Reclaimed by Her Rebel Knight

‘That’s a risk for any marriage. Sometimes I worry about Tristan.’

‘You do?’ Constance lifted her head again in surprise. Isabella had done nothing but enthuse about her betrothed ever since they’d met. ‘But you love Tristan. You said he was perfect.’

‘No, I said that he seemed perfect. That doesn’t mean he is. Anyone can seem perfect.’

Anyone except for her husband, Constance thought bitterly. He hadn’t even seemed pleasant. If only she could have waited a few years to marry, then she might have chosen a husband for herself, one who she might have liked and respected, who wouldn’t have treated her like a child, but allowed her a mind of her own. Then perhaps in time there might have been affection. Fondness. Maybe even love, just like in the songs... She bit down hard on another nail. One glimpse of Matthew Wintour and it was impossible to imagine feeling for him the way Isabella felt for Tristan.

‘We just have to hope for the best.’ Isabella jumped off the bed, dispelling the sombre mood. ‘Now I’m going to fetch Mother’s dress and I don’t want to hear any more arguments. It makes your eyes look turquoise.’ She stopped halfway across the room. ‘Do you know what’s funny? That we’ve shared a room for five years and I’m still not certain what colour your eyes are.’

‘Grey.’

‘Not quite. They change colour depending on the light. Right now, for example, they look green.’

‘So I should wear my green surcoat?’

‘Nice try. I’ll throw it on the fire if so.’

‘All right, you win, I’ll wear the blue,’ Constance smiled, appreciating her cousin’s efforts to cheer her up, however futile. ‘Isabella?’ she called out as an afterthought. ‘You’ll come and visit me at Lacelby, won’t you?’

‘As long as you come to my wedding.’

‘You know I wouldn’t miss it for the world.’

She squeezed her eyes shut, fighting back tears as Isabella went off in search of the gown. Of course she wanted to go to her cousin’s wedding, to visit her often as well, but so much depended on their husbands and what they would and would not permit. Tristan seemed smitten enough to allow Isabella anything, but she had no idea about Matthew, the man who’d claimed her inheritance and, with it, all control over her life.

A fresh burst of anger coursed through her, so hot and fierce that she felt positively feverish by the time Isabella came back with the gown draped over her arms. It was undeniably beautiful, the colour of the sky on a warm summer’s evening with a square neckline, tight bodice and long fitted sleeves that flared out at the cuffs, though at that precise moment she felt like hurling it to the ground and stomping all over it.

‘I found a gold belt, too.’ Isabella gestured for her to stand up and then hauled the silk over her head. ‘You’ll look lovely, I promise.’

‘Of course she will.’ Her aunt followed Isabella into the room, giving Constance a swift look of appraisal before starting to tug at the intricate side lacings. Just like her daughters, she was blonde, beautiful and slender, even after five children. ‘Your parents would have been proud of you.’

‘Do you really think so, Aunt?’ The words brought a lump to Constance’s throat.

‘I know so. You’re a virtuous young lady and a credit to your family. What more could a man want?’

Quite a lot, Constance thought silently. Beauty for a sta

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‘If only my daughters would stop thinking about their appearances long enough to behave the same way.’ Her aunt pursed her lips at Isabella. ‘Now we need to hurry. He’s waiting in my solar.’

‘Already?’ Constance felt her stomach swoop. ‘I thought the banquet wasn’t for another few hours?’

‘It isn’t, but your uncle and I thought it would be a good idea for the two of you to get reacquainted first.’

‘You mean just the two of us?’ Her mouth turned dry at the thought, the words emerging as a kind of stricken croak. ‘But we were never acquainted in the first place!’

‘Well, here’s your chance.’

‘But—’

‘Why couldn’t they meet yesterday evening?’ Isabella interrupted. ‘What was he talking to Father about?’

‘Important matters that don’t concern you.’ Her aunt’s tone was brisk.

‘What can be more important than seeing his wife after five years?’

‘Was it about the King losing so much territory across the Channel?’ Constance lowered her voice discreetly. She’d overheard enough rumours to guess what the ‘important matters’ might be, though as usual her uncle refused to discuss any of them with her.