“Bors!” she exclaimed, joyfully as her old dog made a valiant effort to act puppyish, weaving around her legs and panting happily. “I’m so pleased to see you, boy,” she murmured into his black shiny coat as she dropped to her knees to embrace him. His tail thumped heavily against the floor. Looking up she found strange two men bowing to her.
“Thank you so much for bringing him to me,” she said smiling brightly at them and guessing they must be Lord Vawdrey’s men, although they wore no badge or sigil to that effect.
“They bought some of your other personal effects also,” said Lord Vawdrey gesturing to the table where Fenella was surprised to see her leather writing case and a chest of her papers and documents.
“Oh, that is most kind!” she exclaimed. “And didn’t even occur to me,” she confessed. “I don’t suppose my clothes-?”
“Unfortunately, not,” Lord Vawdrey interrupted her. “These gentlemen were running some other errands in the area and simply dropped by Thurrold en route.”
Fen turned curious eyes back on the two men who were of middling height and dressed in plain brown. There was nothing distinguishable about them, they could have been merchants, menservants or anything at all. Fen doubted she would even recognize them if she saw them again. “Oh, I see,” she murmured. “Tell me, did my sister-in-law Orla send any message to me?” she asked looking from one to the other. To her surprise, they both looked to Lord Vawdrey rather than answer her.
“It was more of a fleeting visit to Sitchmarsh,” he said after a small pause. “I’m afraid they did not meet any of your former household.”
Fen blinked in surprise. “Was the house quite empty?” she asked in astonishment. “Where was everyone?”
Again, both men steadfastly avoided her gaze and turned to their employer.
“They met only one servant, who was paid to deliver your belongings speedily into their hands,” Lord Vawdrey said with an air of finality and turned back to dismiss them both. They handed him a small bundle of documents and with another small bow, left the room altogether.
Fen was still crouched on the floor open-mouthed when Meldon entered with a tray of breakfast foods. He did a double-take on seeing Bors and muttered something under his breath which sounded suspiciously like -‘Another mouth to feed’.
“Come and be seated, Fenella,” said her husband, pushing her belongings to the other side of the table. He pulled out the chair next to his and she joined him. Bors settled comfortably under her chair. He seemed none the worse for wear for his journey and she guessed they must have placed in some sort of cart-like conveyance for there was no way that he would have been able to walk such a distance these days. She reached down to pat his head discreetly as Meldon rattled down the dishes of fish, bread, butter and eggs. Fenella avoided the ale jug and instead tried the one next to it which was proved to be the juices of some fruit, she guessed plums. Lord Vawdrey was just placing some smoked fish on her plate when the door on the far end of the room opened and another tall, dark male entered the room, yawning loudly. He was clearly a Vawdrey and Fenella lowered her cup, realizing this must be Roland, the younger brother. He was heavier set with muscles than Oswald, but the resemblance with the height and the dark hair and eyes was striking. He checked a moment on the threshold at the sight of them seated at the table.
“Very domesticated,” he drawled.
“Fenella, this is your new brother, Roland,” said Lord Vawdrey. “Roland, this is my wife, Fenella Vawdrey.”
Fenella started to stand, but found Roland had thrown himself into a seat opposite them and wasn’t looking at her anyway. His tunic was unfastened to his waist and he needed a shave.
“A pretty state of affairs,” said Roland jeeringly looking straight at his brother. “I hope you realize the whole court’s talking of it.”
Fenella sat back in her seat with a bump. Lord Vawdrey placed the bread and butter on her plate, ignoring his brother.
“Will you have eggs?” he asked, turning to her.
“Thank you, no,” she answered, finding she had sadly lost her appetite.
He frowned. “You have a lot ahead of you today,” he reminded her. “Have some, to please me.”
Fenella opened and closed her mouth. “Very well my lord,” she said meekly. He gave a brief smile of approval and dished some onto her plate. She wondered if he would always feed her like this at meals. Ambrose certainly hadn’t. When she looked up, she found Roland staring at them. “Is she wearing your robe?” he asked with a derisive snort.
Oswald looked up from his plate. “Fasten your tunic,” he said. “No-one wants to see that when they’re trying to eat.”
Roland looked down in surprise at his own muscular torso. Fenella wondered if he had been sotted the night before. He had the confused air men wore on the morning after a heavy night’s imbibing. He fumbled a moment with his lacings, scowling the whole time. “Suppose I’ve got this to look forward to every morning now,” he complained before seizing a serving spoon and ladling food onto his plate. He attacked it aggressively. Roland had even worse manners than she remembered.
As if reading her thoughts Lord Vawdrey said: “This must be reminding you of old times, at least, Fenella. Roland putting you off a perfectly good meal.”
Fenella almost choked on her mouthful of fish.
“When the devil did I do that?” Roland demanded, lowering his knife.
“Our betrothal feast,” answered Oswald succinctly.
Roland looked aggrieved. “I was just a child,” he pointed out with dignity.
“A repulsive child,” his brother responded.
Fenella took a hurried sip of plum juice. The whole meal was starting to seem rather unreal to her, like a peculiar dream.
“So, it is you then,” said Roland abruptly. He was looking right at her.
“Yes, it is me,” she responded, unsure what else to say.
“Got what you wanted in the end, in any event,” he said caustically.
There was really no response she could make to that. Fen lowered her cup, seeing Oswald about to intercede. “I’m not sure I would have recognized you, Sir Roland,” she said hurriedly. “But you were only ten or eleven at the time.”
“You weren’t much older,” he pointed out dismissively and looked away at the clutter of her things at the end of the table. “What’s all this?”
“Fenella’s belongings,” answered Lord Vawdrey.
“That all she brings with her? Not much of a dowry, is it,” said Roland scornfully.
Oswald straightened up in his seat and a looked passed between the brothers. Roland lapsed into silence and started shoveling his food again.
Fen took a shaky breath. She was not sure she was equipped for life as a Vawdrey at all!
After breakfast, Oswald informed her that his assistant Bryce would be attending her that morning while the tradesmen called.
Fen glanced down at the scarlet robe fastened down the front with golden buttons. It was the single most exquisite garment she had ever worn, but the fact remained it was not an outfit intended for receiving visitors in. “But surely-” she started.
“You are entirely covered from neck to foot,” Lord Vawdrey forestalled her. “Come,” he said drawing out a chair by the fire. “Sit here. Keep your charming toes tucked under and there will be no impropriety I assure you.”
Fen found herself blushing faintly as she sat down. He was so much taller than she that the scarlet robe puddled into a train at her feet, entirely concealing the fact she was barefoot. Almost, she wished she could take another look at her toes. No-one had ever thought to compliment them before. Once he had washed and dressed he disappeared to his office in the main palace. Roland retreated to his bedchamber, she suspected to sleep off a bad head. Bryce turned out to be the rather reserved, plump young man in a cleric’s robe she had met the day before. He sat at the table with a piece of paper and pen and snubbed every effort she made to engage him in conversation. She was relieved when
the first of the visitors arrived which was the shoemaker. He measured her foot and showed her various samples of shoes which seemed to be either long and narrow with a pointed toe or extremely round at the end like a horse-shoe. The one thing that they all had in common was that they were made of two colors. The outer leather was one color with lots of cut outs in either diamond or tear-drop shapes, revealing the second color of leather underneath. Fenella was charmed and after careful consideration ordered one pair of round-toed black shoes with cut out shapes showing green leather underneath. The shoemaker commended her choice and then looked at her expectantly.
“I already have a pair of boots,” she told him.
His eyes flitted to Bryce who cleared his throat. “Lord Vawdrey said you were to have at least two of everything my lady.”
“Two?” repeated Fenella. “Oh, I see! Perhaps – er-” She pointed mutely to a model of a narrow red leather shoe with black diamond contrast shapes and narrow red laces on either side.
“A popular choice, my lady,” murmured the shoe-maker.
“Oh good,” Fen seized on this eagerly. She breathed a sigh of relief and reached down to touch Bors as if he were her talisman in an uncertain world. He nosed her fingers reassuringly.
After the shoemaker came the glover, who bought in some beautiful samples of gloves in knitted and embroidered linen and silk. Fenella gasped over the beautiful quality and ordered one pair of short gloves in dark red knitted silk which were decorated at the cuffs in golden rosettes. They felt warm and would be ideal for walking out on cold days, but the longer gloves which went to the elbow confused her as to their functionality. When she glanced at Bryce for guidance, he blushed so vividly that she hurriedly ordered one pair of the long silk gauntlets in a cream and gold and left it at that.
A pouch-maker followed with a selection of purses on strings to hang from your girdle belt. Fen selected a deerskin purse with a pretty braiding detail for use by day, and one made of black silk brocade with a velvet trim for evening wear. She noticed Bryce was keeping a list of things ordered and felt comforted that he would tell her when she reached the end of her budget.
A leather worker came next with a selection of belts to choose from. Mindful that she already had a good belt at home, Fen selected a woven braid belt made of blue wool with brass buckles. The seller let her have this straight away which pleased her, but Bryce interrupted them to say that Lord Vawdrey would certainly expect her to order a leather belt as well. These looked very costly and were finely tooled with riveted silver mounts. When she finally chose a red leather belt with pretty silver trefoil discs, the craftsman looked pleased with her choice. Then he told her he would have to return to his workshop to stamp the correct heraldic device onto the silver casings before it would be ready. Fen thanked him and then wondered how much of Oswald’s coin she had spent that morning already.
“Is that the last of them?” she asked Bryce who glanced at his list and shook his head. “We’ve barely started my lady.”
“Barely started?” she echoed with dismay. “Oh dear.” She hesitated. “Have you made a note of the costings involved?” she asked gesturing toward his list. Bryce looked highly affronted. “I thought it might be advisable to make a record of your purchases,” he said stiffly.
“That is a very good notion,” she said, not wishing to cause him any offence. “And I heartily approve. I only meant, I wish to remain within the boundaries Lord Vawdrey has set for spending.”
“Lord Vawdrey did not set any boundaries,” said Bryce.
Fen sat back in her seat. “Oh.” She considered this a moment in stunned silence. In her past life, she was used to keeping an exact list of household and personal expenses. Indeed, even while Ambrose had been away for the last two years, he had expected her to send him a monthly record of her spending at Thurrold. Quite often he sent back demands for justification on some purchase he thought was too exorbitant or to upbraid her if she had not been thrifty enough. It seemed her new husband was to be very different in this respect.
Next was the tailor, a fussy man called signor Pezzini who measured her from head to foot and muttered under his breath the whole time, scribbling down notes onto a bit of paper. When he deigned to speak to her at all, she could hardly understand him, as he had such a heavy accent. “Whatever you think signor,” she found herself saying over and over. “I am sure you know what is best.” She darted anxious glances at Bryce every now and again, but he just nodded sagely as if all was going as it should. She really had no idea what had been ordered by the time he presented her with a very elegant bow and swept out of the room, but she felt badly in need of sustenance.
“Meldon, could you please bring us some light repast when you have a moment?” she asked as he straightened up from adding a log to the fire. He rolled his eyes, but duly stumped off to the kitchens. Fen wondered if she should raise the idea of a lady’s maid with Bryce as Lord Vawdrey had mentioned it only that morning. She couldn’t quite bring herself to though after all the purchases she’d just made. He would no doubt think her an extreme spendthrift. Instead she tried to squint at Bryce’s paper without seeming too obvious and then to recall mentally a list of all the purchases she’d made. Whilst she was counting them on her fingers, Meldon reappeared with a selection of cured meats, hard biscuits, cheese and fruit. He’d even brought a meat bone for Bors, which made Fen exclaim with pleasure. Bors lay under her chair and worried the meat bone with every appearance of satisfaction. Just as she was pouring some wine, the door opened and Lord Vawdrey appeared.
**
“My lord!” exclaimed Bryce. “I did not expect you. You said…”
“I changed my mind, my good Bryce,” Oswald said, directing a slight frown toward his assistant. Bryce jumped up out of his chair next to Fenella and Oswald rounded the table and sat next to her. “How goes it?” he asked picking up her hand and casually kissing her wrist. He watched the blush rise up her neck and spread to her cheeks.
“Well, I think, my lord” she said weakly. “I have bought many, many things.” She looked a little nervous about the fact.
“Good,” he said with a shrug. “That was the general idea.”
“To be honest my lord, I do not have the faintest notion what gowns I commissioned from signor Pezzini. He forms his words so fast, and the harder I try to catch their meaning the more lost I become. Bryce had the forethought to keep a list,” she said gesturing.
“Did he?” Oswald drew the paper across the table top toward him and read it with raised brows. “Two pairs of shoes, two pairs of gloves, two purses and two belts.” He lowered the paper. “Bryce, it seems you took my suggestion of two of everything far too literally!”
His assistant looked uncomfortable.
“It’s not Bryce’s fault,” said Fenella hurriedly. “And I am sure we ordered more than two dresses from signor Pezzini.”
“I sincerely hope so,” said Oswald heavily and glanced back down at the paper. It seemed Fenella was not the only one who had struggled with Pezzini’s accent. Bryce had merely written ‘full court wardrobe’ next to the tailor’s name. Oswald could only hope that the tailor had more of an idea of what was required than his wife and assistant who both looked at him with matching expressions of uncertainty. “Perhaps I ought to stay for the rest of the afternoon,” suggested Oswald dryly. “Or you’ll end up with two lutes, two hawks and two hats to add to your collection.”
Bryce looked heartily relieved. “I can return to the office, my lord?” he asked hopefully.
“Yes Bryce, I think that would be for the best.” Oswald’s sarcastic tone seemed lost on him.
“Thank you, my lord.” He hesitated and bowed toward Fenella. “My lady,” he said stiffly and beat a hasty retreat through the door.
Fenella frowned, as she poured a liberal amount of water into her wine cup. “Bryce does not seem… altogether comfortable in the company of women,” she said carefully.
“No,” agreed Oswald. “I don’t beli
eve he is.”
“Why is that?” asked Fenella looking up.
Oswald was taken aback. “I haven’t the faintest idea,” he admitted. “Is it relevant?”
She stared at him, almost as if he was speaking in a foreign language. “I meant, perhaps he has no sisters, or his mother was sadly absent from his upbringing?”
Oswald cudgeled his brains. “I believe his background was religious before he came here as a clerk. He hoped to join the brotherhood, but for some reason it was not meant to be.”
Fenella looked intrigued. “I wonder what happened?” she mused aloud as she set the dishes from the tray onto the table. “I could imagine he would be suited to life as a religious cleric. In fact,” she assumed a confiding air. “When I first met him, his robe was so plain and dark that I quite took him for a monk.” She looked expectantly at Oswald.
“Did you?” he asked dutifully. He had no idea why he was watching her so closely, but for some reason he found he couldn’t tear his eyes away from her. Maybe because he had never had a woman preside over his table before. But no, it was more than that. He tried to put his finger on it while she piled up a plate with cheese and grapes and slid it toward him.
“Yes,” she said solemnly, interrupting his thoughts. “Of course, I was a little overwrought at the time,” she pulled a face. “But I think I can see why I mistook him for one. He looks so very …” she cast around for a word. “Earnest,” she settled on. She poured him a cup of water and set it before him. It seemed she remembered he rarely imbibed.
“Indeed,” he agreed. Other than ascertaining the necessary facts when he employed Bryce, he had taken no interest in his assistant’s motivations or family background. He did not want to admit this to Fenella though. It was apparent she thought one should take a lively interest in your servants. “What say you of Meldon?” he asked curious what she would make of that old, misogynistic stick-in-the-mud.
His Forsaken Bride (Vawdrey Brothers Book 2) Page 11