“He is in the hall.”
“Many thanks, Foster.”
Darcy, who had insisted that Elizabeth be surrounded yet again for her safety, strode into the hall of Nanningbrook Manor and stepped towards the front of the room where a large chair had been centred on a dais. He frowned for a moment, motioned to one of Foster's waiting servants, and whispered in his ear. Suddenly, another chair appeared next to Darcy’s, and he returned to the group of men.
“Foster, Hargrove, may I present High Lady Darcy, Princess Elizabeth.”
Immediately, Foster, ever the sycophant, dropped to one knee as Darcy escorted Elizabeth to the dais. The High Lord handed his wife into her makeshift throne and faced the squabbling men. Foster’s head was still bowed; Hargrove did not hide his look of disgust.
“Hargrove, have you a problem with High Lady Darcy?”
“She is a woman in breeches!”
“Yes, she is,” Darcy replied as if it was the most common attire in the world.
“It is not right! Why should she be allowed here in any case?”
Darcy leaned forward in his seat. “You, Hargrove, are walking on dangerously thin ice for a man in your position. Continue to insult my wife and see how fair the outcome of this hearing is.”
“Sir, if I may interject?” asked Elizabeth.
* * *
Every person in the room stared at her. Foster stood and moved to the side, as if he searched for safety. Hargrove, practically bubbling over, turned red and began to sweat as if boiling from the inside out. Elizabeth stood and met her critic, offering her hand to him. He did not bow, nor did he kiss her hand, a direct insult. Darcy flew out of his chair, but Elizabeth held up her hand, stilling her furious husband.
“Pray, Mr. Hargrove, why do ye not care for a woman in breeches?”
“It is not right!” he said once again as if that would help his case. “A woman's place is where her husband demands her to be, and she should be clothed in a gown as is proper.”
Elizabeth leaned forward and eyed the man. “Are ye married, sir?”
“Aye.”
“'Tis a wonder thy wife has not cracked thy skull with a pot, but it is not my place to judge. Have ye ever ridden a long distance on a horse, sir?”
“Aye, of course I have.”
“And were ye wearing a gown when ye took this ride?”
“What the hell kind of question is that?”
“The kind of question that, if ye do not answer, will ensure a place in the stocks.”
“No! Of course, I have not ridden in a gown!”
“Then ye would not know how impossible it is to manage a long ride, side-saddle, in the cold, in a gown. Until ye have ridden a mile in such a state, kind sir, do not presume to understand.”
With that, Elizabeth returned to the dais, smiling broadly at Darcy. His face did not change, but she caught the smallest flicker of satisfaction in his eyes. He was proud of her and, somehow, it meant a great deal to her.
“You brought your Southern wife to bad mouth your people! You are a traitor to your territory, my lord.” Hargrove spat out his retort.
“I think it is safe to assume Hargrove will not be swearing his allegiance to the Princess any time soon,” Darcy said to his nearest guard. “As a punishment for his traitorous ways, we shall confiscate his lands and divide them amongst the Foster and Burris clans.”
“You cannot do this!”
Darcy approached Hargrove as the guards took hold of him. “I just did. You have been a thorn in my side for entirely too long, Edgar, and I am finished. I warned you last time I was called in to settle your ridiculous claims that I would not be so understanding if they were brought up again.
“Take him to the stocks.”