LITMIR.BIZ

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aware of the departing wedding guests, Elysia lost herself in the mundane task of tending an unused section of the garden, visualizing the seeds she would have planted to best utilize the space.

      The male voice startled her.

      “The garden seems to be a common hiding place for you, Countess.” Conon appeared out of nowhere as he had the day before.

      When his kiss upon her hand had seared her flesh.

      Although he was as incredibly handsome as the previous day, Elysia noted the shadows under his eyes, the sadness that lurked within. Guilt nagged at her.

      As Conon helped her to her feet, she tried not to wince at the pain in her thigh from the count’s knife wound.

      His eyes narrowed as he assessed her, obviously seeing the hurt.

      “What is it?”

      Embarrassed and guilty, she could not look at him. “It is nothing, I—”

      “You should not be out so soon after a wedding night, Elysia.” His voice was as rough as the hand that still gripped her arm.

      “I am fine, truly—”

      “There will be talk all over France about the beautiful young English woman who came to Brittany to wed a rich count, poisoned him on his wedding night, then flaunted herself about the gardens the next day as if nothing were amiss.” His words might be accusing, but his tone was merely tired.

      Ignoring the unwelcome warmth that still tingled where he touched her, she stepped out of his grasp. “Poisoned? Is that the verdict this morning?”

      “Aye.” He smiled halfheartedly. “Though that verdict is subject to change several times by the end of the day and will no doubt become more embellished as the tale travels to all corners of France and England.”

      “Do you believe I had a hand in the count’s death?” She brushed the soil from the worn linen kirtle she favored for gardening.

      “Your refusal to stay in your chamber like a proper grieving widow today does nothing to ease my mind regarding your possible guilt.”

      “What does staying shut up in my chamber have to do with how much grief I feel?” Elysia was surprised at the sting of tears in her eyes.

      “You cannot convince me you mourn his loss.”

      “Just because I was not overly eager to wed him? By all the saints, that does not mean I wished his demise. I imagine at least half the brides who have ever sought the altar have feared and regretted the choice of husband made for them. That does not make them bloodthirsty killers.”

      “Aye. But their husbands do not end up dead on their wedding nights.”

      “Very well then, my lord.” How dare he accuse her of something so foul? “Your uncle was poisoned.”

      Conon’s eyes widened, a flicker of shock and disappointment crossing his expression.

      “Poisoned by drink and self-indulgence,” she snapped.

      “And mayhap by uncaring relatives who closed their eyes while he had been slowly killing himself for heaven knows how many years.”

      “Touché, chère.” The wind caught his hair and gentled him with unseen fingers. “However, I assure you my lack of interference in my uncle’s life was not the result of indifference. Had he been my father, perhaps I would have felt I had the right to….” He paused in thought, far away from the garden and Elysia. “Yet it does not matter. He is gone.”

      “I am sorry.”

      “So you say. I merely came to inform you that Arundel departed, and he has left John Huntley to be your guardian while you are in residence here.”

      “Sir Huntley?” She could not imagine a more loathsome protector.

      “Everyone else is leaving except for Leon de Grace and myself.”

      “De Grace is loyal to you, I gather?” Elysia wished she had an ally here. She did not relish the thought of spending any more time at Vannes, but it seemed a small price to pay for her freedom.

      “He is his own man, and he seems to think I will need his help in the coming weeks.” A wry smile tugged at the corner of Conon’s mouth. “I could not get rid of him if I tried.”

      “You are fortunate to have such a friend.”

      “Fortunate with no fortune. But you are right, Countess.” Bowing, he turned toward the stables. He was but a few steps from her when he looked back. “Elysia.”

      “Aye?”

      “While I understand the need to lose oneself in activity during a crisis, most of our remaining guests do not.” He nodded in the direction of the road, where a small party of knights rode away from Vannes, casting curious glances toward the scene in the garden. “Would it hurt to smother any more wagging tongues?”

      “Certainly.” Duly chastened, Elysia nodded, sorry she had not thought to stay within the keep for that very reason. “I will retire to my solar.”

      Dusting off her small shovel, she had to admit Conon St. Simeon possessed a quiet wisdom she had not expected in so carefree a man. His frivolity at her wedding, his open liaison with a wealthy widow, had made her regard him as an insubstantial man, but now she doubted such was the case.

      Thrusting aside disturbing thoughts of the enigmatic new count, she hurried to Vannes and found Belle tidying her large wardrobe. The maid curtsied when Elysia arrived.

      “Morning, mistress. Perhaps you would like to change?” Belle’s pointed look at Elysia’s dusty clothes conveyed her disapproval.

      “Aye.” Elysia sighed. “I do not know what I was thinking to work in the garden this morning, Belle. The count’s nephew is annoyed about it.”

      “’Tis easy for a girl to forget what is expected of her when she has been through all that you have, my lady.”

      Elysia shook her head sadly as she finished washing with the fresh, cold water Belle brought. “My husband has not even been properly buried. I must plan a mass for him. It was selfish for me to think of my own needs at such a time. My mother taught me better than this.”

      With quick efficiency, Belle had Elysia dried, dressed and seated, ready to begin the monotonous task of brushing and braiding her hair.

      “You miss your mother then, my lady?”

      “Aye.” Elysia thought of Lady Daria Rougemont at Nevering. Was her mother immersed in sewing and stitching to keep up with the linen orders? Or was she reveling in the freedom of escaping from her taskmaster daughter who had ensured everyone at Nevering did their share of work? “She and I grew close when my father died. Closer still when my brother, Robin, died. It hurt very much to leave her.”

      “Does she tend your linens now that you are gone?”

      Elysia smiled at her thoughtful maid. “I do not know if she will try to run things or not. She does not like to be plagued by details. My mother’s greatest contribution has always been her fine needlework.” Much as Elysia adored her mother, Lady Daria made no pretense that she enjoyed the labor involved in maintaining Nevering’s trade.

      “If your mother does not oversee the business, who will?”

      Who indeed? That very question had been the biggest deterrent to Elysia’s marriage. Of course the earl had not cared. He did not understand the finer points of the linen trade, and assumed that anyone, even his dolt of a vassal, Sir Oliver, could take the reins once Elysia left.

      “Our esteemed neighbor to the north, Sir Oliver Westmoor.”

      “You do not care for this man, Countess?” Belle pulled one braid over the crown of Elysia’s head and fashioned it into a slender circlet.

      “Envision a less bulky, more insipid version

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