by D.D. Chant
“Adele?”
Mistress Ardith’s voice wafted softly across the small room. It was not the voice that Rafe would have recognised as belonging to her, filled as it was with tender warmth. A drowsy stirring beneath the covers told her that Adele was awake.
“Adele, my love?”
The covers stirred again and then were pulled down, and a figure rose sleepily from the depths of the bed. “Mistress Ardith? What is it? What’s wrong?” Her sleepy voice was pleasantly husky, and her eye lashes fluttered sleepily over large eyes.
“Naught, my dear, ‘tis only that I have news,” reassured Mistress Ardith.
Strange, she had sat before the fire for a long while after she had left the young man, trying to think of the best way of breaking such tidings to Adele. It was a difficult situation and, whatever people said, this betrothal was not in the least romantic. Only a fool would think it romantic to marry a complete stranger.
Adding to the general discomfort, Lord Rafe had not come to escort his bride to Valrek in person but had sent someone else in his stead. Mistress Ardith would have doubted any man to be worthy of Adele, but Lord Rafe at that precise moment seemed of all men most unsuitable. She became aware that Adele was wide awake and watching her closely.
“It seems you are to leave me, Adele; an escort has arrived to take you to your new home.”
“To Valrek?” Adele’s voice was a little dazed. “Then… he is here?”
It would be too much to say that this question was eager or hopeful, but it did hold an excitement that Mistress Ardith was sorry to disillusion.
“No, my love, he wrote that his liege needed him elsewhere. He had sent his most trusted man to escort you to his home. No name was mentioned but from his manner,” Mistress Ardith paused, a flush of remembered irritation staining her cheeks, “which is very high handed, I believe he must be Finan of Gournay. He is in charge of Lord Valrek’s army and is known to be a good friend to Lord Rafe.”
Adele did not seem at all cast down by the news that her betrothed had not come to escort her to his home, but she did seem perplexed about something. For several seconds she grappled with the problem in silence, and then turned her dark blue eyes upon Mistress Ardith, frowning slightly.
“But… it is yet some months to the day of the wedding.”
Mistress Ardith wondered whether or not to disclose the reason for this sudden haste to her charge, but decided that no good could come of telling her that Lord Rafe was afraid that certain unsavoury elements would try to harm her if at all possible.
“Maybe he wishes you to be settled in his home before you are married,” she answered gently.
Although Adele’s expression did not alter, Mistress Ardith was fully aware that she had received, and discarded, this explanation, giving it the barest minimum of her attention.
“When shall I leave?”
“Tomorrow morning, child.” Mistress Ardith hesitated and rose from the bed. “You must sleep now, for you have along day before you.”
At the door Mistress Ardith looked again to her charge. Adele had turned upon her side, curling up a little, one hand tucked under her pillow and the other folded beneath her chin.
She looked so young and vulnerable, Mistress Ardith hoped she would find Finan of Gournay unfriendly and imposing, not someone she found it easy to converse with, for that would be dangerous. She closed the door noiselessly and made her way to the sanctity of her own chamber.
Mistress Ardith had never married and therefore had never borne children. Yet she loved Lady Adele with all the maternal instincts in her soul, and as she herself climbed into bed, it was to dampen her pillow with tears of parting.
Of all things she prayed that Lord Rafe was a good man who would be kind in all his dealings with Adele. She was only too aware that love was an emotion of degrees. At its strongest love was an ecstatic feeling of completeness, but kindness, thoughtfulness, and gentleness would inspire in any heart the somewhat softer stirrings of love. While not ecstatic the gentle feelings of respect and regard were enough upon which to build a successful marriage. If Lord Rafe were to express kindness and to be gentle with her, Mistress Ardith believed that Adele would be sedately happy.
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It did not occur to Mistress Ardith that Lady Adele might also be wakeful and musing along similar lines of thought. However Adele was indeed awake, laying upon her back and staring into the blackness of her room. The moonlight shining through the slit in the wall illuminated her bedchamber, revealing the faint outline of a large chest that stood at the foot of the bed and the table set close to the hearth.
Although the thoughts that were running around her head were many and varied, one emotion was conspicuous by its absence. Lady Adele did not feel disgruntled; she had not taken offence at Lord Rafe’s refusal to escort her to his home in person.
The chief reason for this lack of pique was that Lady Adele had always thought Lord Rafe to be kind. He need not have had much interaction with her until their wedding day, but he had always been kind and generous. Often he had sent some small gift; in her younger years dolls and other toys, and as she had grown, embroidered fabrics, furs, and jewelled trinkets.
At first she had imaged the gifts to have been sent by his father. As she had grown older and re-read his letters she had known, had guessed, that they were not the correspondence of a man, but rather those of a boy. She had kept every missive Lord Rafe had sent to be read over and over that she might build up some picture of him in her mind.
Lord Rafe, however, had been content to let her think that his gifts were sent by his father, and she had not revealed her new found knowledge.
And so it occurred that Lady Adele was disposed to think well of Lord Rafe. She did not think it very likely that she would fall in love with him any more than she thought it likely he would fall in love with her. She was certain that she would like him very well and that they would find married life peaceful and agreeable. Though they might not experience a feeling of violent affection for one another, neither would their marriage ever be rocked by the turbulent storms of impassioned arguing.
Long ago Adele had decided that Lord Rafe must be a rather shy man. After all, he had showered generosity upon her and yet had been reluctant to let her know of his kindness, preferring her to ascribe all to his father. She knew him to be thoughtful for the things he had sent her had been chosen with the utmost care that they might delight her. And she knew he must be very kind, for he had known that these gifts had reassured her, telling her that she was not forgotten, but rather cared for, not as a chore, not an uncomfortable responsibility, but as someone loved and already cherished.
Yes, Lady Adele snuggled down further beneath the bedclothes, Lord Rafe would be slight but tall she fancied, very quiet and his bearing would be a little unsure. That was probably why he had not come himself, because of a feeling of bashfulness. Adele found this rather endearing, in the same way she would have found a kitten endearing. She would, she decided, take great pains to see that Lord Rafe felt easy around her. Mistress Ardith always said that it was a wife’s duty to see that her husband was at ease and comfortable. Adele’s thoughts paused and she felt a sudden need to blink back tears.
Mistress Ardith…
Tomorrow she would leave Mistress Ardith and this place, perhaps she would never again see the people ensconced within its walls.
Strange, she had always known that this time would come, had that not been why the ladies here had spent every hour of every day instructing her? Yet she had always dwelt upon the pleasant aspects of her new life; of Valrek, of Lord Rafe, of family…
Not that the ladies here had not been a family to her, but somehow she expected something more from her husband’s family. Although what more they could give her she did not know.
She had never thought about leaving the ladies of the fort before. Her mind had rebelled against thinking about all that she would lose on becoming Lady Valrek, flatly refusing to weigh all in the b
alance lest she discover that the answer was not one she could contemplate.
She knew nothing outside of the fort. Her life was contained within; here she was sure of love, of friendship, of being with people that she cared for in return. It was all very well to think of meeting Lord Rafe’s mother, sisters, and father; but what more could they be to her than Mistress Ardith, Mistress Claire, or Mistress Kathryn? They had been the ones to comfort her through the tears of childhood, and guide her through the bewildering times of girlhood. They had invested her with confidence in her own capabilities and a calmness of mind to carry her through womanhood.
Adele felt, for the first time, the full force of what leaving would mean to her. For an entire minute she was on the brink of mutiny, until her eyes chanced upon the wooden chest on the table across the room. The soft light coming through the narrow window was reflected on the polished wood and it glowed with soft luminosity.
It was the chest that contained Lord Rafe’s letters. Adele slipped from the bed. The stone floor was cold and she ran across it with light footsteps, taking the chest in her hands, and retreating back to the warm comfort of her bed once more. Pulling the soft furs around her to shut out the cold, she ran her fingers over the smooth wood. The grain of the wood varied beneath her fingertips, and she opened the lid and withdrew one of the parchments from within.
If Finan had been present he would have seen a marked difference in the letters that Lord Rafe had sent to Lady Adele. They had been treasured and bore every sign of the eagerness with which she had devoured them. Adele could have recited every word from memory.
It was fortunate that Rafe was unaware of this, for it would have unsettled him horribly to have known. Adele unrolled the parchment and gazed at it, although in the darkness it was not possible to see any of the words that were written upon it.
Lord Rafe was a kind, generous man. In her hour of need his family had been there to rescue her, and in the years that followed their betrothal it had been he that had provided for her and kept her safe. He had waited sixteen years for her that he might honour his promise. After all he had given she could not withdraw, for he had her promise too.
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For Lord Rafe too it was a wakeful night as he considered the information Mistress Ardith had given him. Lady Adele would have been very surprised to see a great deal of impatient irritation in his face, for she had certainly never bequeathed her gentle, nervous image of him with such an emotion.
What, questioned Rafe, had he ever done to deserve this? In his mind’s eye he saw torrential tears flooding from his bride’s eyes because he had come home late or failed to notice some addition to her appearance. He had no time for such purposeless self-indulgence.
He did not like to think that he might make her unhappy, but he had never had any time for the ridiculous passions of some of the ladies that he had on occasion observed. His sisters were different, they saw no slight if one preferred to linger with the men than be punctual to a meal. If you didn’t notice immediately that they had arranged their hair differently they did not, as he had seen many a lady do, weep and condemn you as cold hearted and themselves as unloved chattels.
Finan was in the right of it, he had always viewed women as a trouble he didn’t need, but here he was saddled with not one but two!
Rafe groaned silently. Yes, now he had the added delight of dragging Lady Adele’s companion along with them.
How could he have forgotten she would need one?
As if all this were not enough, it seemed that the woman he was to take as his wife was one more difficult than all the rest; a shrinking violet who would probably dissolve into tears at sight of him.
What was he going to do with her?
He knew his own faults well enough to be certain that they would not deal well together. He had never been terribly successful at curbing either his impatience or his temper, and when in a good mood he was often filled with an exuberance that would no doubt alarm his milk and water bride. He turned on to his side on the narrow bed, as if the movement would shut out such thoughts.
Lady Adele was his bride, it mattered not if the arrangement suited. Nothing would change the fact that they were bound together; he might as well accept it. He was dissatisfied; with Lady Adele, Mistress Ardith, Lord Targhe, but mostly with himself. He had always thought he was equal to anything, and yet here he found himself so very close to punishing his bride for something that was not her fault, for a tragedy in her past and for the person she could not help but be.
What sort of a man did that?
Chapter Four