An Ill-Made Match (Vawdrey Brothers Book 3)

by Alice Coldbreath

  **

  The next morning, Eden woke to the sound of barking, and Brigid shaking her shoulder. Eden exclaimed and sat up in bewilderment.

  “Quiet you daft beast, do!” Brigid urged Nudd who barked in her face again, unabashed.

  To her surprise, Eden found herself sat on the hearth-rug in her room next to the dogs. “What..?” she rubbed her eyes and looked at Brigid.

  “Your bed not comfy, milady?” the maid asked, plunking her hands on her hips.

  Eden, crossed her arms, feeling a nip in the air. It was a good thing she’d been curled up with the dogs or she would have been chilled to the bone. “I must have been trying to quiet them and fallen asleep,” she said awkwardly, and rose stiffly to her feet. She hobbled over to the washstand where Brigid was pouring her out a basin out of hot water. Her big toe throbbed. She must have stubbed it in the night. Eden glanced around nervously but could see no other sign of upset.

  “Well, you won’t be traipsing over the hills today, milady,” said Brigid cheerfully.

  For a moment Eden thought she was referring to her pained toe, then she heard the sound of raindrops and glanced at the window. “No indeed,” she agreed, seeing the steady downpour. She set about her ablutions. “How was your night’s sleep?” she asked, turning to look over her shoulder at Brigid. “Are you settled in the servant’s quarters?”

  The maid looked pleasantly surprised by her enquiry. “Very comfortable, thank you, milady. I don’t say my in-laws house isn’t pleasant, for ‘tis. But their second son is lately married, and the place is full of bodies. My presence there…” she shrugged. “It’s probably come to its natural end. They promised my Will they would take care of me, but he’s been gone three years now, and there was no children to bind me to them.”

  “You were widowed very young.”

  “Yes,” agreed Brigid, nodding her curly head. “Married at sixteen, widowed at nineteen.”

  Eden realized they must both be much of an age. “Married at sixteen…” she repeated. “Your in-laws still live in the village, then?”

  “My father-in-law is Hamble the Miller,” explained Brigid. “They’ve lived in these parts for generations.”

  “Like the Vawdreys,” said Eden thoughtfully, and wondered why there were no portraits in the Keep, or any personal touches. Maybe because the place had not had a mistress for so many years. And even when it had, for only very brief periods before some tragic fate befell them. Hastily, she changed the direction of her thoughts.

  Brigid took the dogs down to let them out and Eden finished dressing and tidying her hair away. She had just finished pinning her braids securely into place when a great din was raised below with the dogs. “What now?” muttered Eden as she took herself down the stairs to the floor below.

  Walking through to the sitting room, she approached the window seat, and peered below. She could see Fulco remonstrating with Castor as he led away someone’s horse. It wasn’t one of theirs. Looking thoughtful, Eden walked back into the dining chamber where a fresh loaf and butter had been laid out for her. She buttered herself a piece of bread and was just pouring herself a cup of water, when she heard the knock on the door. “Come in.”

  The door flung back and to Eden’s surprise it was Castor and Seth that came barging in.

  “You brutes!” yelled Brigid after them. “Your pardon, milady,” she said breathlessly. “But I couldn’t stop them!”

  “It’s not your fault,” Eden assured her, eyeing the large white dog and the large brown dog respectively as they sat themselves on either side of her, staring with hostility at the door. Eden turned back and found Brigid ushering in a guest. Over her arm she carried a sopping wet cloak and hood which was dripping all over the floor.

  “The Lady Orla Bernard has come to visit with you, milady,” she announced with a curtsey.

  Eden rose from her bench. Castor gave her a warning rumble. “Castor!” she remonstrated with him, and curtsied to her guest. “You must forgive our dogs, Lady Orla. I’m afraid they are unaccustomed to visitors and their manners are sadly rusty.”

  “It does not signify,” Orla waved the apology aside as she sailed into the room. She was a tall thin woman with a rather long nose and light brown hair. Eden thought she was aged in her mid-thirties or thereabouts. She envied her dark purple gown, which had a high neckline and had black velvet bands at the wrists and hem. She wished she was dressed in such a gown, instead of her frivolous ice blue which she was heartily sick of by now. “Take a seat on this bench here, nearest to the fire where you can dry out,” she urged Orla. “It is such filthy weather this morning. Will you join me?” she said gesturing to the loaf. “There is sure to be some fish dish served at some point.”

  “I never eat before a light meal at midday,” said Orla disapprovingly. “My Mother used to say that only the infirm or the infantile should eat at day-break. Or common workers of course.”

  “Oh, did she?” asked Eden. “Well, she would not have been alone in that belief. It is the common opinion after all.” She let that sink in before continuing. “We have a mutual acquaintance I think in the Countess Vawdrey.”

  “My sister-in-law,” said Orla, arranging her skirts around her and looking smug.

  “And mine,” Eden reminded her.

  “Quite, quite,” twittered Orla. “You are lately married. I wish you joy, of course.”

  Eden steeled herself, waiting for Orla to make some comment about Lenora being the intended bride, but to her surprise, she did not.

  “Fenella wrote to me about it of course. She is very fond of Sir Roland, for all his faults.” Orla looked about her. “Is he from home at present?”

  “He is competing at the tournament at Areley Kings,” said Eden, bristling in spite of herself, at the mention of Roland’s faults.

  Orla clicked her tongue. “Menfolk! How childishly they play at these games of war!”

  “You do not care for the tournaments, Lady Orla?” Contrarily, Eden who had always despised them, now felt the need to defend the pursuit.

  “Oh, I’ve never been to one,” said Orla breezily.

  “If you had,” said Eden. “Then you would not call it ‘play’.”

  “Pshaw!” said Orla violently.

  Castor growled, and Eden was forced to put a hand out, to lightly touch his head. He stopped the noise at once and Eden returned to her bread and butter.

  “I see this place is still packed to the rafters with curs,” said Orla with a loud sniff. “It’s almost like the old Baron were still rattling around the place!”

  “Oh, there’s always been dogs at Vawdrey Keep,” said Eden mildly. “Did you know the late Baron Vawdrey?” She was curious in spite of herself.

  “Oh yes, he was a well-known figure around these parts,” said Orla.

  A light knock was heard on the door, and Brigid sailed in bearing a dish of herrings. “Shall I fetch another plate, my lady?”

  “W-ell,” mused Orla. “Those herrings do smell rather delicious. Perhaps I will make an exception, just this once, dear Lady Vawdrey.”

  “I am honored. Please do, Brigid.”

  “I’m amazed you have female staff,” said Orla, her eyebrows high. “The last thing I heard the place was shunned.”

  “Oh yes, I had heard tell of some rumors. Spectral hounds, was it not?” asked Eden slyly.

  “Hounds? Oh no, my dear!” Orla lowered her voice. “Ghost brides, of the old Baron. They walk the place, wringing their hands and lamenting their premature deaths.”

  “Dear me!” Eden stifled a laugh. Orla looked shocked. “I’m sorry, tis only that I have been here several days now and seen not one spectral thing.”

  “Oh, well… I daresay it is a load of nonsense,” admitted Orla, climbing down off her high horse.

  “The Baron was unfortunate to lose both his wives,” Eden conceded.

  “Both?” repeated Orla in surprise. “Oh no, I’m sure he had many more than that!”

  “No, no,” Ed
en corrected her. “He was married only twice.”

  “But surely…” Orla broke off and flushed. “Oh, I just remembered,” she said awkwardly. “It is hardly nice to mention it, but some of those unfortunate women were… lemans!”

  “You mean Mason’s mother?” asked Eden calmly. “But she did not die. She returned to her husband.”

  Orla turned quite pink. “You mean she abandoned the sanctity of her marriage?”

  “Apparently.”

  “Well!” Orla looked quite flabbergasted by this. “I am astonished that any man would take her back.”

  “Perhaps she was very beautiful?” hazarded Eden. “Beautiful people are often pardoned things that others are not.”

  Orla pursed her lips. “There is only one true beauty,” she said piously. “And that is of the soul.”

  The door opened again, and Brigid plunked a plate in front of Orla, along with a knife and a spoon.

  “Is she a village girl?” Orla asked loudly as Brigid exited the room. Eden thought she saw Brigid’s shoulder hitch.

  “Yes,” she said, “One of the Hambles,” adding in her mind, by marriage. Orla’s company was not the most congenial, she thought, and wished it was Fenella sitting before her instead of her prickly sister-in-law. “Tell me, have you met Fenella’s twin sons yet?”

  “Not yet,” admitted Orla, spooning herself some herrings from the bowl. “I invited them to visit with us for Midsummer’s, but Earl Vawdrey is far too over-protective and has vowed Fen will not stir from their home for a six month following her lying-in. It is too ridiculous.”

  “They are a most devoted couple,” said Eden pushing the butter dish in Orla’s direction. Perhaps she would be more affable once she had eaten?

  “Devoted?” repeated Orla shrilly. “He is quite silly about her. She can do no wrong in his eyes. Fenella has only to voice the smallest hankering for something and he delivers it up to her, tied with a bow. You should see her jewels! Her gowns! It’s not really quite… well, decent,” stressed Orla. “And now she has given him two sons, he will be even worse, you mark my words.” She dug her knife into the pat of butter. “By rights of course, she should be installed here,” she sniffed. “While he’s at court. But no, he cannot bear to be apart from her, and instead buys her not one, mark you, but two town houses the size of cattle markets and fills them with baubles to keep her amused!” Orla shook her head. “She would do very well here, with her own people,” she said peevishly. “I’m married to her brother, so I should know!”

  “Earl Vawdrey is also from hereabouts,” Eden reminded her.

  “Oh yes, him,” said Orla. “But he could not wait to brush the dust of Sitchmarsh from his boots. Always thought he was too good for this place, he did. With his fancy ways.”

  “He’s gifted this place to Roland now,” Eden told her and braced herself for a shocked reaction.

  Orla’s knife clattered down onto her plate. “He what?”

  “Vawdrey Keep, he has bestowed it on Roland.”

  “His birthright?” squawked Orla.

  “Yes.”

  “Given to the youngest son?”

  “Yes.”

  “I never heard of such a thing!”

  “It is certainly very generous.”

  “Generous!” repeated Orla. “Pah!” She tucked into her herrings, mumbling under her breath.

  Eden thought she said, You just wait till my Gil hears about this, but could not make out the rest of it. She did not think that Oswald Vawdrey would care overmuch what his countrified brother-in-law thought of his affairs, but kept this to herself. “Do you know yet what names Fenella has given her boys?” she asked diplomatically.

  “Names?” Orla looked puzzled. “Oh! I do not think they name them until they are at least three months, do they?” she looked vague. “After all, they are not kittens.”

  Eden frowned over this, which did not seem to make very much sense to her. It dawned on her that Orla was more than a little eccentric. Unless it was some rustic custom around these parts? “I must ask, Lady Orla. Where do you make the bulk of your purchases?” she asked, attempting to steer her onto safer ground. “Would it be Pryors Naunton? I find myself in need of some necessary items for my wardrobe.”

  “Depends on what sort of items,” Orla answered, cautiously dabbing her mouth with a napkin. “If it is fine work you require, such as gowns, cloaks or hoods then yes, you will need to go to the nearest city. If it is some plain work such as… ahem, under-garments, or even some woolen stuffs, then there is a woman in the village who can assist you.”

  “That sounds ideal,” said Eden, thinking of some spare shifts. “If you would be so kind as to direct me…”

  “Her name is Parva Osgoode, she resides next to the smithy,” said Orla helpfully. “Tell her I sent you, and you will be assured of a welcome.”

  “Thank you so much.”

  Orla stayed another hour and made sure to stress how important she and her husband were in local circles. According to Orla, there were only two other families of import in the locality. The Fulchers and the Gisberns who both lived half a day’s ride away, though in opposite directions, and Orla doubted they would call without an invite. She explained that the Vawdreys had shirked all social responsibilities for the past decade at least and had much to make up for.

  Once Orla had departed, Eden felt herself at something of a loose end. The rain had tailed off a little, but everything lay now very wet and Eden feared her shoes would not be up to a long walk in such conditions. When Brigid appeared to poke the fire, Eden asked her about Parva Osgoode and her sewing services. Brigid said she could easily engage her to make up some shifts on the next shopping trip into Sitchmarsh. Apparently, this usually took place on the first Wednesday of every month. By Eden’s calculations that was in some six days time. She nodded anyway, having no money of her own to bring this forward. Instead, she asked Brigid to make enquiries if there was any ink or writing implement to be had about the place. She was not overly optimistic, but the maid returned within a half hour bearing a tray with two quill pens, a pen knife and a bottle of ink.

  Castor and Hector had taken themselves off to ensure Orla left the premises, but to Eden’s surprise they returned with Parnell and Nudd to sit in front of the fire as she set about the task of cutting down the quills to make the nibs usable. When this was achieved, she fetched the scroll of paper she had put away the day before and cut it up with the knife into four pieces. She then set about writing a newsy letter, full of nonsense to amuse Gunnilde Payne. Her new friend was the easiest to write to, as she required nothing by way of apology or explanation.

  She had covered both sides of the paper when she heard a great clamor go up from downstairs, which she fancied was Seth howling, accompanied some frenzied loud barking from Dimon. The other four dogs all leapt up from where they were lay and started their own answering baying. Eden covered her ears with her hands and got up from the table, making for the door which the dogs were all pawing and scratching at, to get through. “Patience!” she admonished, as they started shouldering the door as soon as her hand was on the bolt. She drew it back, and they burst through and poured down the steps to confront whatever intruder had dared to darken their doorstep.

  Eden sighed, and took the steps at a more leisurely pace. She very much doubted she would receive two visitors in one day. Perhaps it was some traveler, who had lost their way? When she reached the disarming room, she found Fulco dragging a trunk across the threshold, and looked at him enquiringly. “Quiet, ye villains!” he bawled over his shoulder at the dogs. Eden didn’t even flinch. He looked back at her. “For you,” he said straightening up.

  “For me?” He nodded. She looked down at it. It was a very large, handsome trunk, covered in leather with a nail head trim in an attractive design. For a moment, her heart had leaped with the hope it might have been her own trunk forwarded on from Hallam Hall. That would have meant her cousin had forgiven her after all. However, she did not rec
ognize this trunk which looked to be still smelt of newly cured leather and looked very expensive. “Was there no note or missive with it?”

  “Messenger just left it like that,” said Fulco unexpansively. “Want me to carry it upstairs?”

  “Yes please.”

  “Where to?”

  “My bedchamber I think.” Eden glanced out of the door and saw a cart trundling back down the hill. The dogs had followed it partway, but were now turning back and returning to the Keep. She followed Fulco up the steps, careful to leave enough distance so that if he was caught out by a trip step, she would not be flattened by the large trunk. When she reached the top, he was already setting it down.

  “Messenger give me this, too,” he said, reaching for a leather cord around his neck which bore the key.

  “Thank you,” said Eden taking it from him. Fulco nodded and left her to it. She did not waste any time, but instead knelt before the chest, unlocking it and lifting the lid. To her surprise, the first thing she saw was a swathe of rose pink satin. “But what is this..?” she puzzled, lifting out what revealed itself to be a pretty gown with a silver trim. She recognized this - it was Lenora’s! Dropping it with an exclamation, she returned to the chest. The next dress she drew out was of sea-green with exquisite gold detail. “This…” she broke off distractedly. She was sure this was one of Lenora’s new gowns also! She recognized them from the last dress-fitting that Lenora had in Caer-Lyoness. She had insisted that Eden sat there while she selected the fabrics and had spent a small fortune on them. Uncle Leofric had only agreed to it, as part of her betrothal wardrobe. Eden’s blood ran cold. Why would her cousin send all her new gowns to her? Was she saying, here you may as well take everything that is mine! Thought Eden with horror. Next came a gold gown, decorated with a pink rose motif all over the bodice and gauzy see-through sleeves. Last came a pure white dress with a low-scooped neckline and sleeves so long they would no doubt touch the floor. Eden threw that on the floor along with the others, and rifled through the rest of the chest looking for a note or letter from Lenora, but there was none. Only three fine shifts of exquisite lawn, which would mean she had no need of Parva Osgoode after all, a mass of silk stockings and veils in an array of colors, and an assortment of matching ribbon garters. Eden sat back on her heels and stared at numbly at the finery. Then she burst into tears, and found she could not stop.