The Spitfire
“Arabella Grey sipped her sweet pale wine from a slender silver goblet. She and Lord Varden had just finished the fine supper that Barbe had prepared, a game pie in a flaky crust, with large pieces of nutty truffles and delicate oniony shallots in a rich wine-flavored gravy.
“What?” Lord Varden, manners aside, dipped a crusty chunk of bread into the remaining gravy, and sopping it up, popped it into his mouth.
“He has been importuning me again to become his mistress,” Arabella replied, “...and so I reminded him of his poor wife in Normandy. I said he should accept the example of the king’s fidelity to the Lady Margaret of Austria. The duc laughed and told me that betrothals are made to be broken. When I asked him what he meant by such a thing, he changed the subject. Do you think that important?”
“It could be,” Lord Varden said slowly, suddenly interested. “You see, Arabella, part of Lady Margaret’s dowry from her father, Maximilian of Hapsburg, are the provinces of Franche Comté and Artois, which the French very much want back.MoreLess
“What?” Lord Varden, manners aside, dipped a crusty chunk of bread into the remaining gravy, and sopping it up, popped it into his mouth.
“He has been importuning me again to become his mistress,” Arabella replied, “...and so I reminded him of his poor wife in Normandy. I said he should accept the example of the king’s fidelity to the Lady Margaret of Austria. The duc laughed and told me that betrothals are made to be broken. When I asked him what he meant by such a thing, he changed the subject. Do you think that important?”
“It could be,” Lord Varden said slowly, suddenly interested. “You see, Arabella, part of Lady Margaret’s dowry from her father, Maximilian of Hapsburg, are the provinces of Franche Comté and Artois, which the French very much want back.MoreLess
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