squire . . . some msalliance
.
This was far worse.
At last I said: “But . . . he already has a wife.”
“There is going to be a divorce.”
“A divorce? On what grounds?”
“Consanguinity.”
“And who do you think will grant that?”
“Raoul’s brother is the Bishop of Noyon. He can get two other priests to support him.”
“So you have arranged all this?”
“When I became . . .”
“Petronilla, you fool! I could have arranged the grandest marriage for you.”
“Raoul is one of the most important men in France.”
“And already a husband.”
“I have told you that can be overcome.”
“And then you will marry. Oh, how could you? How could he?”
“I have always loved him . . . from the time I first saw him. Do you remember? He came with Thibault of Champagne before you were married.”
“Thibault of Champagne! Holy Mother of God, Vermandois’s wife is his niece.”
“What of it?”
“What of it? Do you realize that we are on the worst possible terms with Champagne? Do you think he will meekly stand by and let his niece be cast aside?”
“Raoul says it will come out right in the end.”
“He is a philanderer . . . so to take advantage of an innocent girl.”
“He didn’t have much chance, poor man. I forced him.”
Petronilla laughed suddenly and I laughed with her. “You are an idiot,” I said.
“I know, but a very happy idiot. I shall have the best man in the world for a husband.”
“Not yet and I would challenge that statement.”
“And I have the dearest sister in the world. None could challenge that, Eleanor. You’ll help, won’t you?”
“I am most displeased.”
“I know. But you do like him, don’t you? You do agree that he is the most fascinating man at Court?”
“At least that is one matter on which you and he will agree. He is conceited and arrogant.”
“And so very attractive. Admit it, Eleanor.”
“I suppose he would appeal to some.”
She looked at me archly. She would have heard those honeyed compliments which had come my way. She knew that I liked the man myself. I could not hide such things from Petronilla.
She cried: “I am so glad that you know. I wanted to tell you before. We always shared things, didn’t we? But Raoul thought you would not approve. He was afraid you would try to prevent us. But now . . .”
I said: “I see this has gone so far that there is only one thing for you, and that is marriage. But I do not think it is going to be as easy as you appear to think, sister.”
“But you will help us, won’t you?”
I nodded slowly.
I wanted to be alone to think about him. I was deeply shocked. For so long I had thought that I was the one who mattered to him. I was the one for whom he was singing his songs. The looks had been directed at me, and all the time he and Petronilla were lovers!
It was a great blow to my self-esteem. I began to wonder how sincere any of the men were who cast desirous eyes on me. I wondered what they said to their mistresses in moments of intimacy.
But of course there was nothing to be done than to get Petronilla married as soon as possible. The sister of the Queen of France could not produce a bastard. What a scandal that would be! I could imagine how the Pope, Bernard and Suger would receive such news. To get them married quickly was common sense, and face whatever came of it after that.
I sent for Raoul of Vermandois. He came at once, bowed low and lifted his eyes to my face. They were full of the yearning which I had come to expect from him. That angered me.
I said: “So, Monsieur, you are a
.
This was far worse.
At last I said: “But . . . he already has a wife.”
“There is going to be a divorce.”
“A divorce? On what grounds?”
“Consanguinity.”
“And who do you think will grant that?”
“Raoul’s brother is the Bishop of Noyon. He can get two other priests to support him.”
“So you have arranged all this?”
“When I became . . .”
“Petronilla, you fool! I could have arranged the grandest marriage for you.”
“Raoul is one of the most important men in France.”
“And already a husband.”
“I have told you that can be overcome.”
“And then you will marry. Oh, how could you? How could he?”
“I have always loved him . . . from the time I first saw him. Do you remember? He came with Thibault of Champagne before you were married.”
“Thibault of Champagne! Holy Mother of God, Vermandois’s wife is his niece.”
“What of it?”
“What of it? Do you realize that we are on the worst possible terms with Champagne? Do you think he will meekly stand by and let his niece be cast aside?”
“Raoul says it will come out right in the end.”
“He is a philanderer . . . so to take advantage of an innocent girl.”
“He didn’t have much chance, poor man. I forced him.”
Petronilla laughed suddenly and I laughed with her. “You are an idiot,” I said.
“I know, but a very happy idiot. I shall have the best man in the world for a husband.”
“Not yet and I would challenge that statement.”
“And I have the dearest sister in the world. None could challenge that, Eleanor. You’ll help, won’t you?”
“I am most displeased.”
“I know. But you do like him, don’t you? You do agree that he is the most fascinating man at Court?”
“At least that is one matter on which you and he will agree. He is conceited and arrogant.”
“And so very attractive. Admit it, Eleanor.”
“I suppose he would appeal to some.”
She looked at me archly. She would have heard those honeyed compliments which had come my way. She knew that I liked the man myself. I could not hide such things from Petronilla.
She cried: “I am so glad that you know. I wanted to tell you before. We always shared things, didn’t we? But Raoul thought you would not approve. He was afraid you would try to prevent us. But now . . .”
I said: “I see this has gone so far that there is only one thing for you, and that is marriage. But I do not think it is going to be as easy as you appear to think, sister.”
“But you will help us, won’t you?”
I nodded slowly.
I wanted to be alone to think about him. I was deeply shocked. For so long I had thought that I was the one who mattered to him. I was the one for whom he was singing his songs. The looks had been directed at me, and all the time he and Petronilla were lovers!
It was a great blow to my self-esteem. I began to wonder how sincere any of the men were who cast desirous eyes on me. I wondered what they said to their mistresses in moments of intimacy.
But of course there was nothing to be done than to get Petronilla married as soon as possible. The sister of the Queen of France could not produce a bastard. What a scandal that would be! I could imagine how the Pope, Bernard and Suger would receive such news. To get them married quickly was common sense, and face whatever came of it after that.
I sent for Raoul of Vermandois. He came at once, bowed low and lifted his eyes to my face. They were full of the yearning which I had come to expect from him. That angered me.
I said: “So, Monsieur, you are a
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