Page 92 of The Favourite

“No.” His reply had been swift. Too swift.

“Did … did someone attempt to rob you again?” she had asked, remembering the fallen thief in the wood, the tale of the stabbing at the tavern. He did not answer for a long moment and Jane felt herself start to grow tense.

“Yes,” he said at last, “in a manner of speaking.”

“Oh.” Jane’s thoughts turned over furiously. “And you—you—”

“I am perfectly well,” he cut in smoothly, though she had not doubted his own healthy status.

Jane felt herself relax in spite of herself. “That is good.”

“Let’s sleep now,” he had suggested, though he did not release her, and Jane did not think he had sounded even remotely sleepy.

“Very well,” she had replied, though she really wanted to ask who the unfortunate person was. Then again, maybe she did not want to know.

It had not stopped her from dwelling on the matter the next morning as she broke her fast. Did he often slip out at night? And if so, was that why he wanted separate bedchambers? Lowering her piece of toasted bread, she had regarded him frowningly.

Alisander’s gaze had lifted from the letter he had been perusing. “My sweet, why are you glowering at me?” he had asked. “You put me out of countenance.”

“I doubt that very much.”

He tipped his head to one side. “What is it? Tell me, for I’m actually curious.”

“I was just wondering …”

“Yes?”

“If you had applied for larger living quarters yet?”

His eyebrows snapped together, and for one instant, she thought he looked annoyed. “How do you bear with such a forgetful spouse?” he mused.

The trouble was, Jane no longer believed he was remotely forgetful. Who was this man, she wondered, that she had been bound to matrimonial bonds? He was not what he presented to the world, she knew that much.

For the rest of the week, he was extremely amorous in his attentions. Ayleth, she noticed, had taken to waiting until he had departed before she entered their bedchamber of a morning. He was not shy when it came to displays of physical affection, even when there was no immediate prospect of bedding her.

He liked touch and he liked proximity, whether it was morning, noon, or evening. Of course, she did not know if this would continue, once she was out of their palace living quarters and mixing once more with her peers. Would he, then, become the cool and aloof Bardulf once more? The thought was a strangely disquieting one.

No matter how charming and even sweet he could be, deep down she was starting to suspect that, much like the rest of his life, he viewed bed sport as some kind of game, wherein he liked to gain the upper hand. Having said that, it was hard to resent this when he took so much evident pleasure in her arms.

She was not even sure he had the upper hand, in truth. Despite her lack of experience, he was palpably eager for her to an almost astonishing degree. Mercifully, for Jane’s pride, he seemed to derive as much gratification from her embraces as she took from his. If not for that, she would have found it all much harder to bear.

Mid-week, it occurred to her that perhaps it would help if she separated out the traits she knew of old, from the more recently discovered side of him. The man who shuddered so elaborately about drooling infants and spent so long at his dressing mirror was Viscount Bardulf.

That meant the man who was so kind and decent a master to Robert, and the man who would unthinkingly comfort a whining child in his arms, was Alisander de Balon. If Viscount Bardulf was the diplomat and courtier who spent his days in the palace halls conversing with courtiers, then it was Alisander de Balon who was her lover at night.

Had he not said himself, that Lord and Lady Bardulf were a staid married couple, and it was Jane Cecil and Alisander de Balon who were lovers? They had now been back at court for a week, and she supposed she must be resuming her public life sometime soon. The first of her dresses had been delivered from Monsieur Barbier, but she had not received so much as a word from the Queen, let alone a summons.

That evening, she resolved to bring it up with him, as Wat threw more logs on the fire and then withdrew, shutting the door quietly after him. It was around eight o’clock. Anne and the children had already made themselves scarce, and Ayleth had disappeared directly after supper.

Still, when she did lift her voice, it was not to speak of the Queen at all. “Where is Robert this evening?” she found herself asking, realizing she had not seen the old man in a while.

Alisander looked up from the letter he had been reading. He received correspondence of one kind or another on a daily basis, she assumed in his professional capacity. Some of them he left in haphazard piles, others he shoved in a drawer, and the rest, she was sure, disappeared without a trace as soon as he had read them. “Robert?” he repeated airily. “Most likely he is partaking in a cup of wine in his bedchamber. That is his habit of an evening.”

Jane nodded. “You are an indulgent master when it comes to him.”

His eyebrows shot up. “Well, he is indispensable to me. He is the only one who knows how to adequately care for my many shoes.”

She frowned at his dismissive reply. “I counted them the other day,” she said accusingly, “and you own fourteen pairs, not two dozen.”