Chapter 72

Margaret’s POV

My daily devotions had become more fervent since William and Beatrice departed for the Holy Land.

"Lady Margaret! My lady!" Paul burst into the chapel, his footsteps echoing against the stone walls. Normally, I would have reprimanded such an intrusion, but the excitement in his voice stayed my sharp tongue.

"What news?" I demanded, struggling to my feet with as much dignity as my weary bones would allow.

"Victory in the Holy Land! Our troops have broken through both Ilerford and Symonford!" His weathered face shone with genuine joy. "They say a woman led the charge - a female commander who fought like Saint Joan herself!"

My heart soared. Beatrice - it had to be Beatrice. Who else could it be? I felt tears of pride welling in my eyes. "Tell me everything," I commanded. "Every detail you've heard."

As Paul recounted the tales spreading through the town - of daring charges and brilliant strategy - I felt my persistent illness lifting like morning mist. God had answered my prayers, rewarding my family's devotion with glory.

"Constance," I called out as I swept into the great hall later that morning. "We must prepare a celebration worthy of our triumphant heroes!"

Constance appeared from the shadows, her perpetually worried expression darkening further. "My lady, perhaps we should wait for official confirmation-"

"Nonsense!" I waved away her concerns. "The whole kingdom celebrates. Would you have the Beauchamp family appear less than generous? Less than proud?" I settled into my carved chair, already planning. "Bring out the silver service - yes, all of it. Order those delicate pastries from the royal bakery, the ones with gold leaf. And we'll need spices... cinnamon, saffron, nutmeg..."

"But my lady," Constance ventured, "the cost-"

"Is nothing compared to the honor brought to our family," I cut her off. "If you're so concerned about money, sell some of those trinkets collecting dust in the treasury. This is about displaying our family's prominence!"

Later that day, I ordered my carriage prepared for a tour through town. As we rolled through the marketplace, I deliberately drew back the curtains, letting the commoners see their noble benefactor. Their excited chatter about the mysterious female commander brought a smile to my face. Soon they would know it was my Beatrice, my daughter-in-law, who had brought such glory to our name.

"Did you hear?" one merchant called to another as we passed. "They say she led the Ironlance Knights like an avenging angel!"

"Just like at St. Croix Fortress," another replied. "Lady Beatrice always was exceptional..."

I preened at their words, already imagining the grand feast I would host. Every noble family would be invited, every one of them forced to acknowledge the Beauchamp family's rising star. We would spare no expense - after all, such glory deserved proper celebration.

That evening, reviewing the growing lists of expenses with Constance, I noticed her hands trembling as she tallied the numbers. "My lady," she whispered, "we'll need to pawn more of the family jewels to afford all this..."

"Then do it," I said firmly, watching the candlelight gleam off my rings. "God has blessed us with victory. Would you have us appear ungrateful?"

Poor Constance - always so fearful, so hesitant. She couldn't see the bigger picture: how this victory would elevate our family's standing, how doors would open for William now. A few pawned jewels were nothing compared to the possibilities ahead.

The great hall of Beauchamp manor had never looked more splendid - or so I told myself as I surveyed the carefully arranged displays of silver and crystal. The imported spices had cost a fortune, their exotic fragrance mingling with the smoke from dozens of beeswax candles. Everything had to be perfect for today's feast, especially with the Royal Marshal's wife and the Bishop among the invited guests.

"Has there been any word from Lady Crawford?" I asked the servant hovering nearby, referring to the Royal Marshal's wife. My fingers nervously adjusted the heavy gold cross at my throat - the last piece of significant jewelry I hadn't yet pawned.

"No, my lady," the servant replied hesitantly. "But Lady Ashworth and Lady Pembroke have confirmed their attendance."

Minor nobles, both of them. I forced down my disappointment. "And the Bishop's response?"

"His Grace sends his regrets, my lady. Urgent matters at the cathedral..."

Of course. There were always "urgent matters" when it came to the Beauchamp family these days. Still, surely some of the other high-ranking guests would come. After all, we were celebrating Beatrice's victory in the Holy Land.

As the afternoon wore on, my hope turned to mortification. The hall filled not with the kingdom's elite, but with minor nobles and even some uninvited knights, drawn by the promise of free food and wine. I watched them devour the expensive delicacies I'd ordered, my chest tightening with each passing moment.

"My lady?" Lady Constance appeared at my elbow. "Are you unwell?"

"How dare they?" I hissed, quiet enough that only she could hear. "Don't they know who we are? The Beauchamps have been nobles since before their grandfathers were born!"

"Perhaps with the war still ongoing..." she began diplomatically.

"With Beatrice's triumph, we should be more celebrated than ever!" My breath was coming shorter now.

I had to excuse myself before the gathering was half over, claiming illness - though in truth, the pain in my chest was quite real. That night, it grew worse, until Lady Constance was forced to send for a physician from the town, our own household long since unable to afford a resident doctor.

She tended to me through the worst of it, but eventually had to retire, exhausted. The next morning, when I sent for her, the servants reported she had taken ill herself.

"Convenient," I muttered, though the lack of attention made my spirits sink even lower.

Lady Johanna, my sister-in-law, visited later that day, her sympathy razor-edged. "You shouldn't exhaust yourself with these grand celebrations," she said, arranging her skirts in the chair beside my bed. "When Isabella was here, we never needed to ask for Father Benedict's help - he came of his own accord. She understood how to manage things properly."

"If Isabella is so perfect," I snapped, my patience finally breaking, "why don't you send your son to serve in her household? Let him experience all her wonderful qualities firsthand!"

"Sister," she sighed, "who are you really angry with? Your body bears the cost of your bitterness."