“From all that Rodrigo heard, Señorita, he counteth that it should be the Lady Joan de Holand, sister unto my Lord of Kent and my Lady of March. She is, saith he, of a rare beauty, and of most royal presence.”
“Royal presence, quotha!—and a small child of ten years!” cried the indignant girl of nineteen. “Marry, I guess wherefore he told me not aforetime. He was afeard of me.”
She pressed her lips together till they looked like a crimson thread, and a bright spot of anger burned on either cheek. But all at once her usual expression returned, and she resumed her seat quietly enough on the chair which Maude had mechanically restored to its place.
“Go, Dona Juana, and bid the chambers be prepared, as is meet. But no garnishing of the chambers of my heart shall be for this wedding. Make an end, Maude. ‘A thing done cannot be undone.’ I will abide and see this small damsel’s conditions (disposition); but my heart misgiveth me if it were not better dwelling with my Lord Le Despenser than with her.”
Maude obeyed, feeling rather sorry for the Lord Le Despenser, whose loving spouse seemed to regard him as the less of two evils.
The new Duchess proved to be, like most of the Holands, very tall and extremely fair. No one would have supposed her to be only ten years old, and her proud, demure, unbashful bearing helped to make her look older than she was. The whole current of life at Langley changed with her coming. From morning to night every day was filled with feasts, junkets, hawking parties, picnics, joustings, and dances. The Duke was devoted to her, und fulfilled, if he did not anticipate, her every wish. Her youthful Grace was entirely devoid of shyness, and she made a point of letting Constance feel her inferiority by addressing her on every occasion as “Fair Daughter.” She also ordered a much stricter observance of etiquette than had been usual during the life of the Infanta, whose rule, Spaniard though she was, had been rather lax in this particular. The stiff manners commonly expected from girls towards their mothers had only hitherto been exacted from Constance upon state occasions. But the new Duchess quickly let it be understood that she required them to the smallest detail. She was particular that her step-daughter’s chair should not be set one inch further under the canopy than was precisely proper; her fur trimmings must be carefully regulated, so as not to equal those of the Duchess in breadth; instead of the old home name of “the Lady Custance,” she must be styled “the Lady Le Despenser;” and the Duchess strongly objected to her using such vulgar nicknames as “Ned” and “Dickon,” desiring that she would in future address her brothers properly as “my Lord.” Angrily the royal lioness chafed against this tyranny. Many a time Maude noticed the flush of annoyance which rose to her lady’s cheek, and the tremor of her lip, as if she could with difficulty restrain herself from wrathful words. It evidently vexed her to be given her married name; but the interference with the pet name of the pet brother was what she felt most bitterly of all. And Maude began to wonder how long it would last.
It was a calm, mild evening in January, 1394, and in the Princess’s bower, or bedroom, stood Maude, re-arranging a portion of her lady’s wardrobe. The Duchess had been that day more than usually exacting and precise, much to the amusement of Bertram Lyngern, at present at Langley in the train of his master. The door of Constance’s bower was suddenly opened and dashed to again, and the Princess herself entered, and began pacing up and down the room like a chafed lioness—a habit of all the Plantagenets when in a passion. She stopped a minute opposite Maude, and said in a determined voice:
“Make ready for Cardiff!”
And she resumed her angry march.
In this manner the Lady Le Despenser intimated her condescending intention of fulfilling her matrimonial duties at last. Maude knew her too well to reply by anything beyond a respectful indication of obedience. Constance only gave her one day to prepare. The next morning but one the whole train of the Lady Le Despenser set forth on their eventful journey.