wanted to let go of the other, until Agnes pulled free, sniffing away tears.
‘Come on, Agnes. Be of good cheer. We will go down to the hall with our heads held high.’
‘Yes, we will, for we are the de Villers of Ravensworth, and besides, what’s the worst that can happen?
Giselle squared her shoulders and tried to still her trembling hands. It was all very well reassuring her servant with bold words, but she had a bad feeling about this, and she could not seem to shake it.
***
When they entered the hall, Giselle gasped in surprise. It was far grander than she had expected, in contrast to the shabbiness of Wulversmeade’s exterior. The room was clad in ornate oak panelling, with a gallery at one end, and it was bright with hung tapestries, spun through with gilt thread which caught the firelight.
Sir Hugh’s people were finely dressed, and they all turned as she walked in, making her pause. Giselle was not vain, but she knew that she drew the eye, for her hair alone could do that. It was deep red, a family trait, and though tamed tonight into plaits coiled around her head, she knew it made her stand out. She had always hated that it did.
For an instant, she froze as people crowded around for a closer look, with no pretence of good manners, and then Sir Hugh rushed forwards and took her cold hand in his.
‘How splendid you look tonight, Giselle, you do honour to your father.’ He drew back and swept out his arm. ‘May I present to you, my son, and your betrothed, Edric de Mawpas,’ he said, drawing aside to reveal a young man behind him.
Oh, how Giselle wished she could have met her future husband in private. She tried hard to look delighted, aware that everyone was watching. But it was so hard to keep the disappointment from her face when presented with the plump young man stepping forward with a sullen expression.
Edric bowed low before her, took her hand limply in his, and kissed it with thin lips.
‘It is an honour, Lady de Villers,’ said Edric, ‘and I do declare myself the luckiest man in Christendom for getting such a beautiful wife,’ he continued, smiling at those around him. ‘I am your most humble servant, Giselle. May I call you that?’
His smile was broad, but it did not quite reach his eyes, and Giselle suspected it was for the sake of the onlookers, rather than her.
‘Of course, you may, Lord Edric. I am pleased to meet you at last,’ she said, feeling sick with disappointment.
Edric held out his arm to lead her to the high table, and Giselle took it. She wanted to recoil from this stranger, she did not want to touch him, but instead, she fixed a soft smile on her face.
This was not what she had expected. This was not the kind of man who young girls dreamt about marrying. Edric de Mawpas looked as though he were made of dough, so pale and soft was he. His face was plain and pudgy and sallow, eyes small and a limpid blue, and there was little warmth or humour in them. He was a deal shorter than her and had nothing in his looks to recommend him. Unfortunately, he did not seem to realise his shortcomings and addressed her in an arrogant and pompous tone far beyond his twenty-three years.
‘It is such a delight to meet you, Lady Giselle, I trust your journey was not too unpleasant?’
‘We journeyed as comfortably as possible, and it was well worth it, for Wulversmeade is quite magnificent.’
‘Aye well, my father has been blessed with good fortune over the years, unlike some.’
Giselle cast a glance at him and frowned. Edric was still smiling benignly at her, but his words were at odds with his demeanour. Had she misread the spite in them? Was she just imagining it or had he just made a cruel barb at her family’s misfortune?
Edric said nothing more until they reached the dais where he pulled out a chair for her in a show of chivalry. He smiled as he poured wine for her, and when his father stood up to toast their union and welcome her to the family, he grabbed her hand and squeezed it, beaming at those around him.
The food was brought in, a magnificent banquet of pheasant and suckling pig and thick-crusted pies. Giselle could feel many pairs of eyes on her and, when she glanced up, she caught the eye of a young man. There was adoration in his expression as he smiled pleasantly at her, and then looked away. At least someone approved of her, as her betrothed did not seem to. Perhaps she had offended him in some way without realising, for Edric addressed her no further as he sat there, filling his face with food and copious amounts of wine, like a pig with its snout in a trough.
Giselle took some of the delicacies on offer, but could not eat a bite. She felt it prudent to say nothing until Edric addressed her.
Suddenly he spoke. ‘You should eat, keep your strength up for, soon, you will need it.’
Giselle looked at him quizzically.
‘Two days hence,’ he said, still chewing, ‘we are to be wed. I begged my father for a few more days of freedom, but he has denied me, as usual.’ He threw a cup of wine down his throat in one gulp and belched.
‘So soon?’
‘You don’t look pleased, Giselle. Well, that makes two of us.’ He glanced slyly over at his father to ensure he was not overheard. ‘Let us have no more pretence here,’ he said, wiping grease off his face with the back of his hand. ‘My father has ordered me to marry you or lose my inheritance, a singular piece of irony, seeing as marrying you is diluting my inheritance tenfold.’
‘What do you mean?’ said Giselle in horror.
‘The only reason my father agreed to this union in the first place was in payment of a debt.’