Page 122 of The Favourite

“You have overdone it,” he said reproachfully. “Standing around in that draughty hall all morning, listening to a lot of very dull men pontificating.”

Jane pulled the blankets up around her. “I have had a slight headache, that is all.”

He frowned. “You have been worrying too much about this business with the Queen. Likely it is the tension of all that frowning that has caused it.” He started to reach for her face and Jane flinched back. She could not help it. She felt she could not bear in the moment for her old enemy to touch her. Not right now. Not when …

“Does it hurt that badly?” he asked, leaning over her, a worried look on his face.

To her horror, Jane felt the tears gathering under her eyelids and shut them fast. “Yes.”

She heard the bed rustle as he climbed out. “I will have Ayleth fetch you a poultice at once.”

Jane listened to the rustle of his robe as he pulled it on before she could muster the courage to sit up. “Alisander?” She could not look him directly in the eye. Instead, she concentrated on the pleating on the blanket in front of her. Still, she could feel his gaze upon her. Mustering her courage, she asked, “Am I your first—that is, am I the first person you have called your dove?”

As soon as she’d asked it, her face flooded with color. What a stupid question. He would now eviscerate her for putting herself in such a vulnerable position. He likely called all his women that. Mayhap it made it easier for him when he paid a compliment or threw out an endearment. She steeled herself for his response and faced him.

His expression, however, was not what she had expected. In truth, he looked neither amused nor contemptuous. She was not sure precisely what it was in his eye. It looked almost like fondness. Affection mingled with regret. Regret. Oh, gods. Jane felt a stab of fear that left her almost dizzy.

“How clever of you to realize,” he said lightly. “You are my very own pet dove and quite the novelty to me, so stop looking at me as though I’m about to wring your lovely neck. Instead, I should like to put a pretty collar about it. Would that be so very bad?” When she did not speak, he walked back to the bed and sat on it beside her. “Jane? Do not look like that. You are safe with me.”

Safe. Was she? She swallowed and ducked her head. “Like what?” she said with an awkward laugh. “I don’t know what you mean.” She made as though to turn her back to him, but his hand shot out to catch her arm.

“Jane,” he whispered, pulling her back into his arms, and his words were almost a caress. “Don’t. Do not do that. Let us surprise everyone by being understanding spouses who do not intrude on one another or try to push the other past their point of comfort.”

Jane’s breath froze in her throat. Was that what she was doing? She felt suddenly mortified. She had embarrassed both of them with that stupid question. It was as she had always thought. She was not sophisticated beneath her court veneer. Not one bit.

“Of course,” she said aloud and hoped to gods her voice sounded steadier to his ears than her own. What she really wanted to do, suddenly, was indulge in a good cry. That would release these terrible, overwhelming feelings.

Suddenly it was imperative that he was gone from the room, and she was alone. Not intrude on one another. When her body still physically ached from where his had joined with hers? “I will make sure never to encroach on you again,” she uttered and forced a smile to her lips.

He frowned slightly at this but released her arm, and Jane huddled down into the bed sheets again. She would plead a headache for the rest of the day if necessary. In the background, he was talking again. Something about fetching Ayleth. Leave, just leave. “Yes,” she murmured, agreeing with whatever he said.

“I’ll leave you to sleep off your bad head then,” he said after a heavy pause.

Recognizing the longed-for word, she peered out of the sheets. “Yes, thank you,” she said and meant it. She could not wait for the door to close after him. When he had gone, she buried her head in the pillow and settled into an ugly, jagged weeping that relieved her feelings greatly, though it left her blotched and heavy-eyed.

Ayleth, when she appeared, was sympathetic and tutted and clucked over her swollen, dull eyes. “I never knew you to suffer with bad heads, my lady, neither you nor your sister.”

“I will be well presently,” Jane assured her and did as she was told, bathing her face in cold water and letting Ayleth help her dress in a loose dressing robe over her shift. It seemed unlikely that she would need to go out and about again today, so she decided to spend the rest of the day quietly.

Alisander reappeared as Ayleth was brushing Jane’s hair, only to disappear into his dressing room. When he emerged, Jane pretended not to notice him watching them as Ayleth braided her hair. After a moment, the door softly opened and closed, and he was gone. She was glad he had checked her from embarrassing herself further. Yes, glad. She would not make that mistake again.

27

It was the beginning of trying week for Alisander. Even the elegance of his new mourning outfit, certainly the finest at court, and far nicer than Wymer’s, failed to alleviate his displeasure. He had been concerned at first that Jane had taken suddenly ill or that Bathilde’s death had somehow sent her back into black despair over her sister.

Then, after a day or so, he faced facts. Jane was neither unwell nor despairing. She was dissatisfied. With him. In vain, he had tried to steer them back onto the desired track. He had thrown out lures, flattery, teasing, and downright needling, only to receive the most lackluster of responses.

His wife was barely engaging with him at all these days, and when she did, it was all bland and insincere. All “Yes, Husband” and “No, Husband” and “Three bags full, Husband.” After four days of this, Alisander had had enough. It was no good; they could not carry on like this. He was going to have to force the issue.

He glanced at her now as he poured a goblet of foaming ale. “Will you join me in a drink? No?” He knocked back a swig. “How agreeable you are being this afternoon, wife,” he heard himself say, even as he willed himself not to say anything cruel. “I have to admit, though, it is almost a little dull to find you so passive.”

When she gave no reaction to his words, he felt a frisson of alarm in spite of himself. “Are you not feeling well?” he asked, slamming down the jug.

“I?” She looked up from the letter she was reading. It was another dreary letter from Kinnerton and could not possibly be holding her interest. “I am quite well, I assure you.”

“Then perhaps you could inject just a modicum of enthusiasm into your conversation?” he suggested dryly. “Who knows? It might add a certain piquancy to the experience.”

Nothing. No reaction. He narrowed his eyes. “Are you angry with me, Jane?” That was too direct of course, but he was tired of tiptoeing around the issue.