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“All of your efforts to flatter me will be for naught,” Rotrind said
coldly. The noblewoman said no more after that and after eating a
generous helping of peas, cornbread, and some delicious salmon that had
been caught by one of the King’s huntsmen, Rotrind retired to her room,
undid her hair, allowing it to hang in a cascade down on her shoulders and
to her hip, took off her corset, flung her petticoats in the laundry basket,
and changed into a plain white gown with black lace trimming the low
neckline. Then she put on a black hooded cape and set off for her father’s
chambers, which were on the other side of the castle. Making sure that
nobody was watching, Rotrind ran up to her father’s door, knocked three
times, and when the door was opened, threw off her hood.
“Father, I have something to speak to you about,” Rotrind said
quickly.
“Come in, Rotrind, my beauty,” Sir Richard said. He was wearing a
shirt of chain mail—obviously he had been practicing a few sword strokes
with his close friend, the Duke Laurence, who was seated in the only chair
in the room.
“Hello, Rotrind,” Duke Laurence said. Rotrind nodded and curtsied,
but she did not reply. She did not like Duke Laurence’s pointed nose, his
black, bushy eyebrows that almost covered his eyes, or his short black hair.
“What is it that you want to tell me? And should we have a bit of
privacy…no offense, Laurence.”
“Duke Laurence may stay if he wishes,” Rotrind said, “however I do
not believe this subject will be of much interest to him.”
“Well put, Rotrind. However I will stay. Perhaps there will be a grain
of interest in your story,” Duke Laurence said in his cold voice.
Rotrind began, ignoring Duke Laurence and shifting her attention to
Sir Richard, saying, “I have heard a certain noblewoman who was sitting
next to me insult Grandmother Sterling.”
“Who was that person?” Sir Richard exclaimed, jumping up and
waving his sword, roaring, “I shall banish that woman off to some
faraway place or else smite off her head!”
“I think I can help you,” Duke Laurence said, his slow, cold voice
cutting into Rotrind’s thoughts, “I have a vast knowledge of noblewomen
in this court due to my many marriages. If Rotrind can give me a proper
description, I will be off and return promptly with the cursed woman.”
“Thank you, my friend. Rotrind, what was the woman like?” Sir
Richard asked.
“She was rather…spherical. She wore a heavily powdered wig. There
was much rouge on her cheeks and she wore a black dress.”
The Triumph of Love
THE JOY OF WRITING
8
“Ah, I know who you are talking about. The name is Countess
Armaine. She hangs around and listens to what should be kept private for
other ears,” Duke Laurence said.
“Summon her here immediately,” Sir Richard said, “she has insulted
my mother, and I do not want a woman who has insulted her mistress in
this court.”
“Yes, my friend,” Duke Laurence said. Soon he returned with the
countess, who looked frightened and was cursing.
“You will be sorry for this!” she shrieked as Duke Laurence held her
tightly.
“Countess Armaine, you will be stripped of your title and banished to
the far west,” Sir Richard said majestically.
“Not the far west!” Countess Armaine looked terrified.
After pondering a bit, Sir Richard said, “For the sake of your
husband, the Count, you will be sent to a convent that is not far from
here. You will leave all of your personal belongings and dresses and
jewelry here.”
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