His Forsaken Bride (Vawdrey Brothers Book 2)

by Alice Coldbreath

  “A very capable and resourceful man to have around,” she said after a moment’s consideration.

  Oswald nearly choked on his sip of water.

  “Isn’t that right, Bors?” she asked, looking over the arm of her chair. Her dog’s tail beat a steady thump against the floorboards. She turned back to Oswald. “Meldon found Bors a meat bone, so will now be considered a great favorite.” she said and dimpled at him. Dimpled. Oswald lowered his cup and cleared his throat. She reached across and touched his sleeve fleetingly. “I’m so glad you’re remaining here with me this afternoon,” she said quietly. “I’m sure I will adjust,” she added hastily. “But at the moment, I don’t really feel like I’ve found my feet. It’s comforting knowing I have an ally so close at hand,” she said shyly.

  Ally? Her choice of words displeased him, until he realized she was echoing his own words back at him. Who the hells called their spouse an ally, anyway? What had he been thinking? He had to school his features to hide his own reaction. It was odd, he realized as he watched her select and eat a piece of cheese. If she had said the same thing to him only two days ago, he would have been encouraged. But for some reason … not today. He had slept in a bed, twice with her since then. He had felt how soft and warm she was against his body and he had seen her naked. Or as good as. Catching the direction of his thoughts, Oswald cleared his throat. He was surprised, quite frankly. Licentiousness had never been one of his vices, but there was something very lush and bountiful about Fenella, reflected. He gave his head a slight shake. Lush and bountiful? When was the last time he'd lain with a woman? It had obviously been too long if he was now panting after this woman who a mere two days ago he'd decided was dumpy and plain and wearing the ugliest wool gown he had ever seen.

  “Would you like some more bread, my lord?” she asked, nudging the trencher toward him.

  “Thank you, no,” he replied. It was partly her voice, he thought that affected him so strongly. One instant it was breathy and husky and the next it was full-bodied and brimming with emotion. It gave him strange random desires, such as hearing her say his name. Naked. It was damned inconvenient! Why the hell this drab little female had such a siren's voice was beyond him. It didn't match the rest of her in the slightest! He took a good look at the short, full figure, the indeterminate brown hair in a thick braid hanging over one shoulder. The wholly unremarkable brown eyes. There was absolutely nothing for him to be getting hot under the tunic about. Let alone eyeing her like a delectable morsel he wanted to wolf down in one bite! He needed to remember her circumstances and respect them. The poor thing had been in the grip of strong emotion ever since he had met her. She had been buffeted from pillory to whipping post. And quite frankly, if Thane was the pillar, then he was the post. He had selfishly used her for his own ends too. And he needed to remember that she wasn’t some sophisticated courtesan. She was not trying to toy with him, or seduce him with those flashes of pale, smooth flesh or rounded limbs she kept affording him. For god’s sake, he reminded himself irritably, she had even been quite ill! He watched her covertly now as she nibbled on a thin, fried biscuit, with a cautious expression. Seeing her wearing his robe pleased him for some reason he didn’t want to examine too closely. Mind you, anything was an improvement on that muddy gown she’d shown up in, he thought with a twist of his lips. Suddenly, he wanted to see her in a dress that actually became her. Perhaps like a jewel in an ugly setting, she would shine when set more becomingly?

  She looked up, no doubt noticing he had fallen silent. “Why don’t you try one of these, my lord?” she asked gesturing to the biscuits. “Their texture is surprisingly pleasant. I think the flavor is anise,” she added thoughtfully.

  Oswald took one and bit into the crispy round cracker. “Who are we expecting next?” he asked.

  “I hardly know,” she admitted, selecting a grape. “Is it on Bryce’s list?”

  Oswald turned the paper over and found she was right. “The hat-maker, followed by the jeweler,” he read out. Bryce had been methodically crossing them off as they arrived. He frowned. “Did Bryce not ask you about any of your pastimes?”

  “Oh yes,” Fenella assured him. “He offered to order me a new tapestry loom but they take up so much room and I already have one at Thurrold. I will write to Orla to send to Vawdrey Keep. Orla does not enjoy needlework so I know she will not wish to keep it.”

  “But mayhap the new Lady Thane will?” he pointed out as gently as possible.

  She blinked at this, but then rallied. “Oh- well if that is the case, I am sure I have an old one at my brother’s house. It is large and a bit antiquated, but should still be fit for purpose,” she told him brightly. “Though it may need a few repairs.”

  “I see.” Mostly what he could see was that Fenella was extremely frugal. On reflection, it probably wasn’t Bryce’s fault that she had not loosened his purse-strings that morn. He smiled thinly to himself, mentally making a note to have Bryce order her a new tapestry loom. It was certainly not her brother’s place to supply her needs, now she bore his name. She would need careful handling he thought, to get through the jeweler’s visit. “I’m afraid there are no Vawdrey family jewels to pass on,” he started as she was stacking the empty plates and leftovers back onto Meldon’s tray. “My Father was not the kind of man to buy any of his wives’ baubles.” He could see from the expression on her face, that she had no difficulty believing that of the old baron. “However, as the wife of an earl you will be expected to dress to a certain station.”

  Her mouth formed an unspoken ‘oh’ of understanding. Meldon appeared beside her and seized the tray with an indignant look which clearly said ‘that’s my job’.

  Fenella sat back in her seat. “Perhaps, if you made a list of the bare minimum required by the rank of countess it might be helpful?” she suggested uncertainly.

  “The jeweler will be able to advise us on that,” said Oswald easily. “He is used by many at the palace.”

  “I see,” she said biting her lip. “But perhaps if you were to set a sum now-?”

  “I do of course, have a sum in mind,” he assured her smoothly.

  She waited expectantly, but he refused to be drawn. Looking disappointed, she turned back to finishing her cup of watered wine. Bors barked from under her chair, making her jump and almost simultaneously a knock sounded at the door.

  “Come in,” shouted Oswald. The door opened and in came a middle-aged couple carrying a woven basket between them. They set it down and straightened up, bobbing politely.

  “Greetings,” said Oswald briskly. “You must be representing Watkyns quality hat-makers?” he said glancing at the paper again.

  “Aye m’lord, I’m Arnold Watkyns and this here is my wife.”

  “Thank you for coming,” said Fenella.

  “You are presenting your wares to my wife, the Countess Vawdrey,” said Oswald gesturing to Fenella.

  Mr Watkyns bowed again and then whisked the lid off the basket.

  “Does my lady have a clear preference on what head covering she generally wears?” asked Mrs Watkyns as her husband started lifting examples out and draping them across the back of a chair.

  “Generally, I wear just a veil and wimple at home,” answered Fenella obligingly. “In general, I prefer to wear a woolen veil in winter as ‘tis much warmer and I tend to wear a practical color such as blue or grey rather than white.”

  A stunned silence greeted this pronouncement and Mr Watkyns nearly dropped his armful of finest linens and silks. Belatedly Fenella seemed to realize that they had brought along only the purest whites to show her. “Of course, it is quite different at court,” she said weakly.

  “How right you are,” agreed Oswald smoothly. “Perhaps if you could show Lady Vawdrey your finest examples?”

  The Watkyns were instantly all smiles. “If your ladyship would permit me,” murmured Mr Watkyns approaching with delicate white veil which he held up for Fenella’s inspection. She took it from him gingerly. “I am su
re you can see the quality of this piece of linen for yourself.”

  Fenella looked it over. “Linen?” she asked with surprise. “Why, it’s so delicate I would almost have thought it silk…”

  Mr Watkyns bowed with a small smile. “It is of the very best material, my lady.”

  Fenella turned it over in her hands. “It has no seam,” she exclaimed looking at Mr Watkyns in wonderment.

  “You are in the right of it,” he answered. “It is made in one piece.”

  “One piece?” she echoed. “Remarkable…”

  Oswald cleared his throat and nodded meaningfully at Mr Watkyns who caught his meaning at once and laid one aside with all haste.

  “Mayhap her ladyship would care to try wearing her veil with a torque or a templar instead of the wimple?” suggested Mrs Watkyns. “Or perhaps a padded head-band? You will find they are very fashionable at court these days and you wear your veil suspended from it.”

  Fenella looked back at her blankly.

  “Perhaps you could demonstrate this headwear for us,” suggested Oswald, resigning himself to a good hour of the Watkynses company.

  “Of course, we’d be only too glad to,” beamed Mrs Watkyns. Oswald steeled himself for the ordeal, but it wasn’t as bad as he’d anticipated, mostly because he spent the time watching his wife. She had pretty manners. A little old fashioned perhaps, but in general he liked the way she conducted herself. It’s true, she was a little more animated than fashion dictated, he conceded, his eyes wandering over her heart-shaped face. Certainly she was not conventionally or fashionably beautiful, but he did find her appealing.

  By the time they had left Fenella was the owner of no less than four veils. In addition to the seamless one she now owned a stiffened and frilled veil, one edged in gold thread and pearls and one barely-there silk gauze veil which Fenella looked vaguely scandalized by. To wear along with these, she had a gold netted caul, a black and gold damask coif that tied under the chin, and a pretty fillet-band decorated with semi-precious stones. She also had a velvet and brocade padded headband which she wore now as Mrs Watkyns had helped her put it on and then pin the veil from the back.

  “At court you must dress as if every day is a feast day,” marveled Fenella as the Watkynses departed. “I shall hardly recognize myself in so much finery.” She touched her head-dress self-consciously.

  “You will soon become accustomed to it,” Oswald told her. “It looks well.”

  She smiled. “Perhaps a little strange paired with your dressing robe?” she said looking down at herself.

  Oswald let his eyes flicker over her again. “I can see nothing amiss,” he said lightly and cleared his throat.

  A rap at the door told them the final craftsman of the day had arrived. Meldon scuttled across the room like a spider and admitted them. “The Antonys of Aphrany,” he announced flatly and waved them in. It was an old man and a young boy with him carrying two large wooden cases and a ledger. “Welcome Mr Antony,” he said hailing the jeweler. “And this must be your apprentice?”

  “And grandson,” the old man said with a bow.

  His grandson bowed likewise and then nodded toward the table. “Do you permit, my lord?” he asked in a clear, childish voice.

  “Please,” said Oswald with a quick gesture.

  The boy set the cases down carefully on the table.

  “I believe my assistant will have outlined our requirements,” said Oswald. “My wife requires some betrothal and wedding jewelry.”

  Fenella shifted in her chair. “Perhaps a brooch?” she suggested brightly.

  Mr Antony senior’s eyes flew to her and then back to Oswald.

  “We will need several pieces,” he corrected her. “Starting, I think, with a betrothal ring.”

  Mr Antony’s tanned face wrinkled into an approximation of a smile. Not for one moment did he betray even a flicker of surprise at a man buying his wife a betrothal ring. “But of course,” he said. “We are sure to have the very thing.” He looked to his grandson, who sprang forward and opened the case to the left. He looked up expectantly at his grandfather.

  “Perhaps,” the old man hesitated and looked back at Fenella. “The second tray.”

  The boy extracted a tray from the case and then walked toward Fenella with it extended.

  “What is in the first tray?” asked Oswald dropping his voice as Fenella started chatting with the boy.

  “Examples of commissioned pieces,” answered Mr Anthony in a matching tone.

  “Perhaps you would bring them along to my office, afterward?” suggested Oswald after a pause.

  The older man’s eyes lit up. “Of course, my lord.” He bowed.

  “These are pretty,” said Fenella cautiously bending over the velvet-lined wooden tray. She looked every inch the thrifty housewife and Oswald could see she longed to ask how much they cost.

  “Ah the posy rings,” nodded Mr Anthony. “They are often used as betrothal tokens. They are gold and finely engraved with leaves and flowers.”

  “Lovers get them inscribed,” piped up his grandson. “On the inside. With a personal message. Like ‘promised forever’” he elaborated.

  There was an awkward silence. “I see,” said Fenella. “Our circumstances are a little unusual in that we are already married, so a message seems a little after the fact.”

  “Not as unusual as you may think,” said old Mr Antony smoothly. “Sometimes the groom, he could not afford much more than a piece of string when they were promised, but later on,” he wagged a finger aloft. “Then he can afford the real gesture.”

  “Perhaps our combined initials?” suggested Oswald.

  “That would be most appropriate,” agreed Mr Antony reaching for his pen and paper. Oswald thought the grandson looked a bit underwhelmed. The boy shrugged. “Would my lady care to try one on?” he asked. Fenella frowned, then reached into the tray and slipped one on her finger. She turned her hand to show it to Oswald.

  “Do you like it?” he asked. She nodded and he glanced at the tray. “Choose one with a stone,” he said. “To wear while that one is inscribed.”

  Fenella’s eyes went wide and she opened her mouth, no doubt to protest, but Oswald forestalled her by turning back to Mr Antony.

  “We need some foundation pieces, for a family collection,” he said. “Perhaps a necklace and a coronet? Things that can be worn to royal banquets.” He did not look at Fenella.

  Mr Anthony opened the second case and angled it toward Oswald.

  “How about a girdle belt fit for a queen?” he asked drawing out a long belt of gold medallions set with blazing diamonds and punctuated with large double pearls.” Oswald heard Fenella gasp in the background.

  “That looks just the thing,” he said holding out his hands for a closer look. He could tell it was exquisite before he even felt the weight. “I’ve never seen one like it.”

  “No-one has,” boasted Mr Antony. “And with the diamonds, this belt could be worn with any color gown.”

  Oswald nodded. “We’ll take it. What else?”

  “How about this one?” he heard the boy ask Fenella who was clearly distracted from her task of selecting a ring. “It’s a sapphire.”

  Mr Antony cast a shrewd look his way, before returning to his case. Wordlessly he passed Oswald a heavy necklace of gold filigrees connected with pearls. Each filigree had a round ruby glowing in the middle and the centerpiece was an even larger gold filigree with an enormous glittering emerald from which a white teardrop pearl elegantly dangled. “This is as fine a necklace as any you will see here at the royal court,” he said with quiet confidence.

  Oswald could believe it. He gave a decisive nod and Mr Antony beamed and snapped the case shut.

  “You have the perfect judgement, my lord.” He rolled the ‘r’ so that the word stretched out. “I hope you will remember our establishment when you look to expand your jewel collection.”

  Oswald glanced at Fenella who looked a little glassy-eyed and pale. “Did
you pick a ring?” he asked.

  “I – yes. This one,” she said hoarsely.

  Oswald glanced at it, a gold ring with green enamel leaves and a small turquoise set in a central rectangular mount. He might have known she would not pick the sapphire. “Does it need re-sizing or can you wear it now?”

  She slid it wordlessly onto her third finger where it sat looking perfectly at home.

  “Excellent,” he said. Then he seemed to remember something. “Did you still want a brooch?”

  “No, no” she said quickly, sitting up in her chair and coloring hotly. “This is more than enough, thank you.”

  “Come and try the diamond girdle,” he said picking up the belt. When she reluctantly approached, he circled it around her hips and fastened the clasp so the front length hung down to her knees at the front.

  “It’s heavy,” she murmured.

  “Take a look in the glass,” said Oswald. He watched her walk to the glass and turn before it to catch the glittering light on the diamonds. He turned to the jeweler who had a look of quiet satisfaction on his face. “Come with me to my study and I will give you payment and speak to you of that other matter.

  “My lord,” replied the jeweler with a bow.

  “Will you not take the belt with you for safe-keeping?” asked Fen, in alarm when he headed for the door.

  Oswald turned back to her. “Fenella, you are at court. The very reason you have jewels is to show them off to others.” He waved toward the table. “Try on the necklace. I will be back presently for supper.” He disappeared along with the bowing Antonys and she watched the door shut behind him with dismay.

  **

  “I got a god-daughter,” said Meldon confrontationally as Fenella sat kneeling on the floor in the bedroom. She had found space in the cupboard next to her side of the bed to keep her new head-wear and was folding her new veils and tidying them away. He stuck out his jaw as if expecting her to argue.

  She paused, casting about for a suitable reply. “You have?” she settled on warily.