His Forsaken Bride (Vawdrey Brothers Book 2)

by Alice Coldbreath

  “Nothing,” she hurriedly assured him. “I just …”

  Oswald’s eyes sprang open. “Every time you assure me there is naught to worry about, I get tense,” he said dryly.

  She pulled back her head from his shoulder to peer at him in surprise. “Why?” Her damp hair was curling round her face. He felt irritated that she was shifting her cushiony softness away from him. Removing a hand from behind his head, he hauled her back flush against him, then rested his hand at the dip of her waist. “Because,” he said. “Usually it means something is bothering you. Which means, it is going to bother me.”

  She looked bewildered, and he sighed. “Tell me what’s amiss.” He steeled himself in preparation for a barrage of reasons why she did not want her marriage to Thane annulled. If he kept his words calm and sounding reasonable, he could deceive her into believing it was a perfectly sensible thing to do. It would be good practice for when he approached the King with it. Of course, he knew exactly how to get round Wymer. He would simply indicate he was after her original dowry. When going over the documents with her dolt brother, he had been reminded of the betrothal terms. His father had wanted several acres from their estate which bordered on Vawdrey Keep. He would just keep the terms vague, and let the King think it would still be desirable to him to have that land. After all, Wymer knew all about his plans to build a grand estate on the old family seat. It would make perfect sense to him. How he would convince Fenella was a little less clear to him, but he was sure he would think of something.

  “I just thought it might be nice, to have some conversation and share our day,” she said lamely and laid her head back against his shoulder. “It is of no import if you would rather sleep.”

  Share their day? Oswald lay a moment turning this over. Hadn’t he already told her that his day had been an exercise in frustration? Most of it sexual. And she had already set that to rights for him, most satisfactorily. Then he remembered Thane’s letters. That bastard liked to tell her his every waking grievance and complaint. He frowned, stroking a thumb over her hip. “It’s only that it is a little difficult,” he said. “Much of my work is of a sensitive and confidential nature…” he began.

  “Oh,” she said lifting her head again, but thankfully keeping her glorious body pressed against him. “But you need not tell me any of that,” her eyes shone with enthusiasm. “For instance, you could tell me how Bryce was today?”

  “Bryce?” He had no idea why she would want news of his gloomy assistant. It threw him for a moment. When she continued to watch him expectantly, he cast his mind back to Bryce. “He – er – seemed well,” he ventured. “Or as well as he ever does.” Fenella nodded in the expectation of more to come. He found he did not want to disappoint her. “I am not sure that Bryce will ever fill the large boots left by his predecessor, Edwards,” he admitted.

  Her cheeks flushed, and she looked pleased. She nodded at him encouragingly. “Who was Edwards?” she asked and shifted to settle so that she was draped further across him and could look directly into his eyes. He didn’t mind that at all. He cast about for some information that might please her. “Edwards was my previous assistant. A very ingenious and resourceful young man with a bright future.”

  “A protegee of yours?” she suggested. “And did he? Move on to bigger and brighter things, I mean.”

  Oswald winced. “Sadly no. A woman was his undoing. He could not hold his tongue and she was in the employ of a foreign ambassador.” For the first time, Oswald felt a pang of sympathy for Edwards. At this precise moment, he could well understand why Edwards had told a pretty woman anything she wanted to know.

  “Oh dear!” Fen nibbled on her bottom lip. “Was he-?” she broke off. “Actually, I don’t want to know.”

  “He was banished,” he told her. “Not executed.”

  “Well, that’s something. And his lady-love?”

  His mouth twisted at her choice of words. It seemed Fenella was a romantic. “She disappeared,” he said heavily. “The ambassador was very apologetic about it, and insisted they had no notion of what became of her,” he said, skepticism dripping from every word.

  “And yet,” she pointed out. “You speak of him having large boots. As though you do not think Bryce stands up in comparison, to a man who was dismissed in disgrace?”

  “True,” he admitted fairly. “Before his fall from grace, Edwards was my idea of the perfect assistant.”

  Fenella pondered this. “Perhaps your idea of the perfect assistant needs modifying?” she suggested gently.

  Oswald regarded her in surprise.

  “Bryce has many excellent qualities which you need to appreciate. Such as trustworthiness and a strong moral compass.”

  He made a non-committal noise, not knowing how else to respond. He guessed that this was how Fenella imagined a good wife operated. She tried to think of constructive ways to help her spouse. It was unfortunate it made him remember Thane’s letters. He almost wished he hadn’t read the damn things.

  “He likely knows that you contrast him with his predecessor,” she mused. “And that would make him overly-anxious and lacking in confidence.”

  “I know how he feels,” he muttered darkly.

  “Pardon?”

  “Why don’t you tell me about your day,” he suggested instead, hoping for safer ground.

  Her expression cleared. “Trudy did very well on her first day. Indeed, I am persuaded she will be quite an asset to the household. She has been a maid before, and I can only think Meldon did not mention it because her employer was a merchant.”

  “Meldon is quite the snob in his own way,” Oswald acknowledged mildly.

  “And your wife is now a patron of the arts,” she said grandly. Then ruined it by looking almost instantly uneasy. “Mr Entner is writing a play about a donkey and its labors. He says it is a metaphor of man’s struggle to raise his stock in the world.”

  Oswald considered this a moment. “The subject matter appealed to you?” he asked doubtfully.

  “No,” she admitted. “But poor Mr Entner has five children and no regular employ.”

  “I see. You do realize that we will probably have to sit through a performance of this play at some point?”

  Fen looked guilty. “I thought, if it is very bad, I might ask Lady Eden Montmayne to accompany me instead of you.”

  “To spare my feelings?” he teased. “Or because you would prefer Eden Montmayne’s company?”

  She smiled at his words. “I would not wish you to sit through it if it is very bad,” she explained. “Whereas Lady Eden must share some of the responsibility in his selection, for she short-listed the candidates.”

  “That does seem fair,” he conceded.

  “Lady Eden is very sophisticated for one so young, is she not?” asked Fen wistfully. “She is so very graceful and knowledgeable. It is small wonder she is a lady in waiting to the queen.”

  “That is certainly her reputation.” Her reputation was also for being a managing perfectionist, exacting and extremely uptight, but he did not mention this.

  “Speaking of accomplished women,” said Fen. “I saw Lady Sumner also at the gathering.”

  “Oh?”

  “I thought she seemed a little cool with me, but then she is quite reserved, is she not?”

  “I’ve never really thought about it,” he admitted. This conversation was turning out to require a lot more input than he had anticipated. He shifted uneasily, which of course, made Fen shift about also until they were both resettled. He wondered how much longer they would need to verbally share their day.

  “It was not just me that thought it,” she hastened to assure him. “Both Hester and Lady Bess Hartleby thought her manner was decidedly off-kilter.”

  “Bess Hartleby?” Repeated Oswald.

  “Yes, for Hester introduced me. By the way, she wants you and I to dine with her and Lord Schaeffer one night this week.”

  Oswald frowned. Everyone was asking them to dinner these days! Couldn’
t a man get a moment’s peace with his own wife!

  “I do like Hester,” said Fen fondly. “Bess seems nice, though a little…eccentric. She has sponsored a painter who will be painting her portrait with her six dogs.” She hesitated. “Do you remember…?” she began, then stopped.

  Oswald’s ears pricked up. “Remember what?”

  “Tis nothing…”

  “Just tell me,” he said firmly and patted her on the rump.

  “I had my portrait painted once with Bors. On the occasion of my fifteenth birthday.”

  “Bors was in the portrait?”

  “He was just a pup.”

  “Where does it hang?” he asked. “At Thurrold?”

  “No,” she said quickly.

  She was probably worried he would demand it’s return, he thought wryly. “At your brother’s place?” he guessed.

  “Oh – no.”

  “I should like to see it,” he said trying a different tack. Then he remembered they were still engaged when she was fifteen and she had started ‘Do you remember’. He raised his head off the pillow. “It’s at Vawdrey Keep,” he guessed, almost kicking himself.

  “So, I believe,” she said awkwardly. “I mean, it was sent there as a gift, so for all I know it is there still.” They both fell silent.

  “I don’t remember seeing it, Fenella,” he admitted at last.

  “That’s not really all that surprising,” she said letting him off the hook. “For you were not around Sitchmarsh much that year, as you were soldiering. And not long after my birthday you were taken hostage at the battle of Adarva.” She stared at his shoulder a moment, but did not ask the question that was plainly on her lips.

  “Where I got my scar,” he said in a harsher tone than he had intended.

  She paled, but held his gaze. “So it was at Adarva.” She paused when he did not continue. “You do not wish to discuss it?”

  “Not really,” he said dismissively, and made a last-ditch attempt to preserve the happy mood that was fast dissipating: “Maybe we should get your portrait painted again,” he said, in. “With Bors, of course.”

  “It’s nerve-wracking enough selecting a poet,” said Fen with a brief smile. “Let alone a portrait painter.” She was already retreating, he could feel it, even though she hadn’t moved a muscle.

  “So, commission Lady Bess’s artist,” he suggested.

  “If you like,” she said quietly and tucked her head back on his shoulder.

  It took them both a while to go off to sleep, but neither one of them spoke another word.

  **

  Oswald woke the next morning, from a series of disturbing dreams about locks and keys. He lay a moment, frowning over the conviction he had seen a small ornamental key like the one in his final dream. Then he noticed a lock of Fen’s hair was tickling his face, and abruptly the vision was gone. As was his habit, he was far over onto his wife’s side of the bed. She was lay on her side and he was curled around her warm, fragrant form. He could tell from her relaxed state, that she was still sound asleep. He resisted the urge to press closer to her delicious body, and instead rolled away. It was a wrench, and he told himself he had no right to feel so hard done by. He had only slept beside her for six nights. Why then, did it feel like the habit of a lifetime? It would not do to become dependent on her presence. After all, he had every intention of sending her down to the country before the month was out. That had always been his plan, he reminded himself, when something deep inside rebelled at the idea. He had no need of a wife at court, obstructing his work and making demands on his precious time. He had no need of a wife at Vawdrey Keep either, a traitorous voice whispered in his ear. After all, wasn’t he going to tear it down? He splashed his face with cold water from the basin. What was the point in sending her down there to set the old place to rights? He had a set of plans sat in his desk drawer that laid out the estate he wanted to build brick by brick. If Fenella went down there he had no doubt she would rally the dwindling servants to fix the roofs, and plant the gardens and generally restore law and order to that ramshackle, dilapidated old shell. But that wasn’t even it, he realized with a cold finger running down his spine. No. The problem was, that Vawdrey Keep was a full day and a half’s ride from the Winter Court. And from Caer-Lyonnes, the Summer Palace, it would take four days of travel. He glanced at the sleeping occupant in his bed. And that was not acceptable. He stepped into his braies and chauses and tied the laces at his crotch as he realized, he did not want his wife to be out of his reach. The notion was so outlandish to him, that he felt himself break out into a cold sweat. But he had promised her. He had assured her that there would be very little material change to her life. That she would still be neighbor to all her Sitchmarsh friends and her brother. And when he said it, he had meant it. But something had changed. He wasn’t sure what. How the hell was he going to get himself out of this predicament? There was a scuffling at the door, and he glanced at Fen again, before crossing the room to unlock the door. “Quiet, your mistress still sleeps,” he told Meldon, taking the pitcher of hot water from him.

  “We’ll need to get the bath emptied,” Meldon grouched.

  “That can wait,” Oswald closed the door on him, but he could hear sounds of stirring already in the room behind him.

  “Good morning,” a sleepy voice hailed him softly. Then he heard a rustle and a faint exclamation, and smiled. No doubt she had just noticed her shift was missing after their bath together

  “Good morning, wife,” he replied and turned to survey her all flushed and tousled behind the sheet she clasped to her breast. He had half a mind to crawl back under the covers with her. She rubbed her eyes. “And what are you about this morning?” He turned back to find a black tunic and continue dressing.

  She yawned. “Eden Montmayne invited me to join a lady’s tapestry circle they hold in the lower gallery every sennight.”

  “It’s good you’re making friends at court,” he said cautiously. “Perhaps you can improve on your own skills.”

  She made no answer to this, but he could feel her eyes on his back as he continued to dress.

  “You rose early,” she said. “I usually wake before you.”

  He fastened the buttons and glanced over his shoulder. She looked a little put out. “Did you miss seeing me climb naked from the bed?” he asked. “I thought I’d spare your blushes this morning.” When she made no response, he turned to quirk a brow at her.

  “I missed waking in your arms,” she said with a small smile, completely taking him by surprise.

  He blinked. How the hells was he to respond to that? His mind whirled, but she was already finger combing her hair and swinging her legs over the side of the bed. She had slipped on his green robe and was halfway to the door before he pulled himself out of his thoughts. “Where are you going?” he asked.

  She stopped. “To call for Trudy.” She tipped her head and pointed to her hair. “I went to sleep on it damp and will need some help taming it this morning.”

  It did look rather fluffy, but Oswald was damned if he could see why their alone-time should be interrupted. Something of this must have shown on his face, for she hesitated.

  “See to it after I’ve left,” he said. “You will join me for breakfast, I hope.”

  A look of surprise passed over her face, but she acquiesced readily enough and accompanied him into the adjoining room.

  A messenger arrived as soon as the food was served, with a coded message from Bryce that meant one of Oswald’s informants had arrived with urgent news.

  Oswald tutted, “This is unfortunate,” he said and stood up from the table.

  Fen who had been leaning on her elbows looking at him, straightened up. “Duty calls?” she asked.

  “Yes,” he said shortly and reached into his pocket. “I have something here for you to read,” he hesitated, still holding it between his fingers.

  “What is it?” asked Fen in surprise. She held out a hand, but he did not immediately pass it to
her.

  “I would appreciate it, if you would read it, digest it and then decide what you want to do with it, without discussion with me.”

  Fen’s look of surprise turned to one of consternation. “I don’t quite-”

  He placed the folded paper in front of her on the table. “It is an account of how Sir Ambrose Thane and Lady Colleen Thane nee Edland, became acquainted,” he said quietly. “Read it through at your leisure,”

  She breathed in sharply. “Oh,” she stared down it a moment.

  “I’ll leave you to peruse its contents,” he said, not quite meeting her eye. Then he made his way out of their rooms and through the palace to his office.

  For some reason he felt uneasy, and not about the possibly disquieting news from one of his best spies. But about his wife. He somehow didn’t like leaving her like that. They had not actually quarreled the previous night, he reminded himself as he strode along the vaulted corridors. But still, things felt off-balance. And he was not sure if he had timed giving that blasted account to her of Thane’s treachery very well at all. But when would be the right time?

  Bryce was hovering outside his study looking worried.

  “It’s McNee, my lord,” he said in a quiet voice. “He’s ridden the last three days solid to reach you with this news.”

  Oswald gave him a hard look. “Very well Bryce,” he said, his hand on the door. “Would you-”

  “I’ve already sent for food and drink,” his assistant added.

  Oswald looked back at him. “On second thought, Bryce, you can join us,” he said.

  His assistant looked startled but gratified as he hurried after him. McNee was a man of middle-age with dark hair and the beginnings of a beard. He looked exhausted but on Oswald’s entrance, started to rise from his chair.

  “Stay where you are, man. You look fit to drop. Now, tell us what has been happening so that I can update the King.”

  **

  Half an hour later, Oswald breezed through the outer chamber and into the King’s state bedroom. Wymer was sat in a claw-footed chair before the fireplace, while a manservant held up several different pairs of blue stockings for his perusal.