Chapter 11
Rodmilla sat in the ruined garden and looked mournfully at the once thriving manor house of Auguste de Barbarac. She was holding three letters in her right hand, one from her oldest daughter, one from the King and Queen of France and the last from the local tax collector.
None of it had been good news.
The first one, from Marguerite, explained where the girl had suddenly disappeared to these past two weeks. She and a certain Royal Guardsman, Francois de Richaud, Laurent's older brother by two years, had run off when they discovered Marguerite's pregnancy. What Rodmilla had not known is that the two had been married for two months before that and hadn't told a soul about the private ceremony. Not only that, but the two had been planning their escape for two weeks and Rodmilla hadn't even noticed it.
How could she have done this to her, Rodmilla had thought upon reading the first letter that she opened. She had supported Marguerite all her life, paid every bit of attention to her needs and wants; trying to prepare her for a life with the future King of France. Now it had been all for naught.
The second letter, from King Francis and Queen Marie, explained that Marguerite was no longer a contender for the hand of Prince Henry in light of the circumstances that surrounded the disappearance of Marguerite and Francois. News had come to them of the couple's secret nuptials and of Marguerite's delicate condition. Because of this, the family of de Ghent would be forever tainted in the hearts of the Royal Family, not only for Jean's treasonous act, but also for breaking the bargain between the Prince and Rodmilla's oldest daughter.
Rodmilla thought the whole thing was unfair. There was never a bargain to begin with. Prince Henry's future was never decided upon and was always in doubt whether it would be Marguerite or not.
The third letter was from the tax collector explaining that if Rodmilla did not meet expenses that she was in danger of losing the manor entirely. The bills just kept getting higher and higher and no matter how much she sold off; it wasn't enough to meet expenses. If she didn't scrape enough together in two months time, the house would return to its rightful owner, Lady Danielle de Barbarac to do with as she had seen fit.
She had remembered how happy she was the day that Danielle left, eight years ago now. The future was so filled with hope and promise of Marguerite's future plans to marry the Prince. She had so been looking forward to leaving this tiny manor house once and for all and make her move to the castle, becoming a member of the royal household and visiting the winter palace in Paris at Christmastime. She had never seen this coming, never seen that she would lose everything to that girl that she had hated and despised since the sudden death of her husband, four months earlier.
She didn't even have her youngest daughter's wedding to look forward to as she had been barred from ever visiting the castle again.
Now Rodmilla stood, looked down at the three letters she still held tightly in her hand and gazed up at the manor house again, a tear trickling down from her cheek. She turned her attention to the letters again as she ripped them up and threw them to the ground. She sank to her knees and began to cry.
Rodmilla sat in the ruined garden and looked mournfully at the once thriving manor house of Auguste de Barbarac. She was holding three letters in her right hand, one from her oldest daughter, one from the King and Queen of France and the last from the local tax collector.
None of it had been good news.
The first one, from Marguerite, explained where the girl had suddenly disappeared to these past two weeks. She and a certain Royal Guardsman, Francois de Richaud, Laurent's older brother by two years, had run off when they discovered Marguerite's pregnancy. What Rodmilla had not known is that the two had been married for two months before that and hadn't told a soul about the private ceremony. Not only that, but the two had been planning their escape for two weeks and Rodmilla hadn't even noticed it.
How could she have done this to her, Rodmilla had thought upon reading the first letter that she opened. She had supported Marguerite all her life, paid every bit of attention to her needs and wants; trying to prepare her for a life with the future King of France. Now it had been all for naught.
The second letter, from King Francis and Queen Marie, explained that Marguerite was no longer a contender for the hand of Prince Henry in light of the circumstances that surrounded the disappearance of Marguerite and Francois. News had come to them of the couple's secret nuptials and of Marguerite's delicate condition. Because of this, the family of de Ghent would be forever tainted in the hearts of the Royal Family, not only for Jean's treasonous act, but also for breaking the bargain between the Prince and Rodmilla's oldest daughter.
Rodmilla thought the whole thing was unfair. There was never a bargain to begin with. Prince Henry's future was never decided upon and was always in doubt whether it would be Marguerite or not.
The third letter was from the tax collector explaining that if Rodmilla did not meet expenses that she was in danger of losing the manor entirely. The bills just kept getting higher and higher and no matter how much she sold off; it wasn't enough to meet expenses. If she didn't scrape enough together in two months time, the house would return to its rightful owner, Lady Danielle de Barbarac to do with as she had seen fit.
She had remembered how happy she was the day that Danielle left, eight years ago now. The future was so filled with hope and promise of Marguerite's future plans to marry the Prince. She had so been looking forward to leaving this tiny manor house once and for all and make her move to the castle, becoming a member of the royal household and visiting the winter palace in Paris at Christmastime. She had never seen this coming, never seen that she would lose everything to that girl that she had hated and despised since the sudden death of her husband, four months earlier.
She didn't even have her youngest daughter's wedding to look forward to as she had been barred from ever visiting the castle again.
Now Rodmilla stood, looked down at the three letters she still held tightly in her hand and gazed up at the manor house again, a tear trickling down from her cheek. She turned her attention to the letters again as she ripped them up and threw them to the ground. She sank to her knees and began to cry.