**
It was some three hours later that Roland, accompanied by his squire, returned to the Vawdrey quarters in the summer palace. He booted the door open and dropped his arms inside the door with a large clatter. Cuthbert started gathering up the various pieces of his armor and making a pile of it. They were both surprised when they noticed a quiet, tall figure sat at the table examining the pile of trophies and cups stacked there.
“Oswald!” exclaimed Roland, straightening up. “Didn’t see you there.”
“This place,” said his older brother turning with a frown. “Is starting to resemble a miser’s cave.”
Roland snorted and flung his latest acquisition onto the pile. “I haven’t got around to getting this lot melted down yet,” he said airily. “Besides, you and Mason haven’t stayed here in months.”
“So you and Cuthbert have been letting the place go to merry ruin!” Oswald tutted. “It’s frightening what the lack of a civilizing influence can do.”
Cuthbert grinned, but Roland scowled, throwing himself down into a chair opposite him.
Oswald picked up the latest gold trophy. “You won then?” he said, examining the prize.
“Who else?” asked Roland arrogantly.
Oswald tipped his head. “I had heard, that some of the northern barons had lately entered the lists. And were not to be taken lightly.”
“What of it?”
“Sir Garman Orde’s the best of them,” piped up Cuthbert, settling himself down on a footstool with a polishing cloth. “He’s beaten Roland twice this year so far.”
“And how many times have I beaten him?” asked Roland belligerently.
“Twice,” answered Cuthbert serenely.
“Three times!” Roland corrected him hotly.
“Twice,” insisted Cuthbert. “You were disqualified at Kellingford.”
“Everyone was disqualified at Kellingford,” Roland explained to his brother. “Total farce. Whole melee was declared null and void. I beat him though.”
“Not officially,” said Cuthbert. “Lord Kentigern’s good too. He beat Roland at Roget’s Ford.”
Roland exhaled noisily.
Oswald’s eyebrows rose. “Dear me!” he tutted. “The playing field seems to have levelled off of late. Perhaps I’ll have to start attending again. It got rather tiresome just watching you win.”
“I bet,” said Roland sarcastically.
“Garman Orde didn’t compete today,” carried on Cuthbert helpfully. “So Roland had an easy win.”
“De Bussell is considered to be a fair competitor,” Roland told him in exasperation, before turning back to his brother. “Remind me why I let you persuade me to take this little swine as a squire, again, brother?”
Oswald smiled. “You’re twenty-five years of age Roland. It’s only right that you start taking on some responsibility,” he said. “Even you agreed it was high time.”
“When the devil did I say that?” frowned Roland.
His brother waved a hand airily. “I’ve come about that little matter you wished me to approach Sir Leofric Montmayne about…”
“Oh yes,” said Roland hurriedly, he darted a gaze at Cuthbert who was bent over the armor and seemingly absorbed in his task. “I forgot about that. Did you speak to the old man already?”
His eldest brother regarded him impassively. “Yes,” Oswald agreed lightly. “I spoke to Sir Leofric of your matrimonial prospects.”
“And?”
“And,” his brother replied unhurriedly. “He agreed that with your country estate, good name, connections and fine lineage you have much to offer as a prospective bridegroom.”
“Oh,” said Roland blankly. He’d been girding himself for more of a battle as a younger son, without title. He had expected Lenora’s Father to need more buttering up. Still, he thought eyeing his brother, Oswald’s negotiating skills were meant to be second to none. “I’m obliged to you,” he said grudgingly.
“Not at all,” smiled Oswald urbanely. “Merely doing my duty, as head of our house. I must say though,” he paused. “You don’t look particularly happy at the prospect of winning her hand.”
“Course I am,” bristled Roland. “Just didn’t expect it to be so… easy, that’s all.” He brooded a moment in silence. “What happens next?”
“Sir Leofric proposed that we travel to his place Hallam Hall in a month’s time for a betrothal banquet, with appropriate fanfare.”
“A month’s time?” echoed Roland, feeling again, rather unpleasantly jarred at the prospect.
“Too long?” tutted Oswald. “Dear me, I forget how ardent you young lovers can be…”
“Not too long,” Roland interrupted him impatiently. The small smile playing about his brother’s lips told him the bastard was well aware of his feelings on the subject. “Young lovers, my ass. I’ve walked in on you and Fenella more times than I can mention.”
Oswald grinned. He was totally unabashed by his passion for his own wife. It was downright indecent in Roland’s opinion.
“Will you come?” Roland asked abruptly. “To the betrothal feast?”
His brother looked shocked. “To see the last of us brothers married? Of course! Mason will too, I have no doubt.” He clapped a hand on Roland’s shoulder.
“I was thinking of Fen’s condition,” Roland pointed out. Fenella, Oswald’s wife, was currently big with child and due any day now.
“Fenella’s presence is unlikely,” his brother conceded. “But we will cross that bridge when we reach it. Hopefully my heir will have made an appearance by then. If not, my head will be entirely gray.”
Roland glanced at his brother’s hair, but it looked black as any Vawdrey’s to him. “All is well though?” he asked with a flicker of concern. He had grown fond of his sister-in-law. He had even been to visit her at the large town-house she and Oswald had purchased in Caer-Lyoness. They had a matching one in Aphrany, the winter capital. For some reason, they seemed to prefer town life to the living quarters afforded to courtiers in the royal palaces. The old family seat, Vawdrey Keep, Oswald had gifted to Roland six months previously.
“So she assures me,” said Oswald. “She’s as contented as ever. It’s me that’s harried to death with worries.”
“You don’t need to be worried, milord,” Cuthbert said, raising his head and dropping the metal gauntlet he had been cleaning. “I already did her a reading with the bones. Nothing but good omens for her delivery. Twin golden suns with long rays and no shadows.”
“So she told me, Cuthbert,” said Oswald. “She was much reassured.”
“Cuthbert,” said Roland severely. “How many times do I have to tell you? You’re a knight’s squire now. You can’t be running around reading palms and telling fortunes like some old hedge-crone.”
Cuthbert spat onto his breastplate, and then calmly polished it with his cloth.
Roland narrowed his eyes “Is he trying to be impudent?” he asked his brother. “Because I can’t quite make up my mind.”
“Don’t annoy him,” recommended Oswald quietly. “His Granny’s a witch.”
“Wise woman,” Cuthbert corrected him, not even looking up from his task.
“And he has excellent hearing,” added Oswald.
Roland rolled his eyes. “You’re no more superstitious than I.”
“I have nothing but the utmost respect for Mother Ames,” said Oswald. “She’s still journeying up for Fenella’s lying-in, isn’t she Cuthbert? Only I thought she’d have arrived by now.”
“Aye, she’s well,” said Cuthbert looking up. “She’ll be here by Wednesday.”
“Wednesday next week?” echoed Roland. “What if Fen drops tomorrow? She’s big as a house!”
“Next week,” repeated Cuthbert sagely, nodding his head. ”She’ll be here in plenty of time. You’ll see.”
**
One month later, Hallam Hall, seat of the Montmayne family, Vetchfield
“I thought you’d be wearing the blue gown,” e
xclaimed Eden in surprise as her cousin turned from the looking glass in a dusky rose damask. “Is the blue not your current favorite?”
Lenora shrugged. “It doesn’t really signify.”
Eden regarded her beadily. “It’s your betrothal feast,” she pointed out.
“I thought you might wear the blue,” said Lenora, with a studied casualness which made Eden’s spine stiffen.
“Me?” They hadn’t worn each other’s gowns since they were girls, and then not in public. “Why on earth would you think such a thing?” Eden looked down at her own gown, which was her customary black. “I am very well as I am.” Her gaze sought out Hannah, the maid she and Lenora shared and she rose her eyebrows speakingly. Hannah shrugged, as she started to comb through Lenora’s blonde locks.
“Of course you are,” agreed Lenora calmly. “I just thought, as it was a celebration you might make an exception.” She shrugged. “Will you at least let me lend you my pearls?”
“Your pearls?” echoed Eden. “Certainly not. I am very well with these glass beads. It is you who will be the focus of all attention, as the bride-to-be. I am merely your attendant.”
“I’ll just braid the front sections and leave the back down loose, like the pretty maid you are,” said Hannah with satisfaction.
“Will you pass me up Griselda?” Lenora asked Eden, ignoring her maid’s words and holding out her arms for her cat.
Eden looked down and found Lenora’s white cat rubbing herself against her skirts. She scooped her up and deposited her on her cousin’s lap.
“Where are her kittens?” asked Eden. “Did you leave them at court?”
“Oh no,” said Lenora looking shocked. She waved a vague hand in the direction of her bed. “They’re all sleeping.”
Eden glanced over and saw the four little balls of fur snuggled up inside Lenora’s best hat. “I hope you weren’t planning on wearing that pearl-encrusted toque,” she said dryly.
“Oh milady,” tutted Hannah, following the direction of her gaze. “You didn’t ought to let them ruin your nice things.”
“Leave them be Hannah, they’re quite comfortable there after the long journey home,” said Lenora. “Unless you wanted to borrow it, Eden?”
“No, thank you,” said Eden feeling bewildered. It wasn’t that her cousin wasn’t usually generous with her possessions, for she was. Lenora didn’t have a selfish bone in her body. It was just that she wasn’t usually so persistent when she got an idea in her lovely golden head.
Eden regarded her cousin, feeling troubled. This last month, she had really tried to encourage Lenora in the pursuit of more substance, but it had all come to naught. All of her suggestions for personal improvement had been rejected. Especially when Lenora’s Father, Eden’s uncle had proposed this wretched match with Roland Vawdrey. The whole of the Montmayne household had been overtaken with talk of the betrothal and nothing else. It was all very frustrating to Eden. She felt helpless. Why did Lenora not struggle against this awful fate she saw unfolding for herself? How hard could it be to reform your ways and turn your life around? Finally, Eden had been forced to accept that Lenora was determined on this course of action, and would duly marry the King’s champion. But now she found herself feeling irritated by even Lenora’s attitude toward this!
In Eden’s book, if you have committed to something, then it should be completely. This was the attitude that had made her the best dancer in all of Karadok. It had also made her a fine musician and songstress. She had applied herself to her lessons as if her life depended on it. There were no half-measures for her. So this lackluster attitude of Lenora’s was infuriating. Where was the excitement that a bride-to-be should exhibit? Why didn’t Lenora care to wear her best dress or jewelry? Eden wished now that she had not backed right off about this betrothal. Mayhap her cousin did not wish to marry the boorish Roland Vawdrey after all? And she had offered her no moral support.
“It’s not too late, you know,” she said, dropping down onto a seat opposite Lenora. “If your heart is not in this betrothal… I could speak to my uncle and explain-“
“Oh no,” said Lenora, opening her blue eyes very wide. “This is absolutely the right step. I am convinced of it.”
“Really?” asked Eden skeptically. Then she decided to bring out the one thing she knew Lenora felt strongly about. “What about your prediction from that street hawker in Bonebartle? How does Roland Vawdrey fit in with that?” If Lenora’s composure and placidity had one weak point, it was her devotion to superstition. And cats. “Have you even asked Sir Roland how he feels about cats?” Eden added slyly. “Only I had heard he didn’t care for them.”
Lenora turned very red. “Did you really hear that about the cats?” she whispered. Eden experienced an inner struggle with herself. Reluctantly, she shook her head. Lenora breathed out. “You yourself told me that prediction was a great piece of nonsense,” Lenora said rallying bravely.
“You know I set little store by such things,” Eden replied, lamenting her own honesty.
“And in the last ten years, I have never yet met a knight whose emblem was a weeping heart.”
“So, you’ve given up waiting for him?” Eden asked her. “When you were twelve you vowed you would marry none other.”
“Eleven,” Lenora corrected her, but her eyes were dreamy again and she was stroking the purring Griselda. Eden could tell the opportunity had passed, and she was to be lumbered with Roland Vawdrey for a family member.
With a bitter taste in her mouth, she made her way down to seek out her uncle and find out if there were any particular duties for her that evening. Officially, her grandmother would act as hostess, but Lady Dorothea Montmayne had been sticking to her rooms all day, and had refused to be prized out of them, even for the arrival home of her two granddaughters.
After only one day, Eden was already feeling the strain of being back at Hallam Park. And she hadn’t even seen Lenora’s mother, her aunt Gwenda yet. They had arrived back the previous night to prepare for the betrothal party, but from what Eden could see, Hobson, the steward had everything well under way. The kitchens were well stocked, extra staff had been brought in to serve at the tables and the hall had been scrubbed from top to bottom. She wished her uncle had not insisted on her attendance at all. She had been raised as Lenora’s companion, that much was true, but surely being a bridal attendant at the wedding would suffice, as far as duty went? Did she really need to drink a toast to Lenora’s ill-advised betrothal? Everyone knew she thought Roland Vawdrey was a poor choice of bridegroom, and she really hadn’t wanted to leave the summer court. Several events were coming up that the Queen would be depending on her to organize. Without her there, Queen Armenal would invariably fall back on her new favorite Jane Cecil. Eden pressed her lips together with vexation when she thought of it. She had worked so hard for her position at court!
She found her uncle in the Great Hall, which was being decked out for the feast.
“My mother’s being awkward, Eden,” her uncle fretted, hurrying over to her. “I am depending on you to ensure she behaves herself tonight.”
Eden shot a look at him. No-one could make Lady Dorothea do a thing against her will, as well he knew. “I will do what I can, Uncle,” she assured him.
“Good, good,” he said. “Is my daughter yet dressed? The Vawdrey party will be arriving around sundown.”
“Yes,” said Eden. “She was having her hair arranged when I left her.”
“And my wife?”
Eden grimaced. “I have not yet seen my aunt,” she admitted. “But Paulson said she had taken to her rooms with a headache and did not wish to be disturbed until strictly necessary.” In her youth Aunt Gwenda had been a golden beauty like Lenora. She found it hard to see her daughter the center of attention, even though she thought it her rightful place. It was probably for this reason that she was seldom at court.
“And has my brother Christopher arrived with his demon spawn, your cousin?” Uncle Leofric asked with a shu
dder.
“I have not seen hide nor hair of Uncle Christopher or Kit,” Eden replied. Kit was her fifteen year old cousin who would inherit Hallam Hall on Sir Leofric’s demise. His Father, Uncle Christopher was Uncle Leo’s younger brother and an insufferably pompous bore. Every chance he got to crow that it was he and not his older brother who had sired a son and heir, he took it. Thankfully Uncle Christopher’s wife was not coming to tonight’s betrothal feast as she had fallen out badly with Lady Dorothea and been banned from Hallam Hall the previous winter.
Her uncle fidgeted. “Is that the gown you’re wearing?” he asked, looking her up and down with a wince. “This is an occasion of joy, child.”
“Is it?” said Eden dryly. She could not imagine what he was about, marrying her beautiful cousin off to Roland Vawdrey. At the very least, she had thought Lenora would marry foreign royalty. What was the point in squandering her beauty on a mere third son?
Her uncle gave her a sharp look and she returned his gaze unflinchingly until he at last, looked away.
“Roland Vawdrey is a fine match,” bleated Sir Leofric. “He has excellent connections and is the King’s own champion.”
“What about when his sword arm fails?” asked Eden. “What then?”
“And why should it fail?” her uncle bridled. “His sire was a fine, strong man, well into his sixties. No-one would dare challenge him! He was a great bear of a man.”
“Does Sir Roland even realize the jewel you are bestowing on him?” Eden asked pointedly. “He is arrogant and proud. To my knowledge he has not sought out my cousin once to woo, or have some private speech with her-”
“And why should he? That is most proper!” blustered Sir Leofric. “Whispering with ladies in corners is not the act of a gentleman, but of a scoundrel! I am shocked, Eden. Shocked at your attitude! You speak to me of pride and arrogance,” he railed. “But you are the one who needs to bend your neck! Since you have been at court this last three years you seem to have grown a good deal too pleased with yourself I think!”
An Ill-Made Match (Vawdrey Brothers Book 3) Page 2