“Most people would say, extremely shy,” said Oswald. “I have scarcely heard her speak above two words in the last three years.”
Fen pulled a face. “I think she is a little cowed by the presence of her mother,” she admitted, before getting caught up in her subject. “Tell me, where is her husband Lord Martindale? Is it not extremely unusual that she lives at court, when he does not?”
“It is certainly unconventional,” Oswald agreed with a small smile. “But you see, timid Lady Martindale is already on her third marriage.”
Fenella almost dropped her piece of bread. “What?”
“Yes,” he nodded. “And yet, she has never had a single night away from her dear mother’s side.”
Fen blinked. “H-how does that work?”
Oswald settled his elbows onto the table and steepled his fingers. “Her first two husbands were in their dotage. Her father, Lord Doverdale, was extremely powerful at court. They married her in order to ally themselves with her father. Both of them had children older than the bride, offspring they were feuding with, and did not wish to inherit their fortunes.”
Fen drew back aghast. “Their marriages disinherited their own children?”
He nodded. “The two sons of the first marriage contested the will and had some family property revert to them in the end, but the legal wrangle took over five years and was very bitter.”
“Oh poor Mathilde,” breathed Fenella. “She would not have liked that at all! And what of the second marriage?”
“It is believed that some private settlement was made on the family to keep it from coming before the King and causing a scandal.”
Fen shuddered. “How awful.”
Oswald merely smiled.
“And her third husband?”
“Lord Martindale was somewhat different. They were married by proxy. The rumor is,” he said lowering his voice dramatically. “That they have not even met.”
Fen gasped. No wonder poor Mathilde never spoke of her husband!
“Her mother arranged it, the indomitable Lady Doverdale.”
“I have met Lady Doverdale,” said Fen wincing. “It is small wonder that her daughter lacks a voice.”
“She has a formidable reputation,” agreed Oswald.
“And is one of the Queen’s foremost ladies in waiting, I hear.”
“The Queen perhaps considers her an antidote, to the pretty faces forced on her by the King,” he suggested.
Fen considered this. “That would make sense. After all, I met the most famous court beauty this morning and she had precious little to say for herself. I imagine being surrounded by twelve such ladies would be something of a trial.” She caught herself quickly. “Not that I mean to suggest that Lady Lenora is not a very excellent young woman …”
“I know exactly what you mean,” said Oswald. “There is no vice to her character, but I sometimes worry that Roland will end up wed to her.” He pulled a face. “Imagine being sat opposite her on every feast day.”
“She would be very beautiful to look at,” pointed out Fen.
“I was thinking more of the conversation flow,” he admitted. “Painful.”
Fen gave a choked laugh. “It is strange, is it not? For her cousin Eden has so very much character, and yet Lenora…”
“Has none,” finished Oswald dampeningly.
“Is Roland very enamored of her?” she asked with interest.
Oswald gave her a pained look. “Roland?” he asked ironically. “Enamored of a lady?” He shook his head. “I fear my brother has a very shallow yardstick for measuring the fairer sex.”
“Their beauty?” hazarded Fen.
“Exactly.”
“Well, it would be better he offered for Lenora than Helen Cecil, if palace gossip is to be relied on,” she pondered aloud. “If it is beauty alone that he prizes in women.”
Oswald looked surprised. “You have heard that rumor then?”
“Oh yes. Hester Schaeffer told me Helen Cecil is likely to become the King’s paramour.”
“If she isn’t already,” shrugged Oswald.
“Poor Queen Armenal,” said Fen sadly.
Oswald pursed his lips, but said nothing and Fen wondered if he thought her naïve or provincial to expect fidelity from the King. She ran her fingernail over the bumpy grain on the wooden table and tried to think of a less contentious subject of conversation. She was flushed and happy and didn’t want the cozy intimacy of the meal to end. Spending time alone with Oswald Vawdrey was a heady experience. She felt quite giddy. Or could that be the mulled cider? She looked up to find him watching her. “Thank you for making the time today,” she said, tucking her hair behind her ear and feeling suddenly shy again. “I know how much the King relies on you.” Actually, she didn’t, but that was what she’d heard. Since her frankly disastrous meetings with both monarchs she had successfully managed to avoid meeting either of them in the days that had followed. She hoped devoutly that she could continue that way.
Oswald frowned slightly at her words. “You’re my wife, and as such I will always have time for you.”
It seemed to Fenella that he looked a little surprised by the words coming out of his own mouth. She smiled at him warmly and he reached across to take her hand.
“Come, we had better make our way back.”
At the reluctance in his voice, Fen felt a warmth spread right through her chest. It must be the punch, she told herself sternly as she rose from the bench and took his arm.
**
It was not until a full two weeks later, that Fenella heard any more of a proposed annulment of her marriage to Ambrose Thane. She had been at court for over a month now, and was walking back toward the palace after a good long walk through the castle grounds with Hester Schaeffer. They had been to visit Fen’s horse, who was looking very content in the stables, which had put Fen’s mind at rest. She had fed her an apple and checked with the groomsmen about her exercise, before she and Hester had continued on their way. They walked a good way for it was a cold, crisp morning with a bright blue sky, and it was pleasant to be out of doors. Fen wore her new thick scarlet knitted gloves with their gold rosettes and a rather splendid new cloak of celestial blue wool lined with a matching silk. They meandered a good deal on their walk, as neither was in a hurry to reach a destination, and Bors was an old dog who liked a sedate pace. Hester’s sleeker hound, Juniper, danced around her mistress and in circles and covered at least three times as much as the rest of them. They were finally on their way back to the castle when Bors, plodding at her heels for most of the walk, gave a low ‘woof’ of surprise and then plunged ahead of them.
“Bors!” called Fen, but then she saw him dart into one of the arbors where she could just make out the form of a person in the shadows. Bors pranced about him excitedly.
“Who’s that?” asked Hester.
“I haven’t the faintest idea,” admitted Fen screwing up her eyes. He was far too short to be Oswald or Roland. “But whoever it is, Bors knows them.”
“You there,” hailed Hester. “Show yourself fellow!”
There was a rustle and a cough and then, after a moment’s hesitation, Sir Ambrose Thane stepped forward onto the path. Hester’s dog bared her teeth and snarled and had to be called off.
“Ambrose!” exclaimed Fen, caught by surprise. He was wearing a striped doublet and yellow hose with very long pointed shoes. He looked most peculiar to her eye, but perhaps ‘twas the fashion?
“Indeed?” said Hester curiously. She peered at Ambrose with interest. “Presumably there is a reason he is lurking in the King’s shrubbery.” She was holding onto Juniper by her collar now.
“I can’t think what,” replied Fen.
Ambrose drew himself up indignantly. “I was hoping I might be permitted a word with you Fenella,” he said, shooing away Bors, who was still looking to him for a pat on the head.
“Have you greeted Bors yet?” she asked him frostily. “Or is ignoring old acquaintances your new pract
ice?”
Ambrose looked startled by her words. He glanced down at the dog as if he had not even really seen him there. “Is that really Bors?” he asked absently. “I would not have recognized him.”
“Come here, Bors,” Fen called, patting her leg. Her dog returned to her side and she stroked his head. “Dear old bear,” she murmured. “You have new friends now.”
Ambrose took a step toward her and Juniper set up a cacophony of barks, that made her mistress exclaim. “Dear me,” said Hester. “Sir Ambrose has a most unfortunate manner with dogs.” She unfastened a length of cord from her waist and slipped it through her dog’s collar. “I believe I will walk Juniper a little further up the path. But I will remain in view,” she assured Fen straightening up. “At all times.” She gave a brief nod to Ambrose Thane and then sweeped along the path before them.
“I don’t know what she meant by that,” said Ambrose fretfully. “I hardly think you need a chaperone where I am concerned!”
Fen ignored him, and his gesture toward the arbor he had emerged from. She had no intention of sitting closeted with him in a small space. “I believe I will walk behind Lady Schaeffer,” she said. “Whether you choose to walk beside me is your affair, Sir Ambrose.”
He looked taken aback by her formality and stood stock still as she swept past him. After a moment, she heard his footsteps hurry after her, when he realized she was not going to halt and wait for him.
“Wait,” he puffed. “Upon my word, your attitude surprises me, madam!” he complained as he drew level with her and matched her steps.
“My attitude?” echoed Fen. “I am not the one who dissolves bonds and rescinds vows on a whim, without even having the courtesy to inform those directly involved.” She continued steadily. “If it were not for Orla, I would still be sat at Thurrold awaiting your return.” She flickered her gaze to his face. “How did you intend to tell me that I was supplanted, Ambrose? Would you have ridden up to the door with your new bride?”
He huffed. “I am surprised at you Fenella. You are being far too dramatic.”
“And you sir, are being far too familiar,” Fenella told him loftily. She gazed into the distance. “You should address me correctly as Lady Vawdrey.”
He spluttered at this. “Outrageous, madam! You have the nerve to pretend that you are the injured party in this affair!”
Fenella noticed, that despite his ire, he kept his voice hoarse in an effort that Lady Schaeffer should not hear him. Almost she rolled her eyes. Trust it to Ambrose to twist things around so that he was the one hard done by. She had always known of course, that he was self-pitying at times. But this was a new low. “You petitioned for divorce, without even having the decency to tell me,” she pointed out.
His step faltered at this accusation. She had so very rarely ever gone on the attack with him during their marriage, that this must be an unwelcome and unexpected turn of events for him indeed. She had always been a gentle and conciliating help-meet during their marriage.
“Given time, I would of course, have approached the matter sensitively,” he claimed, tugging on his cloak as if it had become a little tight around his throat. “There was no need whatsoever for you to come to court in such an odiously forward manner! I would probably have written to Gilbert to break the news to you,” he hazarded uncertainly.
“Gil? You think my brother would have broken the news to me tactfully?” Fenella gave a mirthless laugh. She didn’t believe him anyway, not entirely. “In fact, what you mean is that you would have told him to collect me from Thurrold, so you did not have to face me on your return.”
Ambrose’s face flamed and she saw she had hit on nothing but the truth. “You are determined to think the worst of me,” he complained. “Despite the fact that your own actions, are far from above reproach.”
Fen took a steadying breath. “I was always a faithful wife to you,” she said. “And true.”
“Ahah! But were you, madam? Were you? I wish you would tell me so in writing,” he said bitterly.
Fen frowned at him. “I do not think you are in any position to criticize my behavior,” she said frankly.
“So you admit it, then?” he demanded. “That you are complicit in Lord Vawdrey’s attempts to ruin me?”
Fenella’s gaze darted to his in surprise. “Ruin you?” she echoed.
“I do not know what else you would call it,” he said bitterly.
“I do not believe you,” she said simply. “I can see no reason, why one so elevated as Lord Vawdrey should trouble himself to sabotage your career.”
He gasped. “You-” He drew himself up, but then noticed she had left him several steps behind her, as she continued walking.
He hurried to catch her up. “So, you pretend not to be aware that Lord Vawdrey has approached the King, asking him to formally annul our marriage of eight years?” he asked shrilly.
Fen remembered Oswald’s words in the bath and colored faintly. “He did mention something of that nature,” she admitted.
“Spite! Sheer spite,” Ambrose said indignantly.
“Why should you care?” she asked. “You clearly set no store by our vows in any case.”
“Why should I..?” He almost seemed to reel at her words. “I can scarcely believe my ears, you unnatural woman!” he cried. “Perhaps Colleen is right, and you are pouring poison in his ear against me!”
Fenella stopped in her tracks and turned on him. He took a step back at the look on her face. “How dare you sir,” she said, her voice ringing out. “Speak to me, thus. Do you imagine me unprotected? If so, then you are gravely mistaken.”
Sir Ambrose darted an alarmed glance around them. “Keep your voice down!” he implored. Bors was looking from one to the other of them in confusion. He gave an agitated bark.
“My dear Lady Vawdrey, is all well?” asked Lady Schaeffer from in front of them. She had come to a halt.
Fen hesitated, but Ambrose’s agonized expression decided her. “All is well, pray let us continue,” she said calmly. They started off again.
Ambrose was breathing hard through his moustaches. “You must understand, even an ill-educated woman such as yourself, how an annulment, if it is approved, will set me in some considerable financial difficulty.”
Fen’s frown cleared. So, it was not a question of hurt pride or honor, she realized, just money. If they were never married, then he was not entitled to the marriage settlement her father had made on her. “Did the Lady Colleen not come to you sufficiently dowered?” she forced herself to ask calmly. She felt a little numb. Even she was shocked, that she felt so little pain.
Ambrose’s expression struggled with the propriety of such a question. How easily outraged he was, she thought distractedly. Was he always so priggish and judgmental? She had used to think him a kind and decent man. She would use neither word about him now. “Perhaps you rushed into a decision that has had rather more repercussions than you originally envisaged, Sir Ambrose,” she wondered aloud.
“Not at all,” he bridled. “As a divorced wife you would not have had any claim on my estate! I would of course, have given you some small pension and one of the smaller properties to live out your days.” He pondered a moment. “Perhaps Morebrook Farm.”
Fen smiled. “But if we were never legally married, then neither Morebrook Farm or the other properties I bought to you, are yours to grant.” she pointed out gently.
He bridled. “This is outrageous! I am being robbed of what is rightfully mine, in full view of the King! And what’s more, everyone knows it!”
“That must be very lowering for you,” she said dampeningly. “Much like a wife who has been abandoned by an ungrateful spouse.”
He made an explosive exclamation of displeasure.
Fenella twitched her skirts, ignoring him.
“I hope you do not rue the day you threw in your lot with that family,” he sneered. “Their star may be in the ascendency now, but they are not without their own notoriety.”
“I wish you joy of your new in-laws also,” she told him briskly. “Tell me, how do you like having a resident mother-in-law, Ambrose?” she asked sweetly.
His face froze. “For all your faults, I did not think listening to gossip was one of them,” he said icily.
“Gossip? But I have heard no gossip,” she said opening her eyes very wide. “Is all not harmonious in your new household? What a pity!”
“And who’s fault is that?” he asked in an angry undertone. “You have turned my own sister against me! She has been most unwelcoming to Colleen. You have sown discord among my servants and…”
“None of this is true, Ambrose,” she cut across his words. “I did not have time to brief the servants before I left and as for Orla…Your sister was not at all welcoming to me in the early days of our marriage either. I believe you told me to ‘weather it’ at the time.”
He struggled a moment with his response. “I find you sadly changed, Fenella,” he said at last. “You never used to be such a shrew.”
She looked at him critically. “I find you changed also, Ambrose,” she acknowledged. “But I think now,” she pondered. “That I always saw you in an over-generous light. After all, I believed myself to be jilted and left on the shelf when you came along. I was grateful when you married me.” She looked at him, and it almost seemed like she saw him through a fresh pair of eyes: the fussy little moustaches; the pompous bearing; the bandy legs. He really should not wear yellow hose, which served only to accentuate the problem. “But I was not in need of rescuing by you, after all,” she said. “And your financial woes are no longer my concern.” Before he could answer, she called to her friend. “Hester, may I take your arm now?”
Lady Schaeffer halted while Fenella caught her up. She did not look back over her shoulder and she did not take her leave of him. “Bors!” she called, snapping her fingers. Her dog lumbered to her side. After a few moments, Hester Schaeffer squeezed her arm. “He has gone,” she said in a low, conspiratorial voice.
Fenella breathed out a breath she had not even been aware she had been holding. “Thank you for remaining with me.”
His Forsaken Bride (Vawdrey Brothers Book 2) Page 27