Oswald was seated in his scarlet robe in the window seat, slicing a pear with a small fruit knife. “Meldon will be in with breakfast presently,” he said looking up briefly.
She hesitated a moment, and then sat down at the table where she found a jug of ale and a jug of water. Helping herself to a cup of water, she tried not to stare at Oswald Vawdrey who looked almost extraordinarily exotic to her. It boggled her mind to think that she could be expected to get used to such a display of masculine beauty, every morning. “Um, where is Gilbert?” she asked after taking a sip. “I don’t really remember him leaving yester’een…”
“You fell asleep and he left after dinner,” said Oswald. “His reasoning was, he could be home by midday tomorrow with very little bother.”
The door slammed and in stumped Meldon carrying a tray of pickled herring, smoked anchovies, a round white loaf and a dish of butter. “Those palace kitchens will be the death of me,” he complained as he rattled the dishes down on the table. “That bloody manservant of lord Bardulf’s insisting his master has the best pandemain for his morning ‘sop in wine’. I ask you!” He looked from Lord Vawdrey who made no response, to Fenella and stuck his chin out aggressively.
She cleared her throat. “It certainly sounds foolish to use the finest bread if all you intend to do with it is soak it in wine,” she conceded.
“Exactly what I says to him! And do you know how he answered?” Fenella shook her head. “Says his master is accustomed to the best, if it please you!”
“I expect he probably is,” said Lord Vawdrey.
Meldon clicked his tongue in annoyance.
“It must be a very strange set-up if all the personal servants apply to the palace kitchens for their master’s meals,” puzzled Fenella. “How do the palace kitchen staff cope with such demand?”
“The majority of courtiers will eat in the main hall,” responded Lord Vawdrey, taking the seat next to hers.
“I see,” she said feeling foolish. Of course. The Vawdreys were important enough to dine in their own chambers. She wondered briefly about her own kitchens at Thurrold. This week she had planned to order the pear trees stripped in the Orchard, and taken to the kitchens to be preserved in honey. Then she remembered with a pang that this was no longer her concern. Thurrold had a new mistress now. The rattle of a plate set down before her, brought her out of her reverie. Lord Vawdrey had sliced her some of the bread himself. “Will you take some fish?” he asked her politely. “You will need your strength,” he reminded her with a glimmer of a smile. “To face our monarch.”
Any inclination to smile withered on her lips at the mention of King Wymer. “I haven’t got a head covering,” she worried aloud as Meldon carried in her ankle boots which looked a lot cleaner than when she’d last seen them. “Oh thank you. They look much better.”
“I’ll need to take a dry brush to your hem and all,” he said disapprovingly. “It’s looking in as much of a state as your boots were!”
“Meldon,” said Lord Vawdrey mildly.
“I’m afraid he’s quite right,” said Fenella biting her lip. “This dress really isn’t fit to be seen in. Especially not by the King.”
“Eat your breakfast.” Lord Vawdrey told her, tucking into his own.
Fenella sighed and did as she was told. Her head was still swimming and ached, but if it was the onset of a cold, then you were supposed to feed a cold after all. She couldn’t afford to get ill. Not now she had to fend for herself in a strange place. She couldn’t really taste the food, but she managed to eat a slice of bread and butter.
The only indication Lord Vawdrey gave that he’d paid any attention to her, was just before they left his rooms. Meldon was sat kneeling at her feet scrubbing her hem with a dry brush when Oswald stepped back in the room holding a rectangle of white linen. “Will this do?” he asked passing it to her.
“Oh yes, thank you,” she shook it out and then wrapped it around her head. Without any pins or brooches, the most she could do was a few very simplistic passes, before securing it with a knot behind her braid. She then looped her thick braid so it tucked neatly under the linen instead of hanging down to her waist. “How does that look?” she asked feeling slightly self-conscious under the scrutiny of both Lord Vawdrey and his manservant.
“Very wifely,” said Lord Vawdrey with an encouraging smile. He held his hand out to her and she rose wondering if that was a nice way of saying matronly or frumpy. Unbidden, an image in her head rose of Ambrose’s new bride. She hadn’t had the best view of her the night before, but she’d been young and slim. Her blonde hair had been caught up in a horned-headdress that was no doubt the height of fashion. A comparison between them right now would be laughable, she thought. The cast-off dumpy wife and the young, pretty bride in all her finery. She hoped no-one would be cruel enough to remark on it. Her emotions felt raw and bruised.
It was perhaps not surprising that Fenella was a quaking bag of nerves by the time she was swept along the royal corridor to the outer chamber of the King’s state bedroom. Her new – or was it old – husband, saw her seated by the fire and then left her there with a bunch of strangers, while he breezed on in to the inner sanctum. The guards fell back at once to admit him reminding Fenella uneasily that Oswald Vawdrey was a very important person indeed in royal circles. She stared down at the hem of her woolen dress and tried not to fret about the darker patches from where Meldon had brushed away yesterday's dried mud. She felt acutely aware of the fact she wore no adornment and yet every other person in the room was decked out in jewels, velvets and furs and hats dripping with feathers. She smiled glassily in the direction of the curious onlookers and tried not to worry about the fact that no-one would actually meet her gaze. They didn’t even know who she was yet, she told herself, trying to check her own rising panic. Maybe it was because everyone else waiting for an audience was male, she thought, staring at her ankle boots. Meldon had polished the scuffs from them without even a grumble, although he had kept a beady side-eye on her the whole time. She wondered why there were no other women waiting to see the King. The truth was, she was ill-prepared to be presented at court. This had been a crazy idea and she had been out of her mind to have even thought of it. She certainly had not a clue how it would turn out. Which was just as well or she never would have dared to set one foot outside of Thurrold Manor house. No-one could have anticipated that she would end up married to a completely different man before day break! She shivered in spite of the proximity of the fire. Perhaps this was all just a bad dream and she would wake up any moment now, in her four-poster bed at Thurrold with Bors lying at her feet and a piece of half-eaten cheese on the night-stand.
The door opened and a guard from inside stepped out. “The King requests the presence of Lady Fenella Vawdrey,” his voice rang out.
A low murmur started through the room as Fenella forced herself to stand, instead of sinking down in the chair in mortification. The ten or so steps across the room were some of the most torturous Fenella had ever taken as she forced herself not to trip or run and look like a fool. The guard stood aside to make room for her and she slipped into the vast room, her gaze darting about until she saw the tall figure in black that she recognized. Lord Vawdrey was stood over by a window with a stocky man of medium height with tow-colored hair who was dressed in a royal blue robe and had a look of peevish indignation on his face. "Approach, approach," he said testily. “Let's have a look at this troublesome female who dares to overset my plans!”
Fenella felt her face flush and looked to Lord Vawdrey for guidance.
“Come Fenella, and meet your King,” said Oswald holding out a hand to her and she scuttled to his side, her face turning a dull red of embarrassment.
“Aye, you may well blush,” scolded the King as she sank into a hasty curtsey. “I've heard of your ill-advised deeds of yesterday!”
Fenella gulped and forced herself not to glance at Oswald as he took her hand in a reassuring grip.
“Your majesty,�
�� he murmured in slight reproach. “As I explained, the documentation is beyond doubt...”
“Pshaw!” burst out the King in high dudgeon. “If you weren't such a stickler for decorum Vawdrey, we'd have faced this out between us! But now, you've let this woman work her wiles on you and you're well and truly leg-shackled!”
Fenella stood frozen to the spot, not knowing what to say. The King was clearly in an ill temper.
“What did you do, get him drunk?”" The King squinted at her balefully. “He'd never have fallen for such a ruse if he'd been in possession of his faculties.” Fenella's mouth fell open, but before she could even speak the King had turned back to Oswald. “It's well known you've no head for alcohol, Vawdrey,” he tutted. “And it's not natural to live like a monk for as long as you have. Only told you the other day. It's a sure way to fall prey to unscrupulous females! I knew something was wrong when you didn’t turn up to supper. I wish now I’d sent an armed guard to escort you!”
Fenella did not dare to turn her head to look at Lord Vawdrey, as he muttered some non-committal reply.
“One of your household no doubt gave her admittance to your bedchamber,” carried on the King grouchily. “You should beat your manservants soundly. Teach 'em all a lesson.”
Fenella didn't even hear the reply Oswald made to this. She had just noticed there were a few other shadowy figures in the room who were witness to the entire humiliating spectacle. Strangely enough, one of them was an old woman with a face like a sheep and a fussy headdress. Fen wondered if this was the foreign queen everyone spoke of.
“Well you're a more forgiving man than me!” harrumphed the King. “That's all I can say, Vawdrey!” He turned back to Fenella and inspected her from head to toe. “Humph!” he snorted in disgust. “I daresay you're vastly proud of yourself, madam! But you'll find there's more to being a countess than bedding an earl!” Fenella just about managed to bite back her gasp of dismay. Her face flamed as the King made a dismissive gesture with his hand, “Get her out of my sight,” he said. “Damn dismal start to the morn!”
“Of course sire,” said Oswald Vawdrey and she felt his hand at her waist, guiding her tottering steps from the room. When they reached the outer chamber, she held her head high and faced straight ahead. Even then, she could hear the excited whispers around her. The cool rush of air as they exited the King's apartments back into the corridor, told her it was safe to draw a shaky breath. Her head was spinning. The King seemed to think she had seduced her way back into Lord Vawdrey’s life! There could be no other explanation of his words. When she stumbled on an uneven flagstone, Oswald Vawdrey’s grip on her righted her at once “Well, that went most satisfactorily,” he murmured.
Fenella’s feet stopped walking, though he carried her a few steps on his own momentum.
“Fenella?” he turned back to her.
“Satisfactorily?” she echoed. She took a deep breath. “My lord, the King did not seem at all pleased!”
“He'll be fine presently,” he assured her with a slight smile. “You'll soon become familiar with his ways.”
Fenella thought she would be hard-pressed to think of anything she would like less. “I find that difficult to believe,” she responded stiffly. “He seemed to take a strong disliking of me. He called me an ‘unscrupulous female’,” she pointed out indignantly.
“Fenella, if he had taken a strong disliking, you would be in the dungeons right now,” he answered dryly. “He'll soon recover his spirits, when he's found a new sacrificial lamb.”
Fenella stared a moment and then allowed him to pull her forward into a measured step by his side. “I scarcely ever know what you're referring to my lord,” she admitted hopelessly. “Do you mean to take me into your confidences?”
“Good lord no,” he said lightly. “I don't think that will be at all necessary.”
Fenella swallowed hard. It was most disconcerting, but sometimes, his words felt like a slap to the face. “I - I find myself quite at a loss around you,” she confessed. “I don't know how to act or even what to say.”
“You will soon become accustomed to me, Fenella,” he assured her. “I am sure we will deal admirably together.”
Fenella was not so sure. “There were other people in the King's chamber just now,” she said awkwardly after a moment's pause.
“Yes,” agreed Oswald. “After all, the King is very rarely alone.”
“They must have overheard every word!” fretted Fenella. “I do hope no-one will speak of it.”
Lord Vawdrey’s eyebrows rose at this. “You have not been much at court have you Fenella?” he asked with a twist of his lips.
“Only once when I was presented,” she agreed. “But I did not see the King in close quarters then. He seemed taller. And a good deal more benevolent.”
“We all have good days and bad days,” said Oswald Vawdrey enigmatically. For a moment she almost thought he would laugh at her. She could not read him at all, she thought despairingly, and gave up even trying. “Who was that lady in the headdress?” she asked instead. “Was that the queen?”
“The Queen?” he repeated with a short laugh. “Dear me no, The King would never admit Armenal until noon. That was his old nurse, Bathilde.”
“His nurse?”
“She is the only person permitted to wake him every morn.”
Fenella digested this astonishing piece of information and then asked in a small voice: “What will happen now?”
“Now?”
“Will you take me to Vawdrey Keep?” she asked hopefully, thinking of the old Vawdrey seat which bordered her own late father’s estate. It was deep in the countryside and she could hide herself there and try to recover her wits.
“In good time,” he said airily. “We must establish you here at court first.”
Fenella felt a tremor of misgiving. Just what did that entail? “But not while I am in disgrace with the King, surely?”
“It would be better to get your social debut over with at once, don’t you agree?”
Fenella eyed him doubtfully. “What if the King calls me shameless again?”
“Did he call you shameless?”
“He implied I got you drunk,” she pointed out with as much dignity as her tattered pride had left. And you did not contradict him, she thought but did not quite have the nerve to say aloud.
“Is it really the King you’re nervous of meeting again socially?” Oswald asked her abruptly. “Or someone else?” Fenella felt her color rising. Lord Vawdrey was both silent and still, but somehow radiated displeasure.
“I confess I do not like unpleasantness,” she answered, avoiding his gaze. “Is that so wrong? After all, there is only so much humiliation a person can take in one week.”
“So, it is Sir Ambrose Thane and his new bride who you do not wish to see abroad?” Again, his words were mostly toneless, but she could still pick up on the fact he was not pleased by her avoidance.
“After all my lord, I was married to him for eight years and…”
“This documentation says otherwise,” he said sounding bored and tapping the wad of paperwork against his thigh. Fenella stared at the rolled-up parchment. She had been holding that in the King’s room. She hadn’t even noticed that he had had taken it back off her!
“If you were a sensible woman,” he said. “You would seize this opportunity to save face.” Fenella felt the barb sink into her tender flesh and it stung. He continued regardless in his measured, even voice. “Few wives so publicly cast off, are given means and opportunity to restore their stock in one fell swoop.” Fenella’s lip trembled. He had been kind to her all those years ago, perhaps a little indifferent, but certainly not cruel. But on this grey, drizzly October morn, she realized he did not have one whit of genuine empathy for her predicament. “Perhaps you’re right,” he said capturing her dipping chin and tilting her face to the window so he could watch the tear tracking down her cheek. “And it is too soon.” He clicked his tongue. “A pity.” Fenella flinched
, but his tight grip on her didn’t allow her to back up from him. He leaned down so his mouth was by her ear. “Unless you want everyone here to think you are in utter disgrace with me, you will need to walk now beside me with some modicum of calm.”
Fenella’s eyes darted left and right and took in the figures lurking around the corners. The servants who darted out, in the pursuit of their errands, their gazes fixed on her. The courtier in the navy doublet, who materialized from behind a curtain in a window seat, and gave a dry cough before continuing on his way. She hadn’t even realized they were there.
“Now walk,” murmured Lord Vawdrey. His breath tickled her neck, making her shiver. “I’ll escort you back to our rooms where you can wallow in as much misery as you like, in private.”
Fen tried, she really did, not to let the tears spill over, but alas, during the walk back to the west wing they fell from her eyes in a continuous, humiliating stream. Her head ached. Her throat ached. Her heart ached. She managed to put one foot in front of the other and to keep her head held up, but that effort exhausted her and by the time Oswald threw back the door and propelled her inside, she was fit to sink to the floor.
Oswald closed the door shut behind them and called for his servant. “Light the fire for Lady Vawdrey,” he said when Meldon stumped in, drying his hands on a piece of linen. “She wishes to spend the day barricaded up in here. In seclusion.”
Fenella dropped into a seat, feeling drained of all energy. Lord Vawdrey’s displeasure with her was clear to see. Indeed, it must have been evident to everyone who saw him marching her through the palace. Unfortunately, she had been only too aware of the staring courtiers and the whispering behind hands. Her face was red as a beet by the time they reached his rooms.
“Is that right?” grunted Meldon. “I got other errands to run, you know! Can’t be expected to hang around here all day, waiting hand and foot on this one!”
His Forsaken Bride (Vawdrey Brothers Book 2) Page 8