Chapter Thirteen
Wellesbourne Castle
It was a warm day, with a gentle breeze blowing in from the west, a sea breeze that carried the sea birds this far inland.
In Audrey’s garden, Lysabel was sitting on the stone bench, the same stone bench where she and Trenton had shared the first kiss of their romantic interlude.
She was watching her daughters as they followed her mother from bush to bush, clipping buds and putting long-stemmed flowers into a woven basket.
Cynethryn and Brencis seemed to be having a pleasant time, but it was a rare moment in the past two days, ever since Trenton had left abruptly.
Of course, Lysabel knew why he’d gone, thanks to her father, but the girls were confused, so she had told them that Trenton had business he needed to attend to.
The girls were very anxious to know when he would be returning, but that was something Lysabel couldn’t answer.
All she could tell them was “soon”, but she was certain that wasn’t the truth.
She suspected he would never come back.
Lysabel was accustomed to disappointment.
She’d been suffering it most of her adult life, so this was just another disappointment in a long line of disappointments.
God didn’t want her to be happy; she’d already decided that.
He wanted her to stay miserable because she was evidently doing penitence for some terrible sin she must have committed in her life, and she was so embittered about it that she could taste it upon her tongue.
Bitter with the sorrow that was her life.
A squeal from Brencis caught her attention and she looked over to see her mother plucking a thorn from the little girl’s finger and wiping her tears away.
Brencis wasn’t a particularly happy girl, anyway, because a few hours after Cynethryn’s pony went lame, Snowdrop turned up with a sore hip, so both ponies were tucked away in a stall, healing from too much riding by overeager girls.
Lysabel took the opportunity to have the girls do other things, like tend the garden with their grandmother, but they weren’t too eager about it.
It didn’t have the same allure as ponies.
In fact, Brencis was wailing by this point because of her pricked finger, but her grandmother gave her a kiss and turned her towards a bush with lovely pink flowers that she could tend.
There were a few servants around, women who always tended the gardens, and one of them began to help Brencis cut off the pink flowers and put them in her basket.
As Cynethryn rushed to cut her own pink flowers, Alixandrea wandered over to where her daughter was sitting.
“God’s Bones,” she muttered, pulling off her gardening gloves and wiping at the sweat on her forehead. “’Tis a warm day today.”
Lysabel nodded, watching her daughters fight over the pink flowers. “It is.”
It was a short answer, not impolite, but it conveyed her unwillingness to be drawn into small talk. Alixandrea eyed her daughter a moment before sitting down on the bench next to her.
As Matthew’s wife and Lysabel’s mother, Alixandrea knew what was wrong.
All of the information had come from her husband, and none from her daughter, and she’d vowed to remain silent on the matter unless Lysabel wanted to discuss it.
But as the days passed and she saw how depressed and lifeless her daughter was, she was having a difficult time holding to that vow.
Lysabel was avoiding both of her parents for the most part, and Alixandrea felt sorry for the woman.
She very much wanted to hear her side of it.
Perhaps it was time for a mother’s understanding.
“Lys,” she said as she pulled the wimple off her head, the one that was meant to keep the dust and dirt out of her hair. “Would you like to talk about it?”
“About what?”
“Your father told me what happened with Trenton. Did you think he would not?”
Lysabel shifted uncomfortably. “There is nothing to discuss,” she said. “Papa has sent Trenton away. He has made his decision.”
Alixandrea looked at her. “Mayhap he has,” she said. “But I want to hear about the situation from you. All I have heard is your father’s side of things. Will you do me the courtesy of telling me yours?”
Lysabel sighed heavily. “Why, Mama?” she asked. “Will it change things? Will it cause Papa to change his mind?”
Alixandrea could hear the distress in her child’s voice. “Probably not,” she said. “But I would still like to hear it from you. Will you tell me?”
Lysabel fell silent, still watching her daughters. As she sat there, her eyes began to fill with tears, which she quickly blinked away.
“Oh… Mama,” she whispered. “He simply does not understand.”
“What does he not understand, sweetheart?”
Lysabel wiped at her nose. “I cannot help that I have fallen in love with Trenton,” she said.
“He cannot help that he has fallen in love with me. I know he is married, but his wife hates him and he hates her. They should have never been married in the first place. All we want is to be happy without Papa’s interference. ”
Alixandrea watched her daughter struggle and she was greatly sympathetic. It was essentially what her husband had told her, but without Matthew’s fatherly take on the situation.
Now, she was hearing the emotional side.
“Your father only wants what is best for you, even if what is best for you does not make you happy at first,” she said gently.
“I think he believes it is an infatuation you have with Trenton because he saved you from your terrible life with Benoit. It is natural that you should look to Trenton as your savior, but that does not mean you love him.”
Lysabel looked at her mother, incensed. “I am a grown woman,” she said.
“I know what love is. What I feel for Trenton was not something that suddenly appeared. It was something that grew until I realized what it was. Mama, he is kind to me and he makes me smile. He is good to Cinny and Cissy, better than their own father ever was, and at least I know that Trenton will never raise a hand to me and that is more than I can say for Benoit. I have not felt safe since I left Wellesbourne to marry Benoit.”
Alixandrea’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean when you say that is more than you can say for Benoit?”
Lysabel looked at her mother. “Did Papa not tell you that?”
“Tell me what?”
“That Benoit beat me.”
Alixandrea stiffened, an expression of horror creeping over her features. “He did not,” she said, sounding weak. “Sweet Jesus… he beat you?”
Lysabel looked away, hating that she now had to explain Benoit’s behavior to her sweet mother.
“I thought Papa told you,” she said. “Benoit started beating me after he realized Papa would not give him my inheritance. I endured at least ten years of my marriage being beaten black and blue. He would beat me when he was sober, when he was drunk, or simply because he felt like it. He was beating me the night Trenton came to Stretford on the orders of Henry. The king wanted Benoit for an offense, which Trenton never told me, but instead of taking him back to Henry, Trenton killed him when he saw that the man had beaten me.”
Now, Alixandrea’s eyes were filling with tears and a hand went to her mouth, indicative of her shock.
No, she hadn’t heard any of this and in the times she had seen her daughter over the years, she never saw bruises or anything else to indicate what was going on.
Her daughter never seemed particularly happy with her marriage, but she never saw the signs of abuse.
Whatever signs there were had been covered well, and she was absolutely devastated.
Alixandrea’s first reaction was to be furious at Matthew for not telling her, but she suppressed that instinct.
This was her daughter’s crisis and the focus needed to be on her.
She had to assume that if Matthew didn’t tell her any of this, he must have had a good reason.
She knew the man too well to believe his intention in withholding the information had been anything other than to protect her from the horrors of the truth.
Taking a deep breath, Alixandrea forced herself to calm, at least as much as she was able.
“Then Trenton truly saved you, more than I realized,” she said hoarsely.
“I am so sorry for what Benoit did, Lys. Your father and I knew that you were not particularly happy with him, and when the visits became less and less frequent, we were deeply distressed and did not know why. But now… I suppose the situation makes a little more sense. Clearly, you were living with a monster but you never asked us for help. Why not?”
Lysabel could see the pain in her mother’s eyes, the same pain she had seen in her father’s when discussing Benoit.
As a parent herself, she understood what it would be like to have one of her daughters abused by a husband and being powerless to stop it.
In a show of sympathy for her mother, she reached out and grasped the woman’s hand.
“I will tell you what I told Papa,” she said.
“My father would have killed Benoit. He would have felt such guilt and rage for marrying me to a man who abused me that he would have killed him, and that guilt would have weighed on him for the rest of his life. I love Papa too much to burden him with such a thing. It was better to suffer in silence… Benoit was my husband and he had every right to do whatever he pleased. There would have been nothing you could have done about it.”
Alixandrea squeezed her daughter’s hand tightly, a sob escaping her lips. Lysabel could see her mother breaking down and she moved closer to her on the bench, putting her arm around her mother’s shoulders to comfort her.
“No tears, please,” she whispered. “The girls will see and it will upset them. They are mending nicely in the wake of their father’s absence.”
Alixandrea nodded quickly, forcing herself to still her tears. “He never… he never touched the girls, did he?”
“Never.”