Vitus contemplated that. “I’ll ask her. There’s no law against that, it’d be finding the right face for the illusion. And the rest of it, how she moves and dresses. But there might be solutions for it. Thank you.” He lifted his glass.
“Brotherly services as required.” Lucas looked a little happier. “Want to tell me a bit more about what you find so appealing, then?” He grinned, suddenly. “Not whatever you do that’s private, but the rest of it.”
That would take a little thought, because besides the time in bed, a lot of their other discussions had been about her relentless research. But they had talked about other things, and he could certainly talk about the house and what Thessaly obviously loved about it. “Give me a minute. Let me go change, actually. I’ll come right back down and talk.”
“Promise?” Vitus nodded, and Lucas settled back in his chair, looking smug about his afternoon’s labours. Vitus snorted and went upstairs.
31
31ST JANUARY AT ARUNDEL
“Iam so very sorry, Sigbert.” Thessaly stood in the entry hall. Sigbert had come from the Great Hall. Thessaly knew that there, just beyond where she could see without moving, there was another bier, another coffin. “I wanted to come directly, given everything. It means a lot you let me know immediately.” She kept her voice quiet, to the approved whisper of this household’s mourning.
She hadn’t known what to expect from Sigbert, given the note. An hour after lunch, Collins had brought her a black-bordered note that had just come through the portal. It was tightly written, in Sigbert’s handwriting. Not his mother’s florid writing, though she would be by herself, given their customs, other than whatever vigil she kept.
Thessaly had put on her blacks, told Emeline to do the same, and set off for Arundel. The note had been uninformative. Lord Clovis had died suddenly. Arrangements for the funeral would follow. If he hadn’t wanted her to turn up, Sigbert should have said.
“You needn’t have come.” Sigbert’s voice was rough. Then he glanced behind him. “Let me arrange to walk with you for a few minutes.” Without waiting for her acknowledgement,he disappeared back into the Great Hall. A servant came out, almost immediately, and came back within five minutes, followed more slowly by Dagobert Fortier. Thessaly nodded at him, murmuring her condolences again, but he didn’t stop.
Dagobert didn’t seem upset at her. Sigbert did. Thessaly needed to find out whether she was correct, and if so, why Sigbert was upset. The cause mattered here. And whatever else Thessaly felt about any of the situation, Sigbert’s father was dead and Sigbert was Lord Fortier now. The family was turned even more upside down than after Childeric’s death.
After another minute or two, Sigbert emerged, wearing a cloak. “Your companion may walk behind us, if you wish.” Again, his voice was tight. “The orangerie? It will be warmer there.”
It had turned rather brisk, as if the end of January were in mourning as well. Thessaly nodded. “If that suits.”
Sigbert twitched. “Nothing suits, at the moment. Shall we?” He offered his arm, beginning to walk as soon as Thessaly had placed her hand on his forearm. They walked in silence along the paths, Emeline a proper ten steps behind. When Sigbert opened the glass doors of the orangerie for Thessaly, Thessaly nodded once to Emeline, who went right as the two of them went left, to one of the benches. She was within line of sight, enough to be a chaperone or a witness.
“It was sudden.” Sigbert barely waited for her to sit. “After breakfast. He was planning to go out riding on the estate. He stood up, and I—” His voice trailed off.
“I’m very sorry. He’d been a little unwell last week. It wasn’t related to that, I hope?” Thessaly did her best to keep her voice even.
“No. His Healer came out. There was nothing a little time didn’t fix.” Thessaly swallowed her sigh of relief at that. She hadwanted to drive off whoever she had duelled, not kill him. And she was more and more sure it must have been Lord Clovis now.
She looked down, then pursed her lips. Sigbert had removed his gloves, they were lying across his thigh. “A new ring, Sigbert?”
Sigbert glanced at his hand, stretching his fingers. “It was Father’s. He gave it to me a few nights ago.” Then he turned his attention to Thessaly. “There will be more pressure on me to marry. Not for some months, of course, but making it known I will, that would be a help.”
Thessaly should have expected this, honestly. She let out a breath. “I am glad to discuss, once things are a little settled for you. After the funeral. I expect the Scali will not wish to rush the agreements. They were rather clear with me about not making significant decisions while grieving.”
“You were grieving your aunt. And you are a woman. I am Lord Fortier. There is the land magic to consider. I cannot, I do not...” Again, his voice cut out. He went in the space of a few words from being commanding, filling the role he now held, to sounding his age and lost. It made Thessaly feel terribly sympathetic, though that was also a horrible reason for marrying someone, particularly in haste.
“I will let the Scali know you will want to discuss terms.” There, she could say that, and it was not a lie. “The funeral. Do you know when yet?”
“Saturday week. There are too many families who have land obligations tomorrow or Sunday. And we need time to make certain things ready. The bees.” His fingers twitched. “It has not been long since Childeric.” Four months and a week wasn’t long at all, no.
“The bees.” Thessaly nodded. “No one explained them. That is a tradition for the family, obviously.”
“One of the Merovingian customs, one of the ones we carried across the Channel.” Talking about this was apparently easier. Sigbert’s voice got softer and more even. “A token for the grave. The original Childeric, the one my brother was named for, king of the Franks, they found his grave in I think it was 1683. It had all manner of things in the tomb, including golden bees set with garnets. Not all of ours are gold. Gold for the men in the family, silver for the women, copper for the others.” It did bring Magistra Landry to mind, how she had produced her own golden bee, though of course she had not explained what she meant by that choice, and now she was dead and even less inclined to answer queries even than before.
“And your father was Lord of a great family. There will be a lot of people who come to the funeral.” The question would be whether it would be more than for Childeric, or different. Childeric’s death, on the political level, had been a chance to make alliances clear. Lord Clovis’s would bring people who wanted to test the weakness of the Fortiers, and the inheritance of the younger son. If Thessaly had been betrothed to marry Sigbert, this was when she’d step forward, to manage some of that, as much as the family would permit.
She was not making that offer. She wasn’t sure Sigbert realised she wasn’t. It was rather novel to be able to analyse the funeral that way, without feeling personal grief. Lord Clovis had people who had loved him, or who owed him loyalty. Thessaly was not one of them. She would not be rude, not for the world, for all sorts of reasons, both strategic and sensible. And because Sigbert was grieving, somewhere below the stubborn insistence that was most present right now.
He shrugged. “The other reason for the delay. The kitchens are working on the food and preparations. And Maman is in no fit state for anyone, even me.”
“It must have taken her very hard. Your parents, together, had an intimidating presence, and your mother fit herself so well to your father.” It must be uncomfortable to go forward now. Thessaly didn’t ask how it was for Sigbert, who wasn’t supposed to be the surviving heir.
Sigbert sighed, then said, ruefully, “That is a polite way of putting it. She has taken to their rooms, as I’d expect. She’ll keep vigil tonight. I would ask you to join us, but I think not this time.”
