Page 44 of The Favourite

“No, you are quite right,” he agreed after a moment. “I have wronged you. Your hair is a good deal paler than gold. Very well, is it not strange that our daughter’s hair is so dark when your own hair is as pale as—”

“What color was your hair as a child?” Jane said, interrupting his nonsense. She found she actually wanted to know.

“Strange to say, as a child, my hair was white blond. As I grew older it darkened considerably.”

Jane glanced at him. “I suppose that accounts for it…” She trailed off thoughtfully.

“For what?”

“Well, it’s just … your hair. It’s dark but contains no reddish hue to justify calling it brown, and neither is it pigmented enough to call it black. I suppose ‘tis almost ashen, like … an absence of color.” A slow smile curved his lips. “Why do you smile?” she asked defensively.

“No reason, Jane. I just like that you’ve dwelt on the matter.” She opened her mouth to deny it, but he lifted a hand. “No, do not shatter my illusions, I beg of you. You are giving me precious little by way of encouragement. Let me have this.”

The baby let out a whimper, and they both turned to look down at it. To Jane’s surprise, Alisander reached down to touch the child’s hand which immediately wrapped around one of his fingers. “She’s got quite a grip,” he commented. “It’s curious to think—” he started absently, then broke off his words.

“What is curious?” Jane asked after a slight pause.

“Well, that four days ago, I was the last of the De Balons,” he said softly, “and now there are three of us that bear my father’s name. Did I ever mention, that the Bardulf title can pass down the female line?” he added. “It is much more common in Lascony than here in Karadok,” he commented as Jane drew in a sharp breath. “Celestia may someday inherit my title too, if we don’t have any more children.”

“What?” she was aghast. “I had no idea!” He looked untroubled, but it was hard to believe he would happily bestow both name and title on her niece. “Is that—? I mean, does that not bother you?” Jane asked carefully. She lowered her gaze and forced the words past her lips. “That Celestia is not actually a de Balon?” she practically whispered. “Not by blood, I mean.”

“No,” he admitted. “It doesn’t bother me at all.” He watched the swift play of emotions on her face: doubt, confusion, surprise. “Do you find that strange?”

“A—a little, yes!” she admitted.

He shrugged. “Perhaps I do not set such store by blood, as you.”

Jane could think of no reply to this, so she simply turned back to contemplate the small child. “I was born with a full head of black hair myself,” she remembered suddenly.

“Really?”

“Yes.” She nodded. “I heard the tale many times as a child. My mother was terribly put out, and there were whispers in the servants’ hall that I might be a changeling. Yet, by the age of two years, my hair was lighter even than Helen’s.”

“Perhaps they swapped you back,” Alisander suggested, turning his hand to contemplate the tiny fingers.

“Who?” Jane asked in confusion.

“The faeries. I hear the thing to do is brew beer in an eggshell, then the changeling will leap up and reveal itself, and the true child will be returned.” Jane considered him frowningly. “According to the folklore,” he added.

“Oh. Well, what I am trying to say is that perhaps Celestia will take after me.”

“I certainly hope so.”

A cough in the doorway announced the Head Nurse’s presence. “If the child could just be left to sleep now, I feel sure she would feel the benefit,” she began officiously.

“Ah, Mistress Lingard. A timely interruption this time, for I have something to tell you. Now let me see, what was it?” He frowned. “Ah yes, that was it, to inform you that your services are no longer required,” Alisander announced.

“My lord?” she gasped incredulously.

“You and the rest of your coven will oblige me by packing up and leaving the premises by nightfall.”

“Nightfall?” Mistress Lingard looked outraged. “Sir Phillip will have plenty to say about this, I assure you!”

“Nothing worth listening to,” Alisander replied calmly. “Besides, he has left and holds no sway over what happens in this house. The King has granted Kinnerton and all its contents to my wife here, and she, in turn, has conferred them on me, her lawfully wedded spouse.”

The older woman’s face froze. “The King—?” she said hoarsely. “But surely—”

“You have been laboring under a sad misapprehension, Mistress Lingard. I have papers in my possession that show this child’s lineage. Our marriage has legitimized her. She is our legal daughter. The King has made it so, and as a loyal subject of the Crown, I am sure you will not wish to oppose that view. You may leave now.”