Chapter 6: The Welcome Ball

The footman stood up in the middle of the ballroom, twisting his white gloves, and said it.

"I saw him, Your Grace. The Margrave. Coming out of the duchess's door at midnight on her wedding night."

The music had stopped for him.

Three hundred people in silk turned to look at Isaline.

Lothaire stood beside the footman with a hand on his shoulder.

"Go on," he said. "Nobody will punish you for the truth."

"He was doing up his coat, Your Grace. In the north wing corridor. I'll swear it on the temple's book."

Lothaire turned to the court with a face full of sorrow.

"I didn't want to believe it," he said.

"My own wife. And the king's witness, of all men. It seems the count was over before it began."

Isaline stood by the fireplace in dark green, holding a glass of water she'd drawn herself.

Sidonie had warned her at breakfast, between two spoonfuls of porridge.

Across the room the Margrave stood alone by a pillar with his arms folded.

He was looking at the footman.

He hadn't said a word.

She had asked him not to.

"Are you finished, Your Grace?" Isaline said.

Lothaire's sorrow wavered.

"Finished?"

"With your story. It's a good one. I only want to be sure I've heard all of it."

"There's nothing more to hear."

"Then may I ask your footman one thing?"

She smiled at the young man, who had gone the colour of the tablecloth.

"Midnight, you said. My wedding night. You're certain of the hour?"

"Yes, Your Grace. The chapel clock struck."

"Good."

She turned to the room.

"Because at midnight on my wedding night, my husband came to the duchess's rooms and didn't find what he came for."

A ripple went through the silk.

Somebody choked on their wine.

"His valet held the candle."