The Lady Justice

Chapter XLIII: I Propose, I Propose Not

Lady Therese De Beauharnais, Duchess of Roche

2 December, Year 32 of King Frederick V of Monrique's reign

Roche Manor, Roche

Monrique

"Your Grace, Captain Everard has arrived."

I had been braiding my hair in front of the looking-glass in my chambers. I paused mid-way now, when I noticed the maid standing on the threshold, and nodded at her through the reflection.

"Thank you, Arcene. Is my sister aware of his arrival?"

"Nay, Your Grace," she replied, "Lady Clarisse has accompanied the Cook to the market."

I swiftly tied a string at the end of my braid. "Good," I stood up, and turned to face her, "and when she returns, I would appreciate it if you do not inform her of his arrival - at least until I ask you to."

"Aye, Your Grace," she curtsied, and waited for me to walk out of my chambers.

We made our way down the stairs, as quietly as we could, towards the receiving chambers. When we reached, Arcene bobbed another curtsey in front of me, and hurried away without another word.

I took a deep breath, and knocked on the doors once, softly, before pushing them open. Captain Robert Everard, who had been standing by the fireplace, turned around to smile weakly at me, before bowing.

"Your Grace."

I closed the doors behind me, and strode towards him. "Oh, there is no need for that, Robert. We are family," I returned his smile and gestured to the several chairs near the fireplace, "please, sit down."

Nevertheless, Robert waited until I sat down, before sitting opposite me. "I am so sorry I could not come home earlier," his eyes were laden with grief, "I have been trying since the moment Clara wrote to me about Papa, but I was only granted block leave yesterday. I could not even come to his funeral to see him one last time." His voice was choked.

"It is all right, Robert. He is with the Lord now," I said softly, "far and away from all mortal suffering."

"I am sure he is. He was a good man," he told me quietly, "how are you and Clara doing?"

"We are well," I assured him, tugging a stray curl behind my ears, "but we have seen better days."

He nodded. "I know," his shoulders tensed, as he looked at me, "these few days have been especially painful for you, have they not?"

I understood what he meant at once. "I suppose..." I swallowed, "I suppose Clara has already written to you about all the recent events." It took all I had to remain composed.

I was recovering, but very, very slowly.

"She did," he confirmed, before releasing a sharp breath, "I am sorry, Tess."

"Why?"

"Once again, I am too late to save you from what your mother had started," his fists clenched by his knees, "and you have to pay the price, like you always do." He hung his head.

I stiffened, a sense of foreboding creeping up my spine at his words. "Robert," I sought his gaze, "what is the matter?"

For an answer, he reached into his pocket, took out a scroll and handed it to me. "Read this," he sighed tiredly, "the King asked me to give it to you when he granted me my block leave."

Frowning, I unrolled the scroll. His Majesty had not even bothered to seal it.

To the new Duchess of Roche,