The Unlovely Bride (Brides of Karadok Book 2)

by Alice Coldbreath

  Gerard Sutton was tidying away some papers in the front parlor.

  “Grandfather?”

  He looked up in surprise. “My dear, what is it? I thought you were a-bed. Do you feel unwell?”

  Lenora took a deep breath. “I need to speak to you about something that happened. At market.”

  He looked instantly alarmed. “Is all well? Ada made no mention of any incident—”

  “Can we sit?” she asked. “I would ask your opinion, if I may.”

  “But of course.” He gestured to a seat. “Let me just stoke the fire,” he fretted. “Dear me, I have let it die down, I had no notion we would need it again.” She waited as he fussed with a poker and added a log or two. “You are warm enough?” She nodded and he sat opposite her.

  “Grandfather,” she started earnestly. “I was approached with an invitation to dine tomorrow evening from the Earl of Twyford.”

  Gerard Sutton’s eyes almost started from his head. “Th-the Earl?” he stammered. “Invited you to dine?”

  “He did.”

  “Twyford was surely not in the marketplace?” He sounded shocked and horrified at the idea.

  “Oh no. The invite was hand delivered by one Magda Orde, who I am led to believe is Garman’s cousin.”

  He nodded. “Oh yes. I had heard Rulf had a couple of daughters,” he muttered, standing up and then sitting back down again.

  “Rulf?” Lenora asked gently, seeing that he was going to need careful handling.

  “Garman’s uncle,” he hesitated. “The Earl’s younger son.”

  Lenora clasped her hands together in her lap. “I do not think you will be surprised to hear that Garman has told me none of this.”

  Gerard Sutton sighed unhappily. “No, my dear, not surprised.”

  She hesitated. “Would you tell me?”

  He stared at her a moment in dismay. “I hardly know what to do for the best,” he fretted. “It is unfortunate indeed this happened when Garman is away from home.”

  “I do not think,” Lenora hazarded shrewdly, “that the intention was for me to share the invitation with my husband.”

  He looked a good deal taken aback by this. “You think it was meant to be a clandestine arrangement?”

  “Indeed, I do, from the terms in which it was couched.” She paused a moment. “I would show it to you, Grandfather, but—”

  He glanced at her shrewdly. “It contains some slur against my character, then?” he said with a rueful smile.

  Lenora colored. “I think so, although I did not altogether understand its meaning.”

  He sat quietly a moment. “May I see it?” he asked.

  “Only if you promise not to be offended, for I can assure you that I speak as I find and shall not be swayed in my own formed opinions by that of others.”

  He gave a quick smile. “I hereby swear I shall not be offended by aught Twyford has written of me.” Lenora handed the missive over and watched him scan its contents quickly and then return to the start and read them again at a slower pace. “I see,” he pondered. “And I agree, this was meant to be a clandestine supper invitation.” He sighed. “He has not changed, the old devil. Though probably his desperation is growing great.”

  “Why should he be desperate?”

  “He has no heir,” Gerard said, shaking his white head. “Or rather, he has one that he has no control over. One that holds his own birthright in utter contempt.” At those words, a look of such sadness stole over the old man that Lenora reached out to him and they clasped hands.

  “Is he a bad man, then? The old earl?” Lenora asked softly.

  “Bad?” Gerard looked startled. “No more than many men who head noble families I daresay. He is proud, selfish and stubborn. But if he was bad, then he has been amply repaid for it.” He swallowed before continuing. “I was born and raised at Twyford Castle,” he said brightly. “My father was steward before me. There have been Suttons serving Ordes for generations.” His gaze softened. “My only child, my daughter Anne was raised at Twyford, for I was steward there too by the time I was thirty. She had a happy childhood too. She was a good girl, my Anne. Not beautiful, but bonny in her own way like her mother. We were happy together, but then her mother died, and Anne grew into womanhood.” A shadow crossed over his face.

  “Merek Orde should never have fallen in love with her, but gods help us, fall he did. So much so, that he wanted to marry her. Their family marrying into ours. Can you imagine?” He fell silent a moment and Lenora squeezed his fingers. “You can guess how Twyford felt about his eldest son matched with his lowly steward’s daughter. Her catching his eye was not to be wondered at for they had been children together, but making her his wife…?” He shook his head.

  “They eloped?” Lenora interjected quietly when Gerard fell silent.

  “Aye, that they did. And his lordship raged fit to throw himself into an apoplexy. Vowed to cut him off without a penny, to petition the Crown and have his title passed to his younger son. If such a thing were even possible for the estate is entailed. I’m sure you know better than I, how these things work.” Lenora nodded. “Anyway, ‘twas all for naught. Merek had an inheritance already from his mother’s father, old Lord Edland. He built this farm and they settled here and had a son.”

  “What of Lord Twyford? What did he do?”

  “By this point, I’d been banished from Twyford and joined my married daughter here. But I heard he married his younger son to the heiress he’d intended for the elder.” He smiled sadly. “I haven’t been back to Twyford Castle in twenty-seven years.”

  To her surprise, Lenora thought she detected a note of yearning in his voice. “You miss the place?”

  “It was my home,” he said simply. “And all that I knew. I thought I’d die there one day, in service like my father and grandfather before me.”

  Lenora frowned and plucked at the arm of her chair. “This is a fine farm,” she pointed out.

  “It is.”

  “Yet, you are not fond of it?”

  “It is not my home. I am merely caretaker here for Garman’s sake.”

  Lenora breathed out. “But Garman does not view it as his home either.”

  Gerard nodded slowly. “I know,” he sighed. “His parents died here. I sent him away as a page to Sir Bernhard while he still a boy. I did my best by him, but I do not deceive myself all has turned out as it should.” He looked uneasy. “In truth, I never saw it fitting that he should view this place as his rightful home. He will be Earl of Twyford before ere long.”

  Lenora frowned. “The only ambition he has confided in me is to buy a small estate,” she admitted. “He makes no mention of a castle or title coming his way.”

  Gerard looked troubled. “He has not spoken of it for many years to me, but when he was a boy, he spoke quite wildly of—” He broke off, moistening his lips. “I fear, through no agency of my own, he resents Lord Twyford. Country folk talk and I make no doubt he had accounts of his father’s treatment that poisoned his mind against his grandfather. Then too, while he was still young, he was summoned for a visit to Twyford. Against my better judgement, I permitted him to go. When he returned—” He took a deep breath. “He seemed to hate the Earl and banned me from ever mentioning his existence again.”

  “Well,” said Lenora. “That is small wonder. Lord Twyford probably spoke ill of you and his mother, so it’s not to be wondered at.” Her words seemed to startle him. “After all, the Earl only wrote me four lines, yet in those scant few lines he managed to scrawl an insult relating to you,” she pointed out.

  “I assure you; I have never bad-mouthed his lordship to Garman over these years, not once. Indeed, I would not deem it fit—”

  “I believe you,” Lenora interrupted him hastily. “It seems to me that Lord Twyford has only himself to blame for Garman’s ill opinion of him.”

  “So, you will not go?” To Lenora’s surprise, Garman’s grandfather sounded sad.

  “You think I should?”


  He did not speak for a long time. Then when he did, he said heavily. “I do not think it is my place to advise you on the best course of action, Lenora. But” —he leaned forward in his seat— “I do not think there will be many more such opportunities for a reconciliation to be made between our families. This is perhaps the last time such an overture could be made.” He pressed her hand. “If you do go—”

  “I will go,” she interrupted him and thought for a moment he looked both startled and glad.

  He closed his eyes an instant. “Could I request, my dear, that you are discreet among the servants? ‘Tis only that I should not wish it to become common knowledge—”

  “I will make my arrangements with Berta alone,” she assured him. “You need not worry about that.”

  *

  “Berta?”

  Her servant looked up from scrubbing the washing with an irritable twitch of one shoulder. “Well, what is it, miss?” she snapped in exasperation, dropping the tunic into the suds with a splash. “You been worriting about me all mornin’, I vow! ‘Tis almost as bad as that time you were fixin’ to run away!” When Lenora did not speak, only gazed back at her, Berta’s black eyes narrowed with suspicion. “What you a-plottin’ of now? I never knew such a girl for tricks!”

  Lenora raised a finger to her lips and glanced around the kitchen. Hawise was right up the other end, kneading happily at her dough and humming a tune to herself. “What makes you think I’m plotting anything?” she murmured conspiratorially.

  “Cos I knows you!” Berta retorted with a snort. “That great lummox of a husband of yourn ought to keep you on a tighter leash! Askin’ for trouble he is, leavin’ the likes of you here to your own devices!” Her mouth worked crossly, but Lenora wasn’t deceived. Berta was entertained. The brooding look had left her eye and it glinted now sharply as a bird’s.

  “As a matter of fact,” Lenora admitted, leaning forward. “I do have something afoot and I have need of your help.”

  “Hah!” Berta wiped her claw-like hands on her apron and rocked back on her heels. “Let’s hear it then.”

  “I’ve had an invite to supper at Twyford Castle,” she whispered. “Have you ever heard of it?”

  Berta’s eyebrows rose with surprise. “Twyford Castle?” she repeated slowly. “Why now, I do think I have heard tell of it,” she muttered, fingering the hairs on her chin. “Only I never paid it much heed. A soft, gossipy bunch here.” She sniffed contemptuously. “Country folk!”

  “Think now, Berta!” Lenora implored. “This is important. Do you think you could find out how far it lies from here and the direction by this afternoon? We would need to take a horse and cart and be there by nightfall.”

  “What you be a-doing of there?” she demanded in a whisper.

  “Meeting with an earl,” Lenora admitted.

  “Pah!” Berta spat. “It’s too late to be angling for a title now, girl! I seen the way that Master Garman looks at ye. If you think he’d ever let you go, you’re much mistaken! He’d beat you soundly if he heard tell of you cavortin’, mind,” she cautioned.

  “I won’t be cavorting,” Lenora muttered, though what she really wanted to ask after was the manner in which Garman looked at her. “I’ll be unearthing dark family secrets,” she added mysteriously.

  “What’s that?”

  “I’ll tell you all about it,” Lenora promised. “If you promise to accompany me as chaperone.”

  Berta snorted again. “Chaperone! That be a new role for me.”

  Lenora gave her a level look. “Speaking of new roles, there’s something else I would discuss with you,” she admitted, adding hurriedly. “Away from here and in private though. Do you think you could manage the arrangements, Berta?”

  The old woman shot her a considering look. “Aye, I could manage ‘em, alright,” she said grimly. “And I will.”

  *

  And so, it was some few hours later that Lenora found herself sat next to Berta in the horse-drawn cart bowling along the road for Cofton Mallet in a southerly direction. Twyford Castle it turned out was only an hour and a half of decent road away, which boded well for their return journey in the dark. Lenora shivered and drew her cloak closer for her fine red and gold damask gown was cut for glamorous effect and not warmth. She wore a single flashing ruby at her décolletage which might be considered somewhat rash in a female travelling a lonely country road at night, but she had not wished to involve any of Grandfather Sutton’s staff lest it left them open to reproach or even punishment.

  Neither had she wanted to tax Garman’s grandfather further for clearly the Twyford connection was not spoken of at Matchings Farm. She outlined Garman’s proposal for Berta’s relocation to the Grange at the outset of their journey. When Berta neither railed or exclaimed at the idea, Lenora calmly went through the various points in favor of the scheme, though she was keen to point out that Berta was under no obligation to go and could return to Lenora’s service at any time.

  “Indeed Berta, I hope you know that you will always have a home under my roof,” she stressed. Berta appeared to think it over in silence and no more was said. Lenora felt both nervous and excited as they drew closer to the gray stone castle which loomed out of the dark like a great stone monolith in the failing light.

  “What a huge place,” Lenora gasped. “It will take us another half-hour at least to reach its door!”

  And indeed, she was right. As they trundled up the tree-lined avenue of the approach, she craned her eyes to make out the monstrous sprawling pile concealed in the shadows. She’d had no idea that it would be such a big estate. Why, it made her own father’s place Hallam Hall look like a mere lodge house!

  Even Berta had turned quiet, staring up open-mouthed at its towers and turrets. “T’ain’t much smaller than a royal palace!” she marveled. Quietly, Lenora agreed, but what’s more, she thought, it would take a king’s ransom to run such a place. She frowned, recalling Magda Orde’s frayed cuffs and patched up dress. A fortune that would soon dwindle away under the demands of a property so vast. If she wasn’t mistaken, one of the towers was showing signs of damage even in this failing light.

  On reaching the courtyard, they were greeted by an aged servant who held a torch aloft to light their way and a young boy led their horse and cart away into a dilapidated stable. Lenora and Berta followed the stooped old man along a stone passageway which looked rather like a servant’s walkway, and she wondered greatly at this approach. Along they went through a somewhat meandering route until they reached a large wooden door which the servant paused at. “The banqueting hall,” he said woodenly. “Will you be a-letting me take your cloak, milady.”

  Somewhat loth to lose her warm cloak within these chilly stone walls, she nonetheless handed it over and smoothed her long blonde tresses over her shoulders, adjusting her small veil to lay smoothly down her back.

  “I’ll be following you along to the kitchens,” Berta said stoutly when he turned to her. “And I’ll keep mine, thank you kindly!”

  He nodded, then fumbled at the door latch. Flinging it wide, he announced in a quavering voice, “My lord, I present the Lady Lenora Orde!”

  Lenora blinked at the gloom within. There barely seemed enough candlelight to see by in the huge chamber. A puddle of yellow light shone feebly at the far end of the room, so she made her way in that direction. As she grew closer, she realized several figures were sat around a table on a raised dais.

  “Look out for the floorboard just there, it is rotted through,” a voice called in warning and she realized it was the girl she had met at market.

  “I thank you, Magda,” she called back as she nimbly side-stepped the hazardous area.

  “Come and sit here, girl!” an enfeebled yet autocratic voice demanded. “Beside me.” Lenora drew near and made out that a wicked looking old man sat at the head of the table with sunken cheeks and over-bright eyes. Like his home, he had the air of a ruin about him. His frame, which must once have been tall and straight was
now twisted and thin, though dressed in fine robes of deep burgundy. His thin hawk-like face was lined with bitterness and disappointment and unlike Garman’s full, sensual mouth, his was hard and cynical.

  As Lenora stepped up onto the dais, she counted three women including Magda sat at the other end. An older woman of about fifty years sat opposite Earl Twyford dressed in navy blue satin. She had a haughty, well-bred face and a large steepled head-dress with a wide velvet band which entirely concealed her hair. Her forehead was so high that Lenora thought she must have shaved it and plucked out her eyebrows as her own grandmother had once said was the fashion in her own youth.

  To the lady’s right sat Magda Orde, and to her left another girl who looked very like Magda only younger and sullener. Lenora noticed the younger daughter had a crutch resting on the back of her seat. Both girls were dressed in finery that looked rather shabby around the edges, though that could have been that the outdated styles looked somehow worse contrasted with their youth.

  As Lenora curtsied and sat in her chair, Magda threw her a look of agonized apology as though she felt bad about what was to come. Lenora smiled reassuringly back at her. Five years at court meant she was not cowed by a fancy title or ill-mannered men. She turned to survey the Earl of Twyford with some interest, looking for a resemblance that was only vaguely present. Though, if she tried to imagine this man in the flush of youth, perhaps…

  “Well madam,” he said harshly, interrupting her thoughts. “Have you looked your fill?”

  “I have not,” she admitted frankly. “For I am looking for a family likeness.”

  He gave a crack of laughter. “You won’t find it here, though perhaps in the long gallery. There is a portrait there of myself at the height of my beauty,” his mouth twisted mockingly. “And one of my own father. There you will find it sure enough.”

  “I would be glad to see them, my lord,” Lenora murmured as a servant shuffled in with a platter of roasted mutton. “I believe I can see one between my husband and his cousin,” she said, smiling down the table at Magda.

  As though reminded of his duty, Earl Twyford waved an irritable hand toward the other end of the table. “My daughter-in-law,” he said with distaste. “Jehanne and her two daughters. Magda you have met, and Agnes.”