Concession

Kasey

kasey8473@yahoo.com

Summary: Adhemar begins putting his house in order after his long absence.

Rating: PG-13

Disclaimer: Not mine and I do not own them.

~~~~~~~~~~

With the wedding feasting finally over, I have spent the past few days pouring over the records of my Stewards for our various houses. My mother has kept the manor running in her usual efficient way, but some things I must do for myself, such as find Lydia a husband. The girl is becoming a nuisance. I love my sister, but her attitude towards my wife is tiresome. She refuses to speak Christiana's name, ignores her orders for the household and will not remain in the same room with her unless forced to do so. She will show Christiana respect or she will find herself sent off to stay with Adele until I can find a man to take her. I do not know what ails Lydia, nor do I care. She must learn that there are times to behave in a proper manner and times it is acceptable not to. Her daily dealings with Christiana are not the time to behave improperly.

My mother slips into the chair across from me, adjusting an embroidered pillow behind her back. She has come into my chamber with enough noise for six people, humming, slamming the door open all the way and stomping her feet as she walks. "Do you bother yourself with your duties at last? My son, I am shocked."

I ignore her remark and state my business for her. "Christiana is doing her own hair and dressing herself. What is wrong with that mother?"

She fixes me with a satisfied stare. "So you have finally noticed. She has only been here...what?... two months? I was certain you would not notice for another three or four."

She is set on provoking me of late, saying anything to push me into anger. Has my entire family gone mad while I was gone? My mother dumps every task she has performed for years onto me and Christiana, my sweet and only slightly moody sister has been replaced by some sullen, fully disagreeable wench and my grandfather holes up in his chamber with nothing but books to occupy him, insisting he shall see no one and do no thing until his studies are completed. What he studies I do not know.

I narrow my eyes at her. "See that a maid is found for her, perhaps a maid-companion." Will Christiana like having a maid-companion? I believe so. It will give her someone to talk with and perhaps her friendship with Jocelyn will fade from long distance.

She purses her lips and nods slowly. "I know of a girl. She is a relative of Merrick's. Some sort of cousin I believe. Her name is Sarah."

Merrick D'Arcy is a neighbor of ours, and a boyhood friend of mine. He has relatives all over three countries. A cousin of his would be a good influence for Christiana. At least the women in their households know their place and stay in it. "I shall leave it in your capable hands then, mother. You know better than I what a woman needs in a maid."

"Have you considered your wife's wardrobe, Etienne?" She queries, sliding the accounts book I was studying across to her and glancing at the notations on the open page. Her lips purse as she runs her finger along one line. She has noticed the discrepancy in the numbers at a single glance, while I had studied the page for long moments before noticing that a Steward is skimming funds from one of the manors I am in charge of. However, she does not point it out to me as she would have done months earlier, choosing to make no comment.

"I consider it every night as I remove it from her."

She rolls her eyes. "How did I raise such a smart ass? You know very well what I mean." The book is returned to me. "The girl needs a proper wardrobe, one befitting her station. Her clothes at present reflect poorly on you. They are maid's clothes, not those of a noble lady."

"So have a wardrobe made for her. Whatever she needs."

"Whatever she needs? Oh, I will." The gleam in her eyes almost makes me reconsider giving her carte blanche. She will have Christiana better dressed than Princess Joan if I am reading her expression correctly.

"Now," I squelch the urge to set limits for her and turn to the topic I have been dreading discussing with her. "As to Lydia. What has transpired with her while I was away? Tell me. Her behavior puzzles me."

"I have washed my hands of her. It is for her to admit and not for me to tell you." Disapproval replaces satisfaction in her eyes, giving them a hardness. I am fast becoming exasperated with her reticence on this matter. How am I to deal with Lydia if I do not know what to punish her for? I am starting to wish Edward would ask me to join him in battle. At least I know what to expect there. The women of this household are enough to drive a sane man over the edge.

"Why? Why stop telling me of her behavior now? You have never been bothered before. Before, you would tell me everything she did that needed my attention."

"I have my reasons."

"Will I discover these reasons anytime soon, mother?"

"Oh yes." Her brow lowers in a thunderous frown. "You shall know very soon if I have my way."

As she leaves, I reflect on my mother. That Lady has always managed to get the last word. I believe it would kill her not to. And her last words are usually dramatic in nature. It is partly because of her that I spent so much time away from here. I love her, but I do not like living under the same roof with her. She is whimsical and blunt at the same time. She pretends to be flighty while running this manor like any man would. I do rank many women below trophies and horses and rightly so, but there are exceptions, as my mother proves rather ably.

With a glance at the window, where I see the sun is shining and we are having a mild late fall day, I return my reluctant gaze to the accounts. From what I can tell, only that one Steward has been bold enough to steal so obviously. With a sigh, I push the book away and shut it. My concentration was broken by my mother and I know I will not be able to concern myself with the numbers on the pages if I sat here all day. I decide to go to the training field.

Germaine is my sparring partner this day, but hand-to-hand combat is not quelling my boredom, so we move on to archery. Archery is a skill I must constantly practice to stay in top form on. Scarce have we started when I see Christiana's slender form slowly walking across the field towards us. I hand my bow to Germaine and walk to meet her. Why has she come out here?

"Christiana? Do you make coming here a habit?" She is nervous, her glance moving about the field, not touching upon me. One of her hands twirls the end of one little braid over and over.

"No." She replies, shaking her head and licking her lips. I wait. She takes a deep breath. "Musicians have come to the hall. They are asking to play."

"So let them." I shrug, as though it is a normal thing for musicians to play in the hall when I am here and not something I have arranged after much thought on the matter. "You came all the way out here to tell me that?" Now she looks up at me, her beautiful brown eyes wide and wary.

"You knew?"

"Yes." She clasps her hands tightly together, once more glancing the length of the field. "They are for you, wife."

"For me? Why?" A tiny frown curls her brow.

I cross my arms. She will not accept it and go. She must ask the reason too? "Did you think I would completely deprive you of a thing that is so much a part of you? I know you see me as harsh, but do you truly see me as that cruel of a man?"

Christiana shifts uncomfortably, her mouth trembling softly.

I step closer to her, uncrossing my arms to slip one about her waist and bring her flush against me. Her body stiffens. My other hand lifts up her chin a notch and I study her face. Her thoughts are plain. She does see me as that cruel. Startled by that, I release her.

Is this where I am lacking? That question has been bothering me for a long while now. Do I have my answer at last? Is my harshness, my ruthlessness, the cause? Suddenly, the same feeling I had in that gaol after administering that beating Thatcher sweeps over me. I see myself as Christiana must for just a second and it lays me out onto the ground with all the force of being unhorsed. I do not like it. I do not wish to revisit that place. I will not revisit it.

I cross my arms again. "Now I know where my character stands fully in your eyes. I suppose we are even in our assumptions then. The musicians are for you, because music means so much to you. They are to be in residence here. Enjoy them for a couple hours a day five or six days a week while I am training. Dance if you wish. My mother might like to join you and possibly even Lydia if you can catch her when she is not sulking."

All the rest of the day, I cannot get Christiana's expression out of my mind. Do others see me as such as well? Am I too harsh? Should the question bother me as much as it is? I wrestle with the thought all night and am distracted to the point of only vaguely realizing Christiana is in an amorous mood. When I do not respond to her, she gives an annoyed snort before pulling all of the covers onto herself and leaving me with a tiny corner of the blanket. I stay awake, shivering from the cold of our chamber until I am finally unable to resist the pull of slumber.

Days later, I venture into the manor to see how my concession is being received. The noise assaults my ears immediately upon opening the door, but for once I find I can ignore the harsh discord. I see my mother present, clapping her hands and smiling. My grandfather has even emerged from his chamber and is dancing with Christiana. They are all laughing and enjoying themselves.

As I move forward, I get a clearer view of my wife. Even from where I stand, I can see that she is flushed from the exercise and I cannot help but admire the fluid grace with which she performs the intricate steps of the dance. I have always noted her grace, even when I pursued Jocelyn. They were habitually together, so one could not keep from noticing them, a team of beauty set upon the world.

I had wondered why a maid was allowed to wear the fabrics Christiana wore, until it dawned on me that she must be a maid-companion, a lesser noble serving a greater for some family reason, whether it was for lack of a dowry to present to a man or because her family was so poor of funds they needed income of any sort. The latter was the reason in Christiana's case. When I was a young boy, my mother had a maid-companion, a meek thing that had the annoying tendency to cry whenever anyone raised their voice. She cried quite a bit as I recall....

My thoughts turn once more to my motives in marrying Christiana. I still cannot put my thumb directly on one single reason. Oh, I can pretend I offered for her because I thought her a beautiful second if I could not have Jocelyn, a pretty piece to show off at banquets and the like. I would be lying however, to speak that as reason. It is a thought I have though. She is a pretty piece to show off. Properly outfitted, she shall be the envy of many and it will be my pleasure to show her off as mine.

I need heirs, yet that reason is not fully the one either. Any woman would have done for that. Her mind? I shake my head. Most women have little of intelligent thought in their heads and I have not attempted to ascertain if she is one of those rare few who can comprehend man's things, such as politics and sciences. She is capable of reading and writing and ciphering. Hugh stressed that to me when I spoke with him. He almost seemed proud of her on that, mentioning that her sisters had been only marginally interested in those three things.

What drew me to her? This question follows me about almost as much as the question of where and what I am lacking. Do I have deeper motives that I am unaware of possessing? All I know is that once it was clear that Jocelyn was given to Thatcher, I could look no further than Christiana.

My eyes lit upon her directly after Jocelyn's father informed me of his final decision. I saw her clearly, not as a lesser noble working as a maid, but as a single woman, available for taking. The sunlight was upon her face that morning, auburn highlights revealed in her long hair by those golden rays. I remember she gave me a courteous nod of her head as we passed on the stair. What about her, my mind asked then, my gaze following her form as she went into the building. I could not stop thinking about her. I had no interest in the prostitutes of London that I had occasionally visited. The other young women of London did not tempt me. No, I had an idea to learn as much of Christiana as I could. Only her. I discussed her with my sources, had her followed and then began my journey to see her father before even a full week after that final joust had passed.

Hugh was surprised by my interest, at first trying to talk me out of having her as visions of losing the income Jocelyn's family paid for her service flashed across his mind. Once I let it slip, rather intentionally, that Christiana was mingling with peasants on a daily basis, Hugh warmed to the idea of being kin by marriage. He warmed to the idea of the influence of my family at his disposal. He then became enthusiastic in his bargaining and the nearly daily letters to Christiana began.

A movement opposite my place in the shadows catches my attention and I see Lydia, watching as I do. My attention shifts to her. I am sincerely puzzled as to what has caused Lydia to change. She was fine when father died. She grieved as the rest of us did. And the last time I was home she was fine as well. It is only in the last six months or so that she has become different.

I frown. I should marry her off. But to who? Who would care for Lydia in the manner befitting a jewel of this family? Who would put up with her the way she is at present? If all thoughts of dowry were put aside, I would offer her to Merrick D'Arcy. However, her dowry is just small enough that his family would consider it an insult to even suggest the possibility of a match. Money must be a consideration. I must make a match that will be beneficial to this family and the man's.

I catch Lydia's stare, motioning her to me, but she flees instead. Flees! My own sister runs from me. Intending on following her, I take several steps further into the hall. Silence descends as they see me, the music trailing off. All of those present for the music and dancing stop and watch me. There is a sensation of closeness to the hall, a claustrophobic tightness. I can almost hear their breathe, labored from the dance. They are waiting, all of them, to see what I will do. The musicians are cradling their instruments. My mother and grandfather are glancing at one another.

Christiana starts towards me without hesitation in her steps. "Etienne?"

I force a bland smile as she comes near. "You like the music?"

"Yes. Thank you." Her smile somehow seems worth the discomfort of my ears.

I cannot think of a thing to say. I am speechless before her. How...disconcerting. I nod and leave the hall as quickly as I can manage, leaving them to their entertainment.