Mistaken for a Lady Read Free Page B

dazzling and complicated arrangement of peacock feathers, gold thread and ribbons. The feathers danced and waved about Mari’s face as she squeezed through the press, tickling people as she passed them.
    Francesca’s mask was far more modest. She had ignored Mari’s blandishments that a young lady like herself, one whose husband had clearly given up on her, ought to set about attracting new interest. She had cut a simple mask out of some backing, covered it with a remnant of green fabric from her gown and edged it with some glass beads she’d found rolling about in the bottom of her sewing box.
    â€˜My lady, you really must make the most of this revel,’ Mari muttered from behind her. ‘You need to think about your future. Your marriage is over, and if you want children, you will have to marry again.’ Mari glanced pointedly towards the ceiling, where row upon row of knights’ colours hung from the beams. ‘Look at all those pennons. There are plenty of knights here tonight, you could take your pick.’ She lowered her voice. ‘Find a new husband.’
    â€˜Mari, please.’ As Mari’s words shivered through her, Francesca was gripped with a horrid suspicion. Had Mari insisted on coming to the revel, not for her own entertainment, but because she wanted Francesca to choose a new husband?
    Well, that day might almost be upon her. Her separation from Tristan was bound to be formalised soon, even so, she wasn’t ready to start husband hunting. Not until she had heard from Tristan himself.
    The long silence probably meant that she would at any moment receive notice that he had asked the Pope to annul their marriage. Tristan had good cause to do so. She’d failed him in the most damning of ways, she was a nobody, a nobody who had not provided him with an heir.
    Determined not to give the knights’ colours another glance, Francesca kept her gaze trained on the trestle tables arranged around the walls. She had come here tonight so Mari could let her hair down. As to her future, she had already discussed moving to Monfort with her friend Helvise, she would think more about that another day.
    Francesca forged on, heading for a tray of goblets next to the wine racks. Heavens, she’d never seen tables so laden—great platters of venison, mountains of pastries, honeyed almonds... Unfortunately, her stomach felt like lead and she doubted she could eat a bite.
    It would help if she could forget how she had enjoyed Tristan’s company. The trouble was that every time Mari spoke about Francesca’s plans for the future, Francesca found herself dwelling on her brief time with Tristan. Until she had discovered she wasn’t related to Count Myrrdin in any way whatsoever, she had been so happy.
    My life has been a lie. None of it was real.
    Tears rushed to her eyes and the tray of goblets seemed to waver in a mist. Blinking fast, she stiffened her spine. She knew what she had to do. She must step aside and allow Tristan to make a more propitious marriage. With a noblewoman. With an heiress who would give him heirs.
    Francesca reached for a goblet and wrenched her mind away from Tristan. ‘Count Henry is generous,’ she said brightly.
    Mari was staring wide-eyed at a stand that was bowing under the weight of so many wine barrels. Her peacock feathers shivered. ‘ Dieu du ciel , God in heaven, Count Henry’s steward must have raided the stock of every wine merchant in Champagne. That rack will surely break.’
    â€˜I am sure the barrels will soon be empty.’ Francesca handed the goblet to Mari as one of her maid’s peacock feathers flicked across the face of a large man with a shock of white hair. The man sneezed.
    Francesca took another goblet. When she turned back, wine in hand, Mari was gone.
    â€˜Mari?’
    Francesca could see no sign of her. No, wait, there she was, halfway across the hall. At the centre a space had been cleared,