Free Mistaken for a Lady by Carol Townend Page A

between you and Lady Clare?’
    Francesca sighed. ‘To answer that question we venture into the realm of speculation, I’m afraid. Countess Mathilde died giving birth to Lady Clare and Papa was grieving so much I don’t think he had much time for a baby.’
    Tristan nodded. ‘That fits, my own father was out of his mind when my mother died.’ His gaze sharpened. ‘With regard to you, the wet nurse must have known she was nursing a different child. She must have been in on it. Is she still alive?’
    â€˜Sadly not. Though I agree she must have known. I can only suppose she panicked when Lady Clare vanished and I replaced her. Father Alar told Papa that he’d had no confession from the wet nurse.’
    â€˜If the wet nurse did substitute you for Lady Clare, likely she would have been too terrified to admit it. Francesca?’
    â€˜Aye?’
    â€˜Where did you come from? What about your real parents? Did Count Myrrdin learn anything about your background?’
    She lowered her gaze. ‘No. Apart from that one confession about the stealing of Lady Clare, we know nothing. I’m sorry, Tristan, my background is a complete mystery. I am truly no one.’
    â€˜Lord, it’s not your fault. Francesca, I want you to know how much I regret that I wasn’t at your side when Lady Clare rode into Fontaine. Was there much awkwardness between the two of you when it became clear who she was?’
    Francesca shot him a startled glance. With her mind on Count Myrrdin and his illness, she hadn’t expected an apology from Tristan. And she certainly hadn’t expected all these questions. She fixed her gaze on a vineyard to the right of the highway. The vines were pruned and staked, bright curls of green were unfurling from the rootstocks. ‘Lady Clare is very warm-hearted. I like her, everyone does.’
    â€˜Were you angry?’
    â€˜Not for a long time, I think I was in shock.’
    â€˜That’s understandable.’
    â€˜At first I couldn’t believe she was Papa’s daughter, even though the evidence was there every time I looked at her.’
    â€˜Your father’s eyes; Countess Mathilde’s hair.’
    â€˜Exactly. Tristan, when you meet her, you will see it is impossible to question Lady Clare’s parentage, she is the Fontaine heiress. She was kind to me. She seemed to understand my confusion, and when she said she was following Sir Arthur to Troyes, I decided to accompany her.’
    Tristan’s gaze was watchful. ‘I was surprised when Roparz sent word that you had taken up residence in Paimpont. I was up to my neck in duchy business at the time, keeping a sharp eye on Prince Geoffrey.’
    â€˜That must have been a challenge.’
    â€˜It was like walking on eggshells. King Henry didn’t trust the prince—Lord, no one trusted anyone. I was sent to England for a time.’
    Francesca gave him a sharp look. ‘How long were you there?’
    Francesca had always wanted to know more about the extent of Tristan’s involvement in Breton politics and this was the first time he’d spoken openly of it. In the past he’d been tight-mouthed about his work and she’d hated it. Hated that he’d kept things from her; hated that so much of his life was out of bounds to her. She had fallen in love with him and, naively, she’d thought he would open up to her.
    How strange that he should choose to start talking when their marriage was in shreds.
    â€˜Roughly a year—I was sent there on account of the revolt against Henry of England.’
    â€˜The Princes’ Revolt.’
    Francesca knew a little about it. King Henry’s sons, wanting more in the way of land and revenues than their father was prepared to grant them, had rebelled against their father. Henry’s Queen, Eleanor, had even been implicated. However, the princes and their mother had not prevailed and King Henry’s