The Ruins of Lace by Iris Anthony Read Free Book Online

or the hunt. But at the end of our circuit, as we turned back toward the château, I spied a figure watching us from the head of the garden. “There’s my father. He’s scowling at me. Again.”
    “He has only your best interests in mind.”
    “He has his own best interests in mind. He always has.”
    “He wants so much to be proud of you.”
    Proud of me? When had he ever been proud of me? He was proud of his hunting dogs; he was pleased with his new wife; he was delighted with the year’s harvest. But he had never, not once, entertained any synonymous sentiment regarding me. I bowed at my father’s approach. Released my stepmother from my arm.
    She moved forward with all the grace of a lumbering ox.
    “My dear.” He offered her his arm. She took it and walked off without a backward glance.
    •••
    One could not be particular about companions when there was so little company to be had.
    Gabrielle and I were thrown together once more the next day. She was picking at her needlework in the petit salon, while I was pretending to read. I wished she hadn’t chosen to work her design in taupe and saffron. Those colors each made the other look more insipid.
    A sudden rattling came from outside, followed by howls from the hunting dogs.
    I went to the window and peered down into the courtyard. “Who is this come to visit?”
    “Hmm?” She lifted her gaze from her work.
    “There’s a carriage. A man of the church, by the looks of it.” The coach was carved from ebony and gleamed with gold. The windows were hung with crimson curtains.
    “I expect it’s probably Cardinal St. Florent.”
    What reason would the cardinal have to visit? He generally preferred to perch in grander places than this.
    “He’s come about the arrangements for the annulment.”
    I shut up my book with a vehemence that surprised even me. “There will be no more talk of annulments! I already told you he wasn’t serious. You wouldn’t know this, but he’s been spouting threats like that one for years.”
    She fastened her gaze upon me. “I don’t think it’s a threat this time.”
    “You don’t know my father.”
    “Perhaps not as well as you do, but he did make a special request for the babe’s baptism…” She held up her needlework, and before my eyes appeared the coat of arms of the Marquis of Eronville. A shield upon which ten blazing suns, reflecting the presumed glory of our King, surrounded a lion rampant. It was a coat of arms reserved for the Marquis of Eronville alone. And that was my title. At least, it should be.
    I lingered in the salon until I heard the cardinal leave my father’s chambers. I caught him as he was descending the front steps toward his carriage. When he offered up a plump, gout-swollen hand, I kissed his ring.
    “You must know, Your Eminence, that age has begun to show itself in my father’s mind. You must not think he’s serious about these plans of his.”
    He pursed his lips as he withdrew his hand from mine. “What plans?”
    “Come now.” The man had never liked me. A sentiment perhaps born of the fascination that glittered in his eyes whenever he looked at me. I tried out a smile, just to see what might happen. Many times, in my experience, a throw of dice could change everything. “You cannot take his demands for an annulment seriously…”
    He cleared his throat as he continued down the steps. “Everyone knows he and your mother were unsuited. The match was doomed from the start. It’s a simple case of consanguinity.”
    “And yet nobody stopped it at the time.”
    His harrumph was dampened by the sheer magnitude of his collar. It was made from the finest linen and edged with a band of exquisite lace. Lace in the style I once had. But lace had been deemed illegal. No lace could be worn in the kingdom of France. Of course, in Cardinal Richelieu’s eyes, there were the common sort of nobles and clergy, and then there were the favored few. Those who could break the rules and keep their