Free Fire Song by Roberta Gellis Page B

settled on Fenice in the event of Delmar’s death, excluding the boy’s mother and uncle.
    “My poor child, my poor child,” Lord Alphonse said, putting his arm around his granddaughter and taking her hands in his. “Good God, your hands are like ice, and your robe is all wet. You will take your death. Come within. You must have a hot bath and something hot to drink.”
    “Do you not believe me?” Fenice faltered, her eyes filling with tears. She did not realize her grandfather had been distracted from commenting on what she had said by his concern for her physical condition.
    “Oh, I believe you,” Lord Alphonse assured her as he drew her toward the hall. “I warned your father at the time the contract was being written that the reversion clause might cause trouble. I suppose Raymond assumed Delmar would explain to his mother and uncle that they would suffer no disadvantage, and the boy did not do it.” He smiled down at Fenice rather sadly. “He was afraid, was he not, that they would think him so enchanted by your beauty and sweet ways that he allowed your papa to take advantage of him.”
    Fenice could not answer. She only turned her face into her grandfather’s shoulder and sobbed softly. She did not want to go in, not even to be dry and warm. She had almost forgotten what it was to be dry and warm, but she feared that the price of those pleasures would be to lose Lord Alphonse’s protection and fall alive to Lady Jeannette’s hands. Now that he had the meat of the matter, perhaps her grandfather would not care about what had happened to her.
    Fenice had underestimated her new importance. Fuveau was a valuable little estate, not large, but fruitful, and its proximity to Tour Dur increased its significance. Although Lord Alphonse was marginally aware that his wife did not like her baseborn granddaughters, he had no intention of allowing her to delay Fenice with questions, exclamations, and lamentations. Thus, Fenice was not sent up among the women to make her own way as best as she could. Lady Christine, her old governess, was called down and bidden to arrange for the girl’s comfort as swiftly as possible, and was told not to cross-question her or allow anyone else, including Lady Jeannette, to delay her return to him.
    Fenice pulled Lady Christine away from Lord Alphonse, who was already calling for a scribe. “We can go to the south tower,” she said. “Most of Lady Alys’s furniture is there.”
    Ordinarily furniture was carried from estate to estate as a family moved, but it was a great distance from Aix to Bordeaux. After many years of traveling back and forth, Alys and Raymond had become tired of being tied to a long baggage train, which invariably delayed them by getting into difficulties. Having considered the expense of double furnishings and compared that against the trouble saved and the cost of cartage over the years, they decided that in the long run it would be better to take the novel step of furnishing Blancheforte and leaving the furniture in Aix.
    “But it will be cold,” Lady Christine protested. “There has been no fire in the south tower all winter.”
    “I do not care,” Fenice insisted. “We can have a big fire lit now, and the water in the bath will be hot. While I am bathing, you can warm some clothing for me before the fire. I will do well enough.”
    Lady Christine looked at Fenice for a moment and then smiled. She thought that being married had finally given the girl a little self-confidence. But Fenice was so worried about what her grandfather would do and say when he heard the whole tale that she had given the orders without thinking. She also made remarkably quick work of bathing and dressing in some of her Aunt Margot’s cast-off clothing and hurried back to the hall.
    “I have already sent off a letter to your father and Lady Alys telling them of Delmar’s death and of the possibility that there will be trouble over the reversion clause in the marriage