“Good morning, your highness,” she murmured. “Good morning signor,” she said looking at the artist, who wasn’t bristling for once with hostility. Instead he was looking at the Queen with interest.
“I should like to paint you,” he said abruptly.
The Queen laughed delightedly. “But I am not so sure I would care for the experience,” she said. “You are a good deal too honest to be a royal artist.”
Fen shot a look at the artist, but instead of looking chagrined, he was thoughtfully pulling on his moustaches.
“There is truth in what you say,” he conceded, and dismissing her royal presence from his thoughts, he snatched up his brush and glared at Fen. “You – sit!”
Fen cast a look of despair at him before settling herself on the familiar window seat. “Don’t forget Bors,” she said sternly, as her dog settled at her feet with a huff.
The Queen was making her way around the other side of the canvas now to join her. “Wherever did you find such a creature?” she asked, looking intrigued. To Fen’s dismay, she was arranging her skirts to sit down at the window next to hers.
“Eden,” she said simply by way of explanation and the Queen nodded.
“Of course,” she said. “I might have known.”
It was on the tip of Fen’s tongue to ask how she had earned a personal royal visit, but she did not quite dare to voice it. “I am very honored to have you join me this morning, your majesty,” she said instead.
“Yes,” conceded the Queen serenely. “It is not usually my practice to single out individuals in such a way.”
Fen blinked and waited for her to continue, but the Queen was looking around her with interest. “I do not usually venture down here,” she said. “Is it not rather draughty?”
“It can be,” Fen agreed. “I believe there are plans afoot to hang tapestries along the walls once they are completed.”
“Indeed?” the Queen sounded only mildly interested.
“Yes. Eden is in charge of that endeavor also.”
“Such a very intrepid young woman,” said the Queen, with a sigh. “I believe she puts us all to shame.”
“I am doing a panel with Mathilde Martindale,” Fen carried on. “We are planning roses intertwined with lilies and a border with cowslips.”
“I am sure that my good Lady Doverdale will insist on adding some improving text to this feast of flowers,” she said, with only a trace of gentle cynicism.
“She will find that difficult, not being consulted,” said Fen outrageously. As soon as she’d said it, she felt her face flood with color. Why had she said that?
To her relief the Queen burst out laughing. “And there it is,” said the Queen triumphantly. “The spark that I did not detect. I knew I must have overlooked something or you would not have so captivated one such as Lord Vawdrey. But perhaps you were deliberately pretending to be so dull when I met you that time?”
Fen struggled to make a reply to so rude a question. “I – er, no. Not intentionally, your highness. I was very overset at the time. Being thrown over by my first – I mean, by Sir Ambrose Thane.”
The Queen nodded. “Ah yes, I had perhaps overlooked the effects of abandonment on your temperament.”
Fen tried not to bristle, but it was hard. She looked sidelong at the Queen and wondered if she was being deliberately offensive. But she did not think she was.
“Of course, you could not have loved so inconsequential a man,” she said casually. “But one does get used to the status quo, I suppose.”
Again, Fen struggled with her reply. “At the time, I thought I was fond of him,” she said awkwardly. “Of Thurrold Manor, my home of those years, I was very attached.”
The Queen nodded. “Yes, naturally,” she said with more sympathy. “I still miss the home of my youth,” she sighed. “But I doubt I will ever visit it again. The truce between my brother Wilhelm and Wymer has been transitory at best.”
Fen suddenly thought of Trudy’s words that morning. If Wymer ever divorced Queen Armenal, would she be permitted to return to the Western Isles? It was possible King Wilhelm of the Western Isles would declare war at such an insult. She bit her lip. Were these the kind of things that Oswald had always to contend with, she wondered faintly? How hard it must be! It dawned on her that Queen Armenal was looking at her again with frank interest.
“I have always found the Vawdreys to be a family most interesting,” she said. “Mason, the middle son was very much in the mold of his father. And the youngest son too, Sir Roland, I would say is very much of the same impression. But,” she said, tapping her chin thoughtfully. “Lord Vawdrey, he is how you say – a different kettle of fish?”
“Yes, I should say he is,” agreed Fen. He was superior in every way, to her mind.
“This is what dismayed the old Baron,” said the Queen, nodding to herself. “Mark my words. He would want his heir to be the chip off the old block.”
Fen brooded on this. “He’s tall and dark,” she objected. “Like his brothers.”
Armenal pursed her lips thoughtfully. “That he is, both. And yet, I believe it was not so much the physical resemblance I meant as much as the temperament. Sir Mason and Sir Roland they are forceful and brusque. A thought enters their heads and they give voice to it. Loudly and with conviction.”
Fen had not known either brother for long, but she could already see this was nothing but the truth. “But why should the old baron not want Oswald for his heir?” she asked, returning to their discussion. “He’s clever, everyone says so! And handsome…” Her words trailed off. In her view, he was by far the handsomest, though all the maidens swooned over Roland.
“Yes, he is all those things,” agreed the Queen. “But stubborn old men like to see their own reflections in their children. Oswald is something of a changeling, is he not? Cut from the different cloth. He is quiet, thoughtful. Baron Vawdrey did not know what this eldest son of his was thinking. And at times,” she held up a finger. “He has the very real suspicion that this son and heir is far cleverer than he is. This makes him uneasy. He likes to think that he alone knows best.”
Fen thought of that Solstice feast so long ago, when the Baron had addressed all the hall and called his nineteen year old son ‘a fine young peacock’ to the amusements of his guests. Had his father always tried to put him down in public? Her chest ached. “He should have been proud his son was smarter than he,” she muttered.
“Perhaps deep down, he was,” replied the Queen. “But the Baron was not the sort of man who liked to parade such emotions. Emotions in his book, they were for the women. I understand he mellowed a great deal in later life,” she added.
This seemed true enough, from all that Linnet had told her. Fen brightened, remembering that Oswald himself had told her the Baron would approve of her restored place at his side. She remembered too, the gold coins he had sent her and what Oswald had said about them standing under a sacred oak.
“It is so interesting, is it not” said the Queen in a change of subject. “How sometimes the unlikeliest matches seem to work out a good deal more successfully than ones you would anticipate?”
Fen thought about this. “I can think of no examples,” she admitted after a moment. Back home in Sitchmarsh, imprudent marriages most often ended in unhappy lives.
“Well, take your own husband,” suggested the Queen. “Lord Oswald Vawdrey.”
Fen’s heart missed a beat. “Yes?” she croaked.
“Until now, I would have imagined him ideally matched with some cool-headed, composed type. Such as Lady Anne Sumner.”
Fen’s heart plunged down to her slippered feet. “Really?”
“Rather a bloodless beauty, nothing really ruffles her. Have you met?”
“Yes,” agreed Fen without enthusiasm. “I understand she is already married,” she said rather pointedly.
The Queen’s smile widened. “So she is,” she agreed.
“And – if you’ll permit me to say so, your majesty,” said
Fen feeling a blush rise up her neck. “I don’t think they would suit one another. Not at all.”
Queen Armenal looked slyly amused. “I am sure you are in the right of it,” she said gravely. “I am merely telling you of the impression I gained, erroneously it now seems.”
Fen nodded, but still felt put out.
“I was never convinced that Helen Cecil would have suited him,” continued the Queen. “That was just a foolish notion of Wymer’s.”
“Helen Cecil?” repeated Fen blankly. She had met her too and not particularly liked her. “But isn’t she-?” she broke off her words in sudden embarrassment. “Oh, your majesty-” she stammered. “I-I meant-”
“You’re right of course,” said the Queen with supreme indifference. “She is the King’s latest mistress.” She shrugged. “He has these peccadilloes, but they never last particularly long. She is quite witless after all, and I daresay he thought she would be restful company.”
Fen thought of Helen Cecil’s lovely but haughty face. “I do not think she would be remotely restful to be around,” she answered without thinking.
The Queen laughed. “You are in the right of it,” she agreed. “In fact, she is rather stupid, but thinks herself to be the sophisticated lady. If he had the taste to take a woman of character, then I would worry. But he would never have the wit to take up with a woman such as yourself.”
Fen sat in astonishment at the Queen’s casual tone and the fact she thought her a woman of character. “But, don’t you-” she started tentatively. “Doesn’t it ever-?” Fen hurriedly broke off her words. She had almost forgotten herself.
“Ask me,” commanded the Queen. “For I can tell you were about to say something interesting.”
“Don’t you mind – about the King, I mean,” asked Fenella awkwardly. “Taking mistresses?”
The Queen settled back comfortably on her cushion. “I would only mind if he chose someone cleverer than me,” she admitted frankly. “You see? I take you as my confessor. I am quite honest with you.”
Looking at the Queen’s lively face and sly eyes, Fen doubted the King would ever find such a lady.
“I am not built for love,” continued the Queen matter-of-factly. “It is best to know these things about oneself from the outset. I like to observe the dance, and pull on the strings to make the puppets perform their steps. Do you understand?”
Fen wasn’t sure that she did. It wasn’t the nicest image. And she had seen the Queen dance with grace and beauty in the banqueting hall. But she knew dimly that was not what Armenal meant.
“And I am always very careful to be oh-so-kind and polite to Bathilde,” continued the Queen with a mirthless smile. “She is the only woman to inspire devotion of the unwavering in the King’s bosom. You have met Bathilde?”
“Bathilde?” Foggily Fen’s memory churned, recalling the King’s bedchamber. Wait! “Was she the elderly lady-?”
“With the face of the sheep? Yes,” said Armenal snapping her fingers. “She is the only woman to really hold his heart. The nursemaid. You see, at one time, she slapped his fingers and wiped the tears. Little Wymer, the budding despot, he respects this alone and will love her until the day he dies.” The Queen sat back in her seat with a satisfied nod.
“Is it really true she still puts him to bed every night?” asked Fen in disbelief.
“No, of course not,” said Armenal dismissively. “But she is the only one permitted to wake him every morning. You may be sure, I buy her the biggest present every midwinter and on her birthday in the June. That way, if he should ever take it in his head to mutter the bad things about me in his private chambers…” she trailed off her words.
“Bathilde would scold him?” suggested Fen.
“She would give him the look most severe! That is all it takes. You think these flibbertigibbets, they have the sense to buy the present for the old nursemaid?”
Fen shook her head.
“Not at all,” said the Queen. “They would scorn to look upon her. All they respect is youth and beauty. They think this is the only path to power. They are all just fools.”
Fen nodded, impressed.
“You see that one up there?” she said nodding to the top of the corridor where every so often her lady in waiting drifted into view. “She was one such, very briefly.”
Fen sucked in a breath. “But, why do you have her for a lady-in-waiting?”
The Queen arched a sardonic eyebrow at her. “Not by choice, I can assure you, but eventually I will prune these cankered roses out of my retinue. Of that you can be assured. Even now, I have, how would you say, an inner circle? My trusted ladies. They occupy the better positions. I would not expect them to trot after me and to wait in cold corridors while I chat,” she added contemptuously. “Like the watchdog.”
“Would Lady Doverdale be considered one of your inner circle?” suggested Fenella.
“Yes, and your sister-in-law, the Duchess of Cadwallader,” agreed the Queen.
“I see,” said Fen.
“Which brings me to my next point,” said Queen Armenal easily. “How would you like to attend an afternoon of entertainments tomorrow in the Yellow Chamber? It will be presided over by myself, and our mutual friend Lady Eden will be leading the dance.”
Fen gulped. It did not escape her notice, that she was being given a royal invitation to the event. Perhaps she had somehow won the Queen over, despite her awkwardness and the fact she had nearly put her foot in it at least twice! “It would not involve my actually dancing would it?” she asked nervously. Sadly, Fenella knew herself to possess two left feet.
The Queen shook her head. “It is only those poor unmarried creatures who are required to dance for the entertainment of others,” she said sagely.
“Then I would be delighted,” she said for she had not made plans other than another wretched sitting for signor Arnotti in the morning. It would be good to catch up with Eden also, for she could find out if her letter had been successfully forwarded to the playwright.
“Good,” said the Queen rising up from her seat. “I shall look for you there, Lady Vawdrey.”
Fenella hastily stood and sank into a deep curtsey. Bors sat up on his haunches and yawned. The Queen smiled at them both and drifted back up the corridor. She watched her for a moment until signor Arnotti cleared his throat quite violently.
“Your pardon,” said Fen with dignity and returned to her seat.
**
“Is it true that the King wanted you to marry Helen Cecil?” Fen asked her husband at supper. Everyone had seemed to be in the midst of their own conversations until she spoke, but now suddenly all eyes were on them.
Oswald put his knife down carefully and looked her straight in the eye. “Where did you hear that?” he asked.
Fen didn’t see any point in beating around the bush. “From Queen Armenal,” she answered.
He paused a moment. “The King never asked me at any time to marry Lady Helen Cecil.” He said it with an air of finality, but Fen could immediately see the weakness of the answer.
“But did he want you to?” she persisted.
Oswald frowned. “I’m not a mind reader Fenella,” he said. “And I can assure you, I have never had any private conversation, or even met with Helen Cecil in public, to my knowledge. I wouldn’t even recognize her if I did.”
That was rather more reassuring, and she relaxed back against the back of her seat.
“Politician’s answer, if I ever I heard one,” scoffed Roland. “What you should have asked him was, ‘to your knowledge did the King ever want you to marry Helen Cecil?’”
Oswald directed a look at him that silenced him, and the rest of the table.
Mason cleared his throat, “I hear the Mayburys will be returning to court ere long,” he began, and Linnet backed him up by exclaiming an interest in this piece of news.
Fen leaned forward in her seat so there was less space between herself and her husband. “Did you, um – ever think that Lady Sumn
er might make you a very good sort of wife?” she asked in a rush.
Once again, the rest of the table went into profound silence and all the heads turned their way. Fen turned scarlet.
“Need I remind you that Lady Sumner is a married woman?” said Oswald cuttingly. “And has been for several years now.”
Fen clutched her goblet hard between her fingers. “But her husband is ever so old,” she pointed out with determination.
“I have no interest in the marital status of Lady Sumner,” he answered her after a couple of heartbeats. “Was it also the Queen who put this into your head?”
Fen gazed at the bottom of her cup. “She may have mentioned something,” she mumbled distractedly.
“Since when have you been one of Armenal’s cronies?” asked Roland.
Fen was half-inclined to ignore his rude question, but when she looked up everyone was looking at her curiously. “She came and sat with me a while today while I was being painted for my portrait.”
“Did she, indeed?” asked Oswald grimly. “With the express intent of sowing discord into my marriage, or some other aim?”
“Oh, I am sure the Queen did not-” began Linnet anxiously, but Mason reached across and placed a hand over hers. She pressed her lips together and lapsed into silence.
“She didn’t tell me her intent,” said Fen mutinously.
Oswald threw down his napkin and dragged his chair back from the table. To Fen’s surprise he reached across and grabbed her wrist, pulling her up and out of her chair. “Excuse us,” he said shortly. “We will be retiring early.” He strode toward their room, towing Fen in his wake. She cast a look back over her shoulder to see the rest of the family’s eyes trained on them, with varying expressions of surprise or interest.
“My lord-” she started to protest as the door slammed behind them, only to find herself pressed up against it.
“What are you doing?” he asked conversationally.
His Forsaken Bride (Vawdrey Brothers Book 2) Page 37