Bristoline Court

2 - The Price of Proximity

While trailing behind the queen in the gardens, Mary and I were gossiping about the other night. Mary loved the gossip and her bright blue eyes twinkled to an ice when she heard something juicy.

I told her about my time with the Marquis and she blushed.

"You're naughty Caty." She giggled.

"French men are quite in fashion at this point. Everything French is for the better, I think." She said.

"I couldn't agree more." I said laughing with her.

Beatrice heard us giggle and stopped in her tracks. She ushered us upfront to her and we obeyed.

"Spit it out." She said.

"Caty was telling me that she was... keeping the Marquis company the other night." Mary said, grinning. The queen smiled and turned to me.

"Oh, Jean! I don't know why I didn't think of it sooner." She said and took my hand.

"I would love to be apart of this match! I will put the word to Edward at once!" She said. I smiled and thanked her and we continued walking together.

***
It was yet another night of hosting the embassies, only 1 more day left; but I was beginning to lose hope. Maybe I didn't make that great of an impression on him.

This has happened before, where I gain some attention then lose it to other more favorable girls here.

I was waiting for Beatrice to get back from a small trip to a local nunnery that she was a patron of. Mary and I did not attend her this time because it was a smaller trip, the lesser ladies had received a chance to go in our stead and we were happy to have some free time at court together.

After a few days, and the Marquis not approaching me further, I put him to the back of my mind and moved on. Mary and I were having fun with no duties while the Queen was gone.

I left mass alone and was going to meet Mary back at the feast when I had a gut feeling to just sit down on one of the benches. Maybe it was nausea or fatigue. But I sat down and watched the clouds as they began to turn from grey to white.

"Lady Catrice." A familiar French voice said.

The Marquis stood near, on his journey back from Mass as well.

He did not sit beside me, though there was room. Instead, he remained standing, arms folded behind his back, the golden embroidery on his coat catching what little light the moon offered.

"I must admit," he said softly, "I did not expect to find you out here alone."

"I did not expect to be found."

He smiled at that—not broadly, but with enough weight that I felt it. There was something different about the way he looked at me. Not hungry, not awestruck. Measured. Deliberate.

"I've watched you," he said. "These past days."

I straightened. "Have you."

"Not with the eyes of a man chasing a dalliance. I've had those eyes before. I know their weight." He tilted his head slightly. "No, I've watched you with the eyes of a man who knows what he wants."

My breath caught, though I masked it with a glance back at the fountain. The water had gone still now, catching the stars.

"Lady Catrice," he said, and I turned back toward him—slowly.

He stepped forward then, just one step, but it was enough to close the air between us. His voice lowered. "I've spoken to your father."

The words knocked something loose in my chest.