“Is he a monk then?” Petra asked, unable to reconcile the image of the carefree young man she’d known as a girl with that of a Franciscan monk, bent over some ancient manuscript as he tried to decipher the words by the flickering light of a candle.
“Don’t be silly, girl. Father Avery is enjoying the hospitality of the monks while he remains in Dunwich. He has grand plans. Hopes to become a bishop one day.”
Is that so? Petra thought bitterly. Avery had been heartbroken when his father pledged him to the church. Obedience, celibacy, and poverty were not something he aspired to, but it seemed that he’d changed his tune. Most clerics were happy enough to be a parish priest. It wasn’t a life of wealth and privilege, but they did hold a place of respect in the community and enjoyed certain benefits if they found a wealthy patron who was willing to offer coin in exchange for absolution and God’s blessing.
Petra never thought of Avery as someone with ambition, but then again, the last time she’d seen him he was only seventeen. He’d been angry and defiant, but most of all, afraid of losing everything he held dear. It seemed that Avery found new ideas to feel passionate about, and chose to make the most of his situation. Petra wouldn’t call it a vocation, since it’d never been Avery’s desire to enter the church and serve God, but for many, a position in the church was more about advancing their own interests rather than serving the Lord or their parishioners.
Petra was distracted from thoughts of Avery by the sound of an opening door, followed by heavy footsteps coming from the antechamber. Lady Blythe insisted that the front door be kept locked throughout the day, so whoever had just entered the house had a key. Petra exhaled in relief. It was probably Robert, come to check on his mother. He’d been to the house the week before, to give Lady Blythe her usual update on the business, despite his brother’s absence. Perhaps this was more of a social call. She turned to Lady Blythe to inform her that she had a visitor, but the old woman nodded off again, her head dipping onto her bosom in slumber.
Petra sat up straight, quickly tucked a stray wisp of hair beneath her barbet, and smoothed down her skirts before reaching for her embroidery. It wouldn’t do to look like she was dawdling while Lady Blythe slept. The door opened softly to reveal Lord Thomas Devon. Petra hadn’t seen him since returning to Lady Blythe’s service and was surprised by how much he’d changed over the past twelve years. Gone was the lanky young man with a mane of dark hair and serious blue eyes. He’d been replaced by a man of late middle years, whose powerful frame nearly filled the shadowed doorframe. Lord Thomas’s temples and beard were liberally silvered with gray, and his eyes narrowed in suspicion as he glared at Petra, making her feel like a fish on a hook.
Petra sprang to her feet and curtseyed to Lord Thomas, wishing all the while that Lady Blythe would awake and explain Petra’s presence in the house, but she slept on, snoring loudly enough to wake the dead. Lord Thomas motioned for Petra to follow him, and she obeyed, walking behind him on silent feet toward the dining hall. This room was considerably brighter, since Nan had just lit a brace of candles in preparation for Lady Blythe’s supper. Lord Thomas turned to face Petra. In the past, he’d favored simple, comfortable garments, but now his dress proclaimed his elevated position. There were stringent laws in place, detailing which fabrics and furs each class was permitted to wear to make their station obvious. A man in Lord Thomas’s position could wear the very best, being of noble birth and high standing.
This evening, Lord Thomas wore a traveling cloak of midnight blue, trimmed with miniver and adorned with a silver clasp decorated with gemstones. Beneath, his clothes were just as fine, made of rich velvet and the softest leather. Lord Thomas shrugged off his cloak and draped it over a chair as he studied Petra, his brow furrowed. His gaze was as serious as Petra recalled from before, but there were new lines etched into his face, the grooves bracketing his mouth being the most obvious. Lord Thomas didn’t look like a man who smiled often. Petra recalled her recent conversation with Robert as she stared at her toes. Robert should have kept his counsel and respected his brother’s privacy, but he’d always been something of a gossip and couldn’t resist taking a stab at his earnest older brother.
“Those two just never got on,” Robert confided in Petra, referring to Thomas and Mildred. “Cold and ill-tempered she was, refusing Thomas her affections more often than not. She’d birthed two stillborn boys and then bore Thomas a daughter. After that, the marriage bed had grown cold. Covered with a quilt of cobwebs,” Robert had confided to Petra with a wicked smile. “Tis a sad thing to say about a woman so recently deceased, but I think my brother was glad to see the last of her. Miserable, she made him. No man should dread coming home to his hearth, not even one as humorless as my brother,” Robert added.
“And what of his daughter?” Petra asked, curious what type of child such a marriage produced. Her own children were a product of a loveless marriage, but they were kind and compassionate, unlike their father. Perhaps Lord Thomas’s daughter was the same.
“Just like her mother, by all accounts, in looks as well as temperament. I don’t see much of her. Thomas had arranged a marriage for Tanith last year. She agreed readily enough. He’s a good catch, her husband, and as much of a cold fish as she is, apparently. Married nearly a year and no sign of a babe in her belly. They probably perform their marital duties once a month during a full moon, if it falls on a Tuesday,” Robert added, making Petra giggle. “I think Tanith will start leaving offerings to the Pagan goddess of fertility soon if she doesn’t conceive. When one god fails, you try another. I hear her father-in-law is none too pleased with her, the old rogue. Sired eight sons in his day, some of them born just months apart, if you get my meaning. But we don’t speak of such things.”
Robert really did have a vicious tongue, always had, but he spoke the truth, which one heard so rarely. Had Robert been poor and without influence, he likely would have been accused of blasphemy by now and been punished for his sins, but Robert always landed on his feet, like a cat. He might have favored his mother in looks, but his personality was that of his father, who spent his youth carousing and fornicating with other women. There were several young men in Dunwich who bore a striking resemblance to the late Lord Devon, and a few young women as well. Lord Devon looked after all his children, ensuring that their mothers, most of whom were already wed by the time he lay with them, suffered no ill-effects from their association with him.
Robert was faithful to his wife, but that didn’t stop him from flirting with any attractive woman who happened to be in his path, and Petra was no exception. She enjoyed his visits, but never took anything Robert said seriously. She didn’t expect the reunion with Lord Thomas to be quite as pleasant, if his scowl was anything to go by. Petra raised her eyes to Lord Thomas, recognizing the need for an introduction, when a spark of recognition finally lit up his eyes.
“Petra, it’s good to see you again. I was sorry to hear of your husband’s passing,” Lord Thomas said. “I do hope my mother is treating you well.”
“Thank you, Lord Thomas, she is,” Petra replied truthfully.
“How are you managing?” he asked, surprising Petra with the unflinching honesty of the question. No one asked her that. No one cared enough to. She was just another widow, left to fend for herself and support her family as best she could.
“We’re getting by,” Petra replied. The fact that she was back in his mother’s household was answer enough. A life of wifely duty had been replaced by a life of subservience. At least Lady Blythe no longer beat her.
“And your children?” Lord Thomas went on, watching her intently.
“They are well, lord. Thank you for asking.”
“Have you secured an apprenticeship for your son? He’s nearly twelve, is he not?”
“Ah, yes.”
“When’s supper?” Lady Blythe demanded as she shuffled into the room, saving Petra from answering. She’d been about to lie, but had been spared from having to be dishonest. Petra breathed
a sigh of relief and swept from the room under the pretense of checking on supper. It had to be ready by now.
“Nan, please serve the mistress and Lord Devon,” Petra instructed the servant. “They’re ready to dine.”
“Right away,” Nan replied. She’d been dozing by the hearth, her head lolling from side to side when Petra walked in. That girl was as lazy as a cat, always finding a warm place to sleep. In the old days, her back would have been striped more often than not, but Lady Blythe had mellowed with age, forgiving domestic negligence that she would never have overlooked in years past. Perhaps she’d been less tolerant then because of her husband’s ways, taking out her frustration on her servants, since she could hardly whip her husband or the women who warmed his bed.
Chapter 15
Petra helped herself to some mutton and a slice of bread and sat down to eat in the kitchen. She would normally eat with her mistress, but Lady Blythe hadn’t invited her, and Lord Devon would wish to speak with his mother privately. She felt relieved at not having to answer his questions. Why did everyone ask after Edwin? Why were they so concerned with his future? She supposed it was a natural question to ask about a boy who was on the verge of becoming a man, but Edwin’s future was a sore subject for her, and she tended to overreact.
And she was tired. She’d spent the day seeing to menial tasks that were really Nan’s responsibility, but the girl was asleep on her feet, burning the loaves of bread and nearly setting the hem of her skirt on fire. Petra changed the linens on Lady Blythe’s bed, washed her chemise and woolen stockings, hung them to dry in front of the kitchen fire, and took out the chamber pot that Nan should have emptied out first thing in the morning, but hadn’t. She’d have to have a talk with Nan first thing tomorrow. At least the mutton wasn’t overcooked, or maybe she was just too hungry to notice. It’d been hours since the midday meal, which had been just broth and bread. Lady Blythe ate sparingly throughout the day, saving her appetite for supper, but Petra, who woke much earlier and expended more energy throughout the day, needed more food to sustain her. She looked around to make sure no one was watching and sliced off another sliver of mutton, hastily stuffing it inside the bread to make sure no one was the wiser. Lady Blythe wouldn’t miss it, but it would make a difference to Petra, who was still hungry.
Petra was grateful when it was time to go home. Her spirits were low, and she wished only for an hour with her children and her bed. She would have liked to just slip out the door, but it would be rude not to bid Lady Blythe and Lord Devon a good night. Petra knocked on the door of the parlor and entered. Lady Blythe must have retired, but Lord Devon sat by the dying fire, a cup of hippocras in his hand. He set aside the cup and rose to his feet, walking toward Petra, his expression unreadable. Perhaps he wished to reprimand her for something, or maybe just to wish her a good night. Lord Thomas took the cloak from Petra and draped it gallantly over her shoulders, fastening the clasp as he looked down at her. He wasn’t that much taller than Petra, so their faces were close, their gazes locked.
“May I walk you home?” Lord Thomas asked, taking Petra utterly by surprise.
“Really, there’s no need, lord,” Petra replied, but Lord Thomas was already donning his own cloak.
“There’s every need,” he replied. Had Robert said that, Petra would have smiled and conceded, but Thomas looked so solemn that Petra felt irrationally nervous and eager to get away from him.
They walked in silence for a few minutes, enjoying the fresh air. It smelled of coming snow and wood smoke. The sky was clear, strewn with bright stars that lit their way. All the windows were already shuttered, narrow shafts of light escaping through the cracks and striping the road. Petra could hear the sea, the waves swelling and rolling onto the beach as they’d done for eternity. The ships were nothing more than black smudges against the sky, bobbing gently and creaking like tired old men. Normally, she half-ran, frightened of being out alone, but tonight she felt safe, if not completely at ease. Petra was groping for something to say when Lord Thomas finally spoke, surprising her with the softness of his voice.
“I intended to return sooner, but stayed away once I found out my mother had given you a position in the household.”
“Why? Have I done something to offend you, lord?” Petra asked, wondering if he was about to dismiss her on his mother’s behalf. Now that he was back, he would be her companion, at least until the spring, when he would be off again, buying newly-shorn fleeces and searching for new suppliers for his ever-expanding wool empire. Robert liked to remain close to home, but Thomas, no longer encumbered by a family, enjoyed his travels and went farther afield every time in search of new prospects. Or so Lady Blythe had said.
“No, not at all,” Lord Thomas rushed to reassure her. “It’s just that I was very fond of you when you were a girl,” he said. Petra couldn’t see his expression in the darkness, but he sounded as if he were blushing with embarrassment. As well he should be, Petra thought with indignation. When she worked for Lady Blythe twelve years ago, Thomas was newly married to Lady Mildred, God rest her soul, and had no business being ‘fond’ of anyone, save his wife, no matter how uncomely or unpleasant she happened to be. Of course, Petra could hardly voice her thoughts or say anything to offend Lord Thomas, so she said the next best thing.
“And I was fond of you. And Lord Robert, of course,” she added hastily, so as not to give Thomas the wrong impression. That was pure poppycock, of course, since as a lowly servant she didn’t so much as speak to the sons of the house without being spoken to first, but what was she supposed to say? They had been kind to her, that was true, but that was just their nature, especially Robert’s. Petra never attributed their kindness to any personal feeling.
“Petra, I’ve fulfilled my duty to my family. I married a woman of their choosing and was a dutiful husband to her, despite the fact that I never grew to care for her. She’s gone now, and I’m free to follow my heart.”
Dear God, what is he talking about? Petra’s mind screamed. She moved away from him, ever so slightly, suddenly very uncomfortable with where the conversation was heading.
“I’m sure any woman would be lucky to have you,” she mumbled awkwardly.
“Would you think yourself lucky to have me?” Thomas asked.
“Lord Devon, I don’t think your mother would approve of this conversation,” Petra said, hoping he’d get the hint and be quiet, or better yet, return home and let her walk on in peace.
“I don’t much care if my mother approves. I’m a grown man, and I’ll be damned if I allow myself to be dictated to again. I will give my future wife a comfortable life, and will look after her children, if she has any,” he added, implying that the future of her children might be uppermost in Petra’s mind. It was, but she couldn’t imagine that Thomas was seriously referring to her, making the whole point moot. Perhaps he was drunk and wouldn’t remember any of this come morning, which would be the most desirable outcome, since it would spare them both awkwardness.
“That’s very kind of you, lord. Your future wife is a lucky woman,” Petra replied, hoping he’d think her obtuse and change the subject.
Thomas turned to face Petra and took her by the shoulders, forcing her to look at him. “Petra, don’t pretend to misunderstand my meaning. I’m not making you an offer of marriage, not yet, but I would like permission to pay you court. My intentions are honorable, and I would like nothing more than to show you that I can make you happy, if you give me a chance.”
“Lord Devon,” Petra began, but Thomas interrupted her.
“Please, call me Thomas. I much prefer it. There’s no need for titles between us.”
Petra nodded. He was lowering himself to her level, so as not to make her feel intimidated or beholden to him, and she appreciated his sensitivity. It would be churlish to refuse.
“Thomas, I lost my husband less than three months ago. I’m still grieving,” Petra lied. “I am flattered by your interest, but I need time,” she pleaded, hoping that woul
d put him off for a little while. She wasn’t against Thomas paying court to her, but she’d been taken completely by surprise and needed to think on his offer. Lady Blythe would not be pleased by her son’s interest in her companion. Thomas was wealthy and titled, and she was the poor widow of a shipbuilder. She wasn’t worthy of him, and he would see that given time. She wished to spare him the embarrassment of having to withdraw his attentions, and needed to retain her position in Lady Blythe’s household. She couldn’t afford to risk her livelihood; her family depended on her.
Chapter 16
“Grieving?! Need time?!” Maude exclaimed, her eyebrows virtually disappearing beneath her headpiece. “Are you mad, girl? When a man like Lord Devon shows an interest, you let him know, without being too forward of course, that you are his for the taking. What do you think will happen to you once his mother dies? You will be back where you started, only older and less desirable. I wanted to insinuate you into Lady Blythe’s household in the hope that you might catch the eye of an eligible man. Well, you’ve caught the eye of the most eligible one of all, and he doesn’t even have children for you to raise. Just think what this could mean for you, Petra.”
“Mother, with all due respect, I’m simply not ready to marry again, especially to a man I hardly know. I’m sure Thomas is a good man, but he’s considerably above me in wealth and station. He will regret his choice, and take his anger out on me,” Petra replied, fervently wishing that she hadn’t shared her conversation with Thomas with her mother. Of course, Maude was right to some degree, and Petra would have given her own daughter similar advice, but the thought of being owned by a man once again scared Petra into caution. She worried about the future, worked long hours to put food on the table, and barely saw her children, but at least no one beat her if the mood took them or if they had a difficult day, or rode her until she was sore and bleeding. Thomas was a big man, like Cyril, a man who had the power to hurt her badly if he chose to do so. She didn’t think him a brutal man, but no one really knew what went on between a husband and wife behind closed doors.
The Forgotten (Echoes from the Past Book 2) Page 8