His Forsaken Bride (Vawdrey Brothers Book 2)

by Alice Coldbreath

  “Now don’t be cross,” begged Bess. “It doesn’t suit you. And besides, I never did sit for one. You can see the one of Padraig, if you like” she added generously, seeing Fen wasn’t quite appeased. “He did him very life-like.”

  “Well, I just hope he has done Bors justice,” said Fen. “Or my brother-in-law will be sure to take issue with it.”

  “Bors?” repeated Bess with a frown, eyeing Fen’s dog. “Is he supposed to be in it?”

  “Don’t tell me he’s missed him out!” said Fen. “Oh, that really is too much! I was quite specific!”

  “Well, I’m no artist,” said Bess. “But wouldn’t he look a bit well… odd in that composition?”

  “I don’t see what’s odd about it,” retorted Fen. “He sat quite happily at my feet for hours in the Long Gallery. Signor Arnotti certainly had ample opportunity to capture his likeness, and so I will tell him if he has forgotten to include him!”

  “Well, I’m sure you know what you’re about,” said Bess with a shrug. “Benedict said patrons are usually dissatisfied about something or other. Tell me,” she said turning impulsively and seizing Fen’s gloved hand. “What do you think of him?”

  “Well,” started Fen weakly, for she was taken aback by Bess’ earnest expression. “I can’t really form an opinion until I’ve seen an example of his work. Lady Eden said he was most accomplished and-”

  “Not as an artist,” entreated Bess. “As a man!”

  Fen blinked. In the few strained exchanges she had had with signor Arnotti, she had gained the impression of an unpredictable and impatient man with beetling brows and a mop of hair that stood on end on his head from where he tugged it distractedly as he worked. She had a feeling this impression would not go down well with Bess.

  “No,” said Bess holding up one finger. “Do not water it down, but speak plain, I beg you.”

  “We-ell,” started Fen helplessly, “I’ve barely had much speech with him. And when we did it was mostly just me asking for permission to move, or take a break. Or him demanding that I sit still or turn my head, or stop turning my head.”

  To her surprise Bess looked rather gratified by this. “He does not pay you any out of the way compliments?” she asked hesitantly.

  Fen blinked again. She could imagine nothing less likely from the grouchy painter. “Definitely not!”

  “Such as how you are the first sensible woman he has met in this country, or how much he likes your forthright manner of speech?”

  “No. He has never paid me a compliment of any kind,” answered Fen truthfully.

  Bess sighed. “Thank you,” she said, a gratified expression on her face, that quite threw Fen. She could barely get any more than two words strung together after that from her usually garrulous friend and their return journey to the castle was mostly undertaken in silence.

  After parting ways Fen made her way back to their corridor, deeply worried. Surely her friend was not in danger of forming some unsuitable kind of attachment? She had no idea of Bess’s family set up. Had she no brother or kinsmen to guard her from fortune-hunters? After all, a wealthy woman with connections like Bess must have someone looking out for her. Though truth be told, it was hard to think of signor Arnotti as some kind of seducer of noblewomen. Surely fortune-hunters took pains to make themselves a lot more agreeable than the rather uncouth artist? The compliments Bess had mentioned were hardly fulsome. Perhaps she was over-thinking things. Mayhap Bess had just been enjoying a little male company in a harmless sort of way?

  **

  It was perhaps not surprising that Fen was distracted at supper. Oswald did not appear until the table was laid, and he only had chance to kiss her cheek briefly before they were all seated and the food dished up. The meal was game pie, stewed leeks and onions which none of the children, including Cuthbert seemed to like. Meg pushed hers around her bowl until the gravy dripped over the side and Lily shed a tear when her father told her sternly to eat it. Fen noticed with interest that he undermined this almost immediately by setting her on his lap and sending Gertie down to the kitchen to fetch bread and cheese for them instead.

  “The girls are tired,” said Linnet apologetically. “They’ve had a long day today.” Little Archie was being tended to by Nan over by the fire and was contented with his lot for once.

  “How did it go with the Queen?” asked Fen.

  “Oh, she was very gracious with them,” said Linnet, lowering her voice. “Only, it is a little tedious for small children to sit still for so long.”

  Fen nodded, she could well believe it.

  “Queen Armenal did ask me several questions pertaining to you, Fenella,” her sister-in-law told her complacently.

  Fen nearly dropped her spoon. “She did?” She darted a look over at her husband, but he was listening intently to something Mason was telling him.

  “You have not spent much time in her company it seems?” said Linnet, looking puzzled. “I had thought- what with Oswald’s position at court…” she broke off awkwardly.

  “Oswald does want me to try to ingratiate myself with the Queen,” admitted Fen. “Alas, I have not managed to impress her overmuch so far.”

  Linnet seemed to relax a little at her words. “But you would like to,” she said with visible relief. “That is the important thing.”

  Fen nodded. “At first, I did not expect to spend much time at court,” she confessed. “My husband told me that I would find little change in my day-to-day life.”

  Linnet looked startled at this. “I do not quite follow?”

  “As I would be going back to Sitchmarsh,” she explained. “Where I’m from, and where Vawdrey Keep is situated.”

  “Oh, I see,” said Linnet, still not looking convinced. “I have never journeyed there, but from things Mason has said, I understand it is in some considerable state of disrepair.”

  “Yes,” agreed Fen. “And Oswald now seems to have some reservations about its suitability for his seat in the country.”

  “I have heard him say, that he meant to pull it to the ground and rebuild,” murmured Linnet, glancing at the three brothers. “But I have never repeated that, as I do not know how everyone would react to so radical a course of action.”

  “He has never discussed such plans with me,” said Fen truthfully. Her eye rested a moment on her husband who appeared to be listening to a question from one of his nieces.

  “Perhaps it was just a passing thought,” suggested Linnet.

  “Perhaps,” muttered Fen, dropping her gaze as he looked up to find her watching him.

  “I was impressed,” said Linnet in a sudden change of subject “To see how much you have drawn the little Martindale out of her shell. I have never seen her look so animated. Or speak so much.”

  Fen nodded, but before she could make a reply, a trencher of bread and cheese clattered down on the table before them. The children cheered, and plates were hastily shoved away as the loaf was torn into.

  “More pie for me,” said Roland, happily scraping the contents from the abandoned plates onto his own.

  The girls were yawning, long before a cake covered in a layer of nuts was brought in for the after-dinner course. Linnet disappeared briefly while they were put to bed, but by the time Fenella had cut slices for the adults she had reappeared, and the two of them retired to the window-seat together to eat theirs whilst the Vawdrey males remained around the table.

  “Let us leave them to it,” suggested Linnet. “Whilst we have a cosy chat.”

  Fen plumped a cushion and leant back. In truth, she had not much appetite for the cake, but she was keen to elicit some advice from Linnet, as to moving in royal circles.

  She soon found that it was not about court that Linnet wished to converse, but surprisingly, about their father-in-law and the promises he had wrung from her on his death bed.

  “I have been so worried,” confessed Linnet. “For when someone is on their death-bed, you do not feel you have the right to deny them what they ask of you,
however unreasonable. And poor Father was so very insistent about Oswald, though he was rambling at one point and I found it quite hard to follow. It seemed he considered him to be quite promised to someone, but when I asked Mason, he said Father had promised Oswald in marriage to dozens of girls over the years, so I was quite stumped.”

  Something stung Fenella into speaking. “He meant his first betrothal. That is the one Baron Vawdrey thought was still valid. The one agreed with my father, Sir Jeoffrey Bernard.”

  Linnet’s eyes widened, and she sat bolt upright. “Yes!” she said. “Bernard! That was the name he spoke of! I had forgotten it until now. Wait! Do not tell me that you are ‘the little Bernard girl’, of whom he spoke?”

  Fen nodded. “Though it is a long time since anyone addressed me as such.”

  Linnet leapt out of her chair. “But this is wonderful!” she exclaimed, her face aglow. “It means everything Father wanted has come to pass. Well, almost everything,” she amended. “Except Roland.” She clapped her hands to her face. “And it all happened by itself! Oh, how thankful I am!” She surged forward and clasped Fen’s upper arms. “Welcome sister,” she kissed Fen on both cheeks.

  “Thank you,” stammered Fen.

  “I do hope you will not hold it against me that I tried to play the match-maker for Oswald,” said Linnet in sudden dismay. “Indeed, I was never proficient in the role and Oswald told me himself, that he and my friend Enid Jauncey were not remotely suited!”

  “Of course not,” Fen hurried to assure her, ignoring a pang. Enid, who?

  “If I had known that he was already married, I never would have dreamed of such a thing!“

  “Oh, I’m sure.”

  “But what a stroke of good fortune, that your marriage turned out to be legally valid,” Linnet rattled on. “That must have been why Father was so fixated on Oswald’s marital standing. He must have wanted things set to rights.”

  Fen was starting to feel awkward. In an effort to distract Linnet, Fen asked. “But what was it that Baron Vawdrey wished you to do about Roland?”

  Linnet’s face fell. “Oh that. Well,” she looked around furtively. “Well, Father said ‘Whatever you do, Linnet, do not allow that rascal Roland to marry some fool girl with more hair than sense. I won’t have him saddling my poppets with a litter of idiot cousins.” Though how he expected me to prevent it, I do not know!” She looked aggrieved. “And Mason won’t even enter into any discussion about it, for he says it’s all a piece of nonsense and I should put it from my mind.”

  Fen pulled a sympathetic face, though to be honest, she thought brusque Mason had a valid point. Trying to get Roland to do anything would be an uphill battle. Trying to prevent him from doing something, would probably be even harder.

  Fen retired not long after. It had been a long day and she felt surprisingly exhausted. However, once she had climbed under the covers sleep eluded her. Worry crept into her mind - that confounded play, Bess’s strange behavior. She rolled first onto one side and then the other, but found she could not settle. She was lying flat on her back with the sheet over her face, when she heard the door open and close again. Lying quietly, she listened to her husband undress and wash. She was just considering folding down the blanket to speak, when she felt the covers draw back and the mattress dip. Oswald reached for her in the dark and drew her against his warm body. With a sigh, Fen rolled into him and felt herself relax against his solid form. His hand rested at her waist, in a light clasp. Even the sound of his breathing was comforting. Fen felt her eyes drift shut as sleep washed over her. Just before all was dark, she fancied she felt his lips brush her brow, and smiled.

  **

  Again, when she awoke her husband had already left for the day.

  Trudy was laying out her clothes for the morning. “I hope I didn’t wake you, milady.”

  “Not at all, I have sadly overslept the hour,” Fen said, flinging back the bedcovers. “What o’clock is it?” She was supposed to sit for another four hours that morning, she remembered joylessly and cursed the day she had ever agreed to have a portrait painted. Whoever would have thought it would be so onerously time-consuming? Surely it would be soon finished now? Even Bess thought so, and she seemed something of an expert these days.

  “The clock has not long struck nine,” Trudy replied, crossing the room to fling open a trunk.

  Fen hurried to the washstand. “Did you see Lord Vawdrey, before he left?” She had barely spoken to him yesterday, she thought with a pang. It made her uneasy, or mayhap that was just her guilty conscience?

  “No, milady. Uncle said he left at the crack of dawn.”

  “So early?” Fen turned to look over her shoulder as her maid laid out green stockings and red garters for her. It seemed to her that husband had hardly been around the last two days.

  “Everyone’s talking about that business with the northern princess, milady,” said Trudy by way of explanation, and looked around excitedly. “They say, the King do wish he’d married her now, instead of the western Queen.”

  Fen almost dropped her sponge. “Surely not,” she said in a startled voice.

  “That’s what they do say,” said Trudy. “After all, she’s not given him any heirs, have she, Queen Armenal? Not like good Queen Eleanor.” She sighed.

  Fen digested this as ran a dry cloth over her neck and shoulders.

  “Do come over by the fire, my lady. You’re a mass of goose-flesh. I can brush your hair in the warm.”

  Fen drifted over to the fireplace and Trudy attacked her tangles industriously.

  “I wonder why the King does not have his heir at court,” she said aloud. “Is it due to poor health? I had heard the young prince’s constitution is considered delicate like his mother, the old Queen’s.”

  Trudy hesitated. “They do say Queen Armenal is not very maternal,” she said, her mouth thinning with disapproval.

  Fen wondered. It seemed a little hard to blame it on the Queen. “Lady Linnet did say that the Queen was very good with her daughters yesterday.”

  “Oh yes, I daresay,” said Trudy. Her lips pressed firmly together.

  Fen did not want to entertain the idea that Oswald might be involved in drawing up plans to rid the King of his current wife. After all, he had told himself to ingratiate herself with Armenal, had he not? Would he have done that if divorce was imminent? And surely, it was not so easy for a King to divest himself of a Queen, as it was to grant a divorce from a non-royal such as herself?

  “Begging your pardon, milady,” said Trudy who was now swiftly braiding her locks and arranging them. “I did not mean to say aught to offend you.”

  “Oh, you didn’t,” Fen assured her. She remembered Hester’s advice. “Indeed, I am very grateful when you bring me what word is circulating the court. I should be aware of it,” she added with a smile. Trudy looked gratified. “Tell me,” said Fen. “Have your family any plans for the Solstice feast? “

  Trudy launched into an account of her various offspring’s plans to return to the homestead for Solstice Eve as all three were now apprenticed out.

  “Indeed you must have Solstice Eve as well as the day itself for a holiday,” Fen told her firmly.

  “Oh no, milady! Whatever would uncle say?”

  “I am quite determined,” said Fen. “You must have your family celebration together.”

  “Oh milady!” Trudy touched her apron to the corner of her eyes.

  “Yes,” said Fen. “And I have left a small token of my thanks in a purse in the top drawer for you. The yellow one.” Trudy’s eyes widened. Before she could protest, Fen added. “Tis for gifts for your children, and I won’t hear any more about it.”

  Her maid was profuse in her thanks, and Fen thought she would have to write to Orla and send her the scarf she had bought her before long as there was now only a week remaining until the mid-winter festival. She ate a hurried breakfast with only Bors and Cuthbert in attendance. Before hurrying off to meet up with Eden who had promised to si
t with her that morning. Poor Bors could barely keep up with her. To her surprise, it was not Eden who stood waiting for her at the foot of the steps, but instead one of the Queen’s ladies in waiting, whose name quite eluded Fen.

  “Good morning,” she said warily at her approach. Bors gave a low woof.

  “Good morn, Lady Vawdrey,” the blonde curtseyed neatly. She had a very fancy head-veil on that was frilled and pleated. Fen thought it looked rather fussy and overdone. Bors, she ignored completely.

  “Is Lady Eden unable to join me this morning?” Fen asked. She hoped this wasn’t a replacement, as she suspected she would not be easy company.

  “The Queen has sent Eden on some other errand,” the other explained with a delicate yawn.

  “Oh, I see,” said Fen, glad her friend wasn’t ill at least. “Thank you for bringing the message.”

  The other lady gave a high laugh. “I do not run about the palace delivering messages for the likes of Eden Montmayne, I assure you,” she said shrilly.

  Fen eyed her. “You have some other errand?” she asked pointedly.

  The lady inclined her head. “Her majesty awaits you in the Lower Gallery,” she said grandly.

  “What?” Fen nearly tripped on her own hem. “Queen Armenal?”

  “Well, it’s not the King,” said the other with a giggle. “You’re hardly the sort to tickle his fancy.”

  Fen ignored this impertinence, and hurried along to the Lower Gallery where she knew Signor Arnotti would be set up with his paints and easel. Bors followed on her heels, and after turning the last corner, Fen saw the Queen’s tall figure dressed in a flowing gown of burnt orange. She appeared to be in animated conversation with the surly artist and Fen’s heart sank. To her surprise, as she neared them, she noticed the Queen was on the other side of the easel, looking at the work in progress.

  “Good morning, Fenella,” the Queen hailed her, looking from the canvas to her and then back again. “Remarkable,” she murmured. “Quite remarkable. Your vision is such that it quite lifts the subject matter from the mundane to the divine. And yet, it is a true reflection,” she added thoughtfully.