Wed By Proxy (Brides of Karadok Book 1)

by Alice Coldbreath

  “I know where I’m off tomorrow,” Robin had announced. “Can I borrow Sabrina?”

  “I’m coming too,” Prudence had chimed in quickly. “There’s an overripe turnip that would be just perfect for throwing at the knave.”

  Guy smiled to himself as he fastened the laces at his cuffs, though in truth, his relaxed frame was starting to tense up even before he’d left his room. Another whole evening of the Kerslakes stretched before him like a life sentence. And it wasn’t even the last of them! How long was he expected to put them up? He had thought that by avoiding their company by day, he would find their visit more bearable. But somehow, after Mathilde’s company, theirs seemed an even worse prospect than before. He didn’t want to part from her. He allowed himself fleetingly to imagine being sat opposite her at the supper table and felt his heart thud in his ribs.

  Although the circumstances today had taken a violent turn, their day together in Wickhamford had made him realize that he would gladly spend his every minute with her. He remembered Julia’s absurd claim from before, as she had sat in his study. That she would be vastly contented if she could only sit thus every evening. He had thought it ridiculous at the time, but now… Would it annoy him if Mathilde sat at his window seat and proclaimed herself well content in his company? No, he realized, no it would not. He would even go so far as to say he would like it.

  He no longer even seemed bothered by the fact she laid claim to another woman’s name so easily, he thought as he descended the stairs with faint surprise. It seemed he had absolved her of any blame for the deception. He had decided that either her upbringing was at fault, or she had been coerced into this role. Whatever the truth of it, he was sure now that she was not faking her pleasure in his company. Her spontaneous affection undid him. He hardly knew what to make of the warm expression in her eyes when they turned on him. He just knew he liked being the recipient of her smiles and certainly, her favor.

  As for Julia, naturally he had been disappointed when she had broken their betrothal eight years ago to marry her much older husband. But even then, he had at some level acknowledged it was for the best. He had been actively involved in a war at that time. The idea of Julia remaining in the north, when it became apparent that Wymer’s forces were marching their way, had never made sense. When Miles, her older brother and Guy’s best friend had approached him hesitantly and told him of the southern lord who admired her and offered her a safe-haven at his side, Guy had conceded the field with good grace. He had no time for a wife, and no place at his side at that point. His father had been disgruntled it was true, but Guy had not suffered unduly at the end of it all between them.

  It was only later, after the war was ended when Oswald Vawdrey forced an unwanted marriage on him, that Guy’s resentment had festered. It was his time in jail, the death of his father that had turned him bitter and angry, not the loss of his intended. On several occasions over the last few years, inwardly he had felt almost relieved that beautiful, tempestuous Julia was not his. He had, of course, quickly dismissed such thoughts and not examined them. But now, he considered it a moment. In the cold light of day, he was forced to admit that he and Julia were not well matched, and probably never had been.

  What had brought this realization to the fore? Immediately, it sprang to mind. Mathilde. He wished he knew her real name. Soon, she would trust him enough to confess her charade and then he would start to plan their future together in earnest. Perhaps, he could even fall in line with whatever it was his devious bitch of a wife wanted? For the quiet dissolution of their union, there was not much he would deny her. Gold, jewels, he would hand it over with small protest, as long as … What? He could keep her little pawn. For that was what it boiled down to. Wealth, property, he could part with both so long as it did not touch his estate which had been in his family for generations.

  What he could not part with, he realized with surprise, was this little female who had, with shocking rapidity, become so essential to his own happiness. He frowned. Could she really have secured her place in his affections so very quickly? There was no question in his own mind. She had. He could not do without her now. She was … in his heart. He touched his chest lightly. There was no shadow of a doubt. Even if he could not marry her, there was no question of the place she occupied, that was rightfully hers.

  Marriage. That brought him up short. Had he just connected that institution with his mistress? The beat of his heart sped up. He had. He must be mad. To be considering, even fleetingly, the possibility of conferring his proud family name on a nobody, a female of frankly dubious origin, of linking his own fate inexorably with hers. Oh, but if she was yours in name and by law, a voice whispered in his head, the things you could do. The possibilities it opened up for them. He could place her at the head of his table. Call her his, in front of any man. He could beget his heirs on her. His mouth went dry at the thought. He stood very still a moment at the foot of the staircase. My gods. For that pleasure, there was not much he would not sacrifice.

  He allowed himself to imagine her a moment, carrying his child. She had said she wanted that. True, she could have been playing on his feelings at the time. That line could have been a rehearsed one. But he would never forget the look in those hazel eyes when she had spoken of a baby. They had been alight with emotion, awash with longing. She had not lied when she spoke of wanting children, he would swear an oath on it.

  How strange, he reflected, that reflecting on Julia should open his eyes to his true feelings regarding Mathilde. It was a strange world. For now, though, he needed to focus on the present. He had to wait until his true marchioness showed her hand. Who knew when that would be? Until then, he had to be patient and not expect his own Mathilde to be over eager to trust him. No matter how he longed for her to be honest with him, he had to expect some reluctance on her behalf. She would expect his anger, his outrage at her deception. How surprised she would be when he evinced very little of either! In truth, the fact he had come to terms with it so gradually was probably a good thing. There would be no explosion of wrath or indignation on his behalf that might drive a wedge between them or cause her to try and flee him. He went cold at the very thought.

  She was his. If not by right, then by the sheer force of his desire for it to be so. He almost looked forward to the point where their current situation was torn asunder. While he cherished his every moment spent with her at the lodge, the realization that he wanted more, so much more from her, seemed to have awoken in him a desire to move forward with their situation, to progress. And what way was there for them to do this, other than by official sanction?

  I want to marry her, he realized, feeling dazed by the idea. He wanted her for his rightful bride. Only then, he thought dry-mouthed, could he truly prize her as he longed to do, by giving her the full accord of his status. A mistress could only be lavished with wealth and affection, but a wife could be given so much more, a title and social status. A place that was truly at his side. And that was what he wanted. He wanted to give her his everything. His name, his title, his servants and his every worldly possession.

  And the truth was, he had never felt that way about Julia. Not once. He could not even imagine her as a mother. Julia liked to be the center of attention at all times. He imagined her handing the child over to a nurse at the earliest opportunity. But Mathilde, his own Mathilde would be very different, he knew it deep down inside himself. She would love their children. She would love him. She would be the wife of his heart and the mother his children deserved.

  The realization rocked him. It was at this moment that his ears were assailed by Julia’s melodious tones.

  “Ah there you are Guy,” she announced swooping down the staircase toward him. She paused a moment on the first landing, almost as if giving him the opportunity of taking in her appearance in her burnished copper color dress and the matching headdress. “I must needs have a word with you,” she said, and glanced back over her shoulder. “This creature you have set on me cannot be born
e!” she hissed. Guy glanced up the stairs and saw Lettys, Temur’s wife hanging back, clearly keeping Julia in her sights. He watched as Lettys turned to contemplate a gloomy portrait of Guy’s great grandfather with seeming absorption. He had almost forgotten his notion that she should be set on Julia’s heels. He would have to tell Temur that he approved of his choice of wife after all.

  “You brought no chaperone of your own Julia,” he pointed out. “So, I have provided you with one. Lettys has obliged me by agreeing to stay at the house for the duration of your visit. Incidentally, she is by way of being a kinswoman of mine through marriage,” he pointed out. “So, I would expect you to keep a civil tongue in your head when you speak of her.”

  Julia’s fixed smile wavered slightly. “I did not know,” she said with a toss of her head. “She seems scarcely…” She broke off her words with a moue of distaste. “But anyway, regardless of her suitability, I have not needed a chaperone since I was a girl!”

  “How you conduct yourself elsewhere is your affair,” he answered coolly. “But in my house, you will abide by my own notions of respectability.”

  She gave a short, shrill laugh. “I had no idea you were so old-fashioned in your notions, Guy!”

  “Didn’t you?” He was bored of the conversation and didn’t bother to disguise the fact.

  Two red spots of color appeared in Julia’s cheeks. She gave a tight smile. “There can be no impropriety, surely? We have known each other since we were children. I would beg you to reconsider this wholly unnecessary—”

  “If it does not suit you to abide by my rules,” Guy cut across her words. “Then I will understand if you feel obligated to cut short your visit.” She gave a faint gasp at this. “The choice is yours, Julia,” he said as he turned on his heel and strode into the Great Hall, leaving her staring after him. It was ill-mannered in the extreme for him not to have escorted her to the table, but for the life of him, he could not at that moment have offered her his arm. Not when he could even now still feel the press of Mathilde’s hand there.

  XXIII

  Guy sat slumped in his seat, trying not to resent his role as host. He’d bet that Mathilde and Robin were partaking of a far more pleasurable meal right now than he, certainly a far less formal one. He glanced across at Lettys, who Julia had thus far ignored for the entire meal. Temur’s wife seemed to be bearing her duties stoically enough, despite the fact her husband had not joined them for supper. Temur was seeing to business for him in the nearby city of Helesport and would not return until the morrow. Lettys’ heavy gold braids were coiled around her ears and peeked out from under the square of navy-blue cloth she wore on top of her head. She was a handsome, heavy-set young woman with a determined chin. She was now tucking into a hearty meal, seemingly oblivious to Julia’s resentment of her presence.

  “And how have you passed the day, lass?” he asked her. “Temur tells me you’ve set his father’s house to rights this last month or so.”

  “Well enough, my lord,” Lettys answered cautiously, crinkling her brow. “It’s as well to give my father-in-law the time to miss me, now he’s got used to some order about the place.”

  “If your father-in-law will miss you, then you must make haste to return, of course,” Julia said condescendingly.

  Guy opened his mouth to point out it was not Julia’s decision to make, when Lettys forestalled him.

  “Oh no, my lady. In truth, I’m glad of the change of pace. And Father will likely realize all the things I do to make his life more comfortable, when I’m not there to do them for him,” she said with a satisfied nod.

  Julia shrugged a shoulder peevishly and promptly lost interest. Guy made some effort to engage Lettys in some conversation around her father-in-law’s property, which was a large farm at the very edge of his property. “In truth it lies closer to Acton Dymock than Little March,” Lettys told him and Guy reminisced about a country fair that used to be held at Acton Dymock every spring.

  “And still is, my lord,” Lettys enthused. “For last year saw its first return since the war. Temur took me and lost a purse full of pennies while we were listening to a minstrel’s tale. Right wonderful it was how he could spin a yarn. Temur said as how he likely had an accomplice in the crowd who cut his purse strings, when he was distracted, but I think it was just a regular sneak thief,” said Lettys with a contemptuous sniff. “It’s a good thing Temur’s got me to take care of him, that’s what I say.” Guy laughed, and Lettys cast him a look of curiosity, doubtless thinking him much changed from her wedding feast.

  “Tell us then, how a good wife would prevent her husband falling victim to an opportunistic thief?” Tristan asked with interest, setting down his goblet. He too gestured for more ale, and a servant hurried forward.

  “She would sew his coin into his seams, good sir,” Lettys answered promptly. “If he was going someplace disreputable by himself. Or, if she was with him, she might take the keeping of the purse into her own hands.”

  Tristan nodded gravely. “But what if he has need of his money?” he asked. “Would it not be most inconvenient to try and retrieve it?”

  “Oh no, sir,” Lettys replied. “For what manner of man don’t have a pen knife about him? ’Tis a matter of mere moments to unpick.”

  Julia yawned ostentatiously, but between them, Guy and Tristan endeavored to keep Lettys’s flow of conversation steady. She told them all about the whimsical tales the minstrel had regaled them with. Of fantastical creatures and heroes and villains of unsurpassed bravery and beauty. It crossed Guy’s mind that he should take Mathilde to the fair come spring. She would doubtless enjoy the spectacle and he would enjoy taking her there. He imagined her pleasure and smiled in anticipation of it. Perhaps the four of them could go together as a party?

  After supper, he made for his study and immersed himself in the estate business he had been neglecting of late. He worked until past midnight, and the candles had almost all guttered. Light was failing as he closed his last ledger, when a knock on the door heralded the arrival of a servant with fresh candles.

  “Don’t bother,” Guy barked at the tread on the floorboards. “I am done here for the day.”

  When he looked up however it was his steward who stood hesitating in the doorway. “Firmin,” he uttered in surprise. “I thought it was someone come to light the sconces.”

  “Nay, Guy. May I enter?”

  Guy waved a hand in assent, as he locked his account books in his drawer.

  “You are going to the lodge?” Firmin asked, pursing his lips.

  Actually, he wasn’t, but that was not his steward’s business. “What if I was?” Guy pinned him with a level gaze.

  “I only thought — that while we have our honored guests, you would refrain from such… sport.”

  Guy froze in the act of slipping his key around his neck. “Firmin,” he said with ominous quiet. “Do not go too far, my friend.”

  Firmin flushed. “I meant no offense.”

  “Then be careful not to give it,” Guy recommended. “I cannot speak now,” he said shortly and turned resolutely away from his crestfallen steward.

  Climbing the stairs, he reflected on the matter. He had always had the highest opinion of Firmin as both a servant and a man. They had fought together side by side during the war. Firmin had served Guy’s Father before him and given many years of good service. But Guy was not about to let that sway him when it came to the respect due him. He did not keep servants to safeguard his morals. He was undisputed master here of Acton March.

  No doubt, Guy thought as he performed a short strip-wash, Firmin’s ideas of etiquette were offended. He, like most hereabouts heartily lamented the fate of the Kerslakes. It was not as though Guy would ever forget that his closest friend, Miles, had been killed in battle and his neighbor’s estate levelled to the ground. That did not mean, however, that he would blindly pander to Miles’s brother and sister’s every whim. They were afforded his hospitality whenever they asked of it. But he was not a
bout to dance attendance on them.

  It had almost seemed to Guy for the last week that Julia and Tristan enjoyed playing the role of tragic figures. He shook his head slightly as he flung his discarded clothing onto his chair. He could scarcely believe he was entertaining such harsh thoughts about them, but there it was. They did not even live in the north anymore, he thought with impatience. Just showed up once a year, inflicting themselves on all their old friends and neighbors, raking up the war and harping on about past injustices.

  To top it all, he had to host a damned banquet in their honor the day after tomorrow. Julia had alluded to it several times over the last few days. Probably that was what Firmin had wanted to talk to him about, he thought irritably. At least it would be enough to keep his steward occupied the next couple of days with the drawing up of various lists of refreshments. It ought to keep Julia busy too, and keep her from springing out at him at every opportunity with her annoying topics of conversation. The thought cheered him considerably. And once it had been hosted, then the Kerslakes might finally start to think about leaving.

  XXIV

  Mathilde sighed dreamily as she brushed her hair and gazed at her reflection in the glass. Guy had said that her hair was not too short now, but shoulder length, though in truth it was a little short of that. Perhaps she should try wearing it up again, though the idea of getting much of a braid out of it was a little ambitious. Only that very day, Guy had bought her some very pretty hair pins that had caught her fancy from a street trader in Wickhamford. She tried braiding a side section and then pinning it away from her face, then turned this way and that to consider the effect. Perhaps if she tried the same arrangement also on the other side? Guy had told her that he would not return to the lodge that evening, and though she was disappointed, she was a little tired after such a long day. Of course, it would have been nice to fall sleep in his arms, she thought wistfully. Perhaps when she returned to Acton March with him, to take her rightful place at his side, whenever that would be. He had made no mention of it since she had moved to the lodge, but surely it would be soon. They were growing closer by the day. She was sure of it. She yawned, and glancing over her shoulder at her bed, thought how inviting it looked about now. After all, she had risen very early that morning and it had been a long old day. She heard a soft tap on the door.