by Jenny Kane
‘I suppose Robert actually taking his suggestion seriously, rather than just as the insult it was supposed to be, made Richard bitter enough to grab the opportunity to try and frame you for Hugo’s death when Reresby so neatly handed it to him, although he must have known it was impossible.’
‘Why was the suggestion an insult?’ Mathilda felt herself affronted, but she wasn’t sure why. ‘Because you are a tradesman’s daughter. To Richard, that would be a most unsuitable match.’
Mathilda knew Sarah was right, wishing she hadn’t started to secretly contemplate becoming Robert’s wife. She wasn’t quite sure at what point that prospect had grown into an attractive one; but it had to stop. It was obviously simply a folly that the brothers had been happy to use to their advantage. She’d been foolish to think that Robert had become fond of her in return. She was merely someone who’d been useful to him.
‘Why was I sent to Coterel? I’m sure any one of the brothers could have gone to hear that message at Bakewell.’
Sarah sighed, ‘I suspect Eustace thought it would be a little insulting to Nicholas to send a servant. A kidnapped servant at that. It would show the Coterel family exactly how low in the Folvilles’ esteem they stood.’
‘But they are to work together? They’re planning something big, I know they are.’
Two high points of red appeared on Sarah’s cheeks. She spoke as if she was afraid of being overheard. ‘They are. But I have asked to know nothing of the plan. I suggest you curb that natural curiosity of yours in this case, Mathilda. Knowledge like that could get you killed.’19
With her hands on her hips, stalling any further questions Mathilda might have, Sarah turned her mind to the domestic tasks of the day, ‘Now, I think we should keep busy or the lack of sleep from last night will floor us before the day really gets going. Will you attend to the fireplaces properly this time, please?’
Kneeling at the grate of Robert’s bedroom’s fireplace, Mathilda began to pull apart the fire that she’d made up the day before. As they’d never gone to bed the night before, it didn’t need more than a quick sweep, but she wanted time to think, and doing something with her hands while she did so always worked best for Mathilda.
Robert had been gone a long time for someone who was just going to have a word with his brother before he rode back to Leicester. Mathilda could imagine John telling Robert that she was to be kept here as a kitchen hand until every penny of the debt was repaid; or that now she knew that something big was brewing between them and the Coterels, that they’d have to think of a way to dispose of her body …
Mathilda’s stomach churned as each new idea that came into her head concerning her immediate future became more unpleasant. And what of her family? Had Oswin got Matthew and her father to the Coterels in Bakewell? Were they even safe there while Reresby was still at large, or would they end up working for that family, just as she seemed to be working for this one?
She was still on her knees, sweeping up a few dots of stray ash that had fluttered from the chimney flue, when Mathilda had the feeling of being watched. Spinning around on her knees, she found herself looking directly at the lower leg of Robert de Folville, and gasped in surprise, ‘My Lord, you made me jump!’
‘Something that is becoming a habit with us, Mistress Twyford.’ Robert’s eyes danced with a flash of mischief as he held out a hand to help Mathilda to her feet; an amusement that disappeared behind his usual more serious expression once they were face to face.
‘Allward has returned with news from Ingram. Reresby is in custody, he was hiding in the church of Teigh. You were right. It seems the whole thing was an argument that got out of hand. He was expecting my brother to come with clean clothes to replace his blood-stained garments.
Relief flooded Mathilda from the heart outwards, ‘What will happen to the potter? I thoroughly dislike the man, and his theft of Master Hugo’s handiwork shows what a scoundrel he can be, but I doubt he ever had murder in his mind.’
Robert reached out and stroked a finger over the top edge of the leather girdle around her waist, ‘You have a kind heart, Mathilda. Your family suffered because of Reresby’s greed, and yet I think you’d still spare him the noose, wouldn’t you?’
Not moving, Mathilda found she couldn’t answer; she was too busy being torn between not moving away from the light masculine touch that ran across her waist through the wool of her dress, and the knowledge that it was improper to stay so close to the man she very much feared she’d unwisely fallen in love with. Instead she said, ‘I’m sorry you lost your friend, my Lord.’
A cloud crossed Robert’s face, turning his eyes from their bright emerald to a dull bottle green. ‘I will miss him greatly, but I am very sorry he misled you. I am ashamed I believed him so readily when he accused you of betrayal. In Hugo’s defence, he truly believed the accusation.’
‘I know, my Lord. I understand that.’
An awkward silence descended before Mathilda came to her senses and took a step away from his caressing finger. ‘I’m relieved my family can safely return to their home now, so they can get back to the paying off the debt, thank you, my Lord.’
Robert was shocked, ‘But surely you don’t think they still have a debt to pay?’
Mathilda’s forehead creased, ‘They owe your family money, my Lord?’
‘The amount of money involved wasn’t huge. Eustace and John are not fools. They know that money isn’t as important as the family’s reputation. You paid off the debt by exposing the true source of the rumours. Your father will supply us with ceramics at no cost for the next year. We will do well from this arrangement.’
‘But?’
‘You were only taken because we believed my holy brother’s claims about the rumours. If we kidnapped a family member from every household that owes us a small fee then this house would be full to the rafters.’
Mathilda didn’t know what to do. Could she leave now?
Robert grinned down at the top of her untidy tresses of red hair, ‘You are still here until because I wanted to ensure that your family was safe. After all, your father didn’t actually commit the crime of hearsay we were led to believe he did. No one has much choice in anything if the rector of Teigh decrees they act, and yet your father was brave enough to resist.’
‘So my family truly is safe?’
‘It is. And I suspect that it will now prosper with the removal of Reresby; whom I imagine will get the chance to know the rector of Teigh a great deal better while fighting at his side in France.’
‘Yes, I suppose he will, my Lord.’ She looked down at his hand, which had returned to the belt, feeling its warmth through the filigree patterns of butterflies. With far more effort than she would have thought possible, Mathilda said, ‘I should go. My family will need me.’
Reluctantly lowering his arm, Robert moved away. ‘John instructed me to let you leave. You have done this family; especially me, a great service. Thank you, Mathilda.’
Leaning down across the foot of height that divided them, Robert kissed her lightly on the lips, and then the top of her head.
Mathilda’s heart beat faster as she dared meet his eyes for a second, before she gathered up her cleaning brushes in a flurry of activity, ‘I, well, I should ummm … yes, I must go home; so I should really …’
‘Should really what, Mathilda?’ The light amusement had returned to his eyes.
‘I should return this belt. Now Richard is gone, you don’t have to pretend any more. Master Hugo meant it as a present for your future wife. She should have it.’
‘So he did.’
Mathilda went to unhook the girdle’s catch, but Robert’s hands laid themselves on top of hers. ‘And as such, I am rather hoping you’ll agree to keep it.’
‘But … but …’ Mathilda wasn’t sure she’d understood him for a moment, ‘you’re of noble birth, and I’m only a potter’s daughter.’
‘Mathilda,’ Robert pulled her against his chest and held her close, his warmt
h enveloping her like a blanket of safety and protection, ‘I’m the youngest brother in a family of seven, in a time of countrywide chaos. As long as I have my Lord John’s approval, I can choose whom I marry. And anyway, you are never going to be, and I suspect never have been, “only” anything.’
Grace stopped writing.
The act of putting down the pen this time felt oddly freeing. She stared at the black biro lying against her satisfyingly full pad of words, and its adjacent heap of scrap bits of paper. She’d done it. She’d written a novel.
Although Grace knew Mathilda’s story was only a draft, and that when she read it through there’d be hundreds of things to change and improve, she felt lighter somehow. Suddenly all her insecurities and doubts about whether she should have spent her time on this rather than the textbook which patiently awaited her on her office computer, disappeared.
Finishing this novel was a step towards her own freedom, not to mention Mathilda’s. It had needed to happen.
Flexing her fingers, Grace stared out of the window. Seeing the sunshine hitting the rolling hills in the far distance, she couldn’t stop herself from wondering if Rob would approve of her giving her novel such a romantic ending. He’d probably think that criminals like the Folvilles didn’t deserve such a nice girl as Mathilda … Which in truth they probably didn’t, but Grace had wanted a happy ending for Mathilda as much as she wanted one for herself. Pulling on her trainers, ready to dash next door to meet Daisy for the breakfast they were due to share in exactly one and a half minutes’ time, Grace mumbled under her breath, ‘I bet Rob will think that letting Mathilda marry her kidnapper is less a romance, and more Stockholm Syndrome!
‘Ah well,’ Grace stifled a sigh as she left her room, ‘Not that it matters, I don’t suppose he’ll ever read it.’
Chapter Thirty-seven
Daisy was about to tell Grace she’d begun to think she’d bottled out of being bridesmaid and made a run for it when one glimpse of her friend’s face changed her mind.
‘You’ve finished your story, haven’t you?’ ‘I think so. In rough anyway.’ Worried she’d accidentally let her friend down, Grace asked, ‘I’m not late, am I?’
‘No need to look so worried, of course you’re not! Come on.’ Leading the way to the restaurant, a beaming Daisy said, ‘So, did Robin Hood save the day then?’
‘It isn’t really about Robin Hood, Daze.’
‘You’re kidding?’ Daisy was genuinely surprised.
‘It was supposed to be; but somehow it isn’t. Not really.’
‘I’m sorry?’
‘It was going to be about the influence of Robin Hood on the Folvilles, wasn’t it? But it sort of drifted off course. Maybe I should add more outlaw stuff in the redraft?’
Propelling her friend along by the elbow, Daisy giggled, ‘You’ll be telling me you’ve written a love story next! Come on, my parents will be waiting for us. My mum will be looking forward to stopping me panicking about all the things she thinks I should be panicking about.’
Deciding to keep the shocking news that she had accidently written a romance, even if someone had died in the process, to herself, Grace hugged Daisy to her side, ‘You aren’t panicking though, are you?’
‘Not even a little bit. But I’d hate to disappoint Mum. She is convinced that having decided to get married “so late in the day”, I’ll be a bundle of nerves, and who am I to disappoint her? What shall I pretend to be worried about?’
As they entered the restaurant, there was no mistaking their table. Someone, presumably Wendy the wedding planner, had decorated the middle of it with two surprisingly tasteful It’s Your Wedding Day balloons.
Grace whispered to Daisy as they were ushered to the table, ‘you could make out you’re worried about the flowers drooping?’
‘Why the flowers?’
‘Because it’ll give your Mum something to go and fuss over with Wendy, leaving you and me to get ready in peace.’
‘Grace, you’re a star! Perfect!’ With a quick wink that only Grace saw, Daisy said in a louder voice, ‘Are you sure the flowers will be OK, Grace?’
‘I’m sure, but if it worries you that much, perhaps one of us had better go and check them after breakfast …’
Once their delicious breakfast was consumed, they left Daisy’s mum to head off to Hardwick Hall to fiddle with the flowers at the end of each row of chairs.
With her dad promising to keep his kind but worrisome wife out of the way for as long as possible, Daisy and Grace headed to their rooms to get ready for the ceremony at twelve noon.
Grace circled her friend in admiration, ‘It is such a gorgeous dress, Daze. Ashley did you proud.’ She carefully smoothed out the back of the skirt.
Looking both voluptuous and feminine, Daisy’s chest was flatteringly hinted at without giving anyone an unsubtle eyeful, while her curvy hips were smoothed into the perfect shape by the cut of the skirt, its ivory shade complementing the happy glow of Daisy’s face.
Having declared a professional hairdresser a total waste of time, as Daisy’s short curly hair had proved a law unto itself ever since it had first grown through, Grace was tasked with making the ginger locks as presentable as she could.
Standing behind Daisy, reminding her friend for the umpteenth time that she was the worst choice for this job as she barely even brushed her own hair, Grace tousled it into place beneath a shoulder-length cream veil. Plain, all but for a tiny row of exquisite butterflies around the edge, a pattern which instantly reminded Grace of Mathilda’s girdle.
Hiding the lump that had formed in her throat as the thought of Mathilda led predictably onto one of Robert, and then onto Rob, Grace jabbed one final pin into Daisy’s hair.
‘Right, Daze, I have no idea if you’ll ever find them again in that mop of yours, but there are six pins to retrieve when it’s time to take the veil off.’
Laughing, Daisy said, ‘Check that! Six pins.’ She turned to face her friend. ‘Is it time for me to brave a peep in the mirror?’
‘It is!’ Pulling the desk chair out of the way, Grace wheeled forward the full-length mirror the hotel staff had put into Daisy’s room especially for the day.
‘Here we go then!’ For the first time since they’d arrived at the hotel, Daisy was uncertain. Rather than step eagerly towards the mirror, she hesitated. ‘Are you sure I don’t look like one of those corny little brides they sometimes put on the top of a wedding cake?’
‘You look amazing, I promise. Marcus is going to have one hell of a time keeping his hands off you until after the reception.’
Daisy blushed becomingly. ‘Good!’ Then with a slow exhalation of her lungs she moved forward to critically examine her reflection.
With only a touch of makeup to bring out the colour of her eyes, and a discreet matte layer of foundation so her skin didn’t go shiny under the flash of the photographer’s camera, Daisy couldn’t wipe the grin off her face. ‘This really is it, isn’t it? I’m actually getting married today! Me!’
Daisy’s happiness, now her moment’s unease about seeing herself in an outfit so foreign to her usual dungarees and jumpers had passed, was contagious. Grace beamed back at her. ‘You are! Marcus is a lucky man.’
‘And I am a lucky girl.’ A couple of tears unexpectedly formed at the corners of Daisy’s eyes. ‘Oh God!’ She went to wipe them away, but Grace stopped her, dabbing them away with a tissue instead so she didn’t smudge her scraping of makeup. ‘I’m a hormonal mess today! I’m so happy, and I so wish that you …’
Grace raised a hand to stop the words her friend was about to say. ‘I’m fine as I am, thanks Daze. Now the novel is mocked up I can finally get on with the textbook. It seems less daunting and pointless than it did. If I don’t want Professor Davis to sack me, I really have to get on with it, and believe me, it isn’t going to leave me time for anything other than my job.’
Not giving Daisy the chance to argue with her, Grace moved to the wardrobe, where her own dress was pati
ently hanging on the door in its plastic cover. ‘Time for me to go all Maid Marian then!’
From the moment Daisy had yanked together the lace-up back of Grace’s dress, to the time until the wedding cars would arrive to take her and Daisy’s mum, and Daisy with her father, the two miles to Hardwick Hall, ticked by with frightening speed. Soon they were all standing outside the hall being greeted by a clipboard-wielding Wendy. As they waited for the signal to go inside, Mrs Marks fussed over Grace; such was her fear that the bridesmaid’s breasts would make an escape bid of their own volition that she pulled her corset laces so tight that Grace feared she might pass out.
‘There, you go, my dear..’
‘Umm, thanks.’ Grace knew her dress made the most of her boobs, and found herself having to bite her lips so she didn’t apologise for them to Daisy’s mum. She fished around in her mind for small talk, but her mouth dried as nerves assailed her. Grace desperately didn’t want to let Daisy down, but had been so busy concentrating on not embarrassing herself by falling off her heeled shoes, she hadn’t stopped to consider the possibility that she might escape from her bodice!
All the wedding guests were in position within the hall. Marcus and his best man were waiting at the front for Daisy to arrive, and Daisy’s father was hugging his daughter proudly as they prepared for her big moment.
Staring down at the Lincoln Green she wore, Grace admired the flared skirt as it tucked her in at the waist, slimmed down her stomach, and caressed her hips. Would Mathilda’s wedding dress have looked like this? Of course not! Don’t be so darn ridiculous, woman! Now that Grace had allowed her romantic side a little freedom, it appeared there was no way she could switch it back off.
Grace was convinced she was right to have ended Mathilda’s tale before the relationship between her and Robert developed towards a wedding, so that any readers she might one day have was free to imagine it for themselves, as the implication that there would be a wedding very was clear. Yet, as she stood there, staring out across the unspoilt landscape, Grace found herself picturing Mathilda and Robert de Folville walking together, hand in hand.