The Consolation Prize (Brides of Karadok Book 3)

by Alice Coldbreath

  “Does he really?” Una gestured for Janet to take a seat at the kitchen table and she happily complied as Otho hurried over to join them.

  “Yes, milady. For twenty years now. He runs it with my three brothers. Our mother died ten years ago, so I’ve picked up all her duties about the place.”

  “I see,” Una replied. “How do you think he will manage without you at the mill, Janet? Did you tell him you were coming along today?”

  Janet snorted. “Not likely!

  Otho coughed, “How old are you, Janet?” he interrupted loudly.

  “Twenty,” she answered promptly. “And not the smallest push has my father made to find me a husband!” she added, a light kindling in her eye. “An unpaid drudge, that’s what I am,” she said darkly. “Taken for granted and expected to pick up after those three oafs who call themselves my brothers!”

  “I expect it’s far too convenient for your father to keep you at home,” Una commented sympathetically.

  “That’s what I says! And what does my Aunt Matthews say, but that I must be patient and do my duty by my family,” she pressed her lips together. “And I says, what have I been doing this past twenty years, that’s what I should like to know! If I don’t look sharp, I shall be in the same place in another twenty years and end up an old maid!”

  “A young woman does need to plan for her future,” Una agreed, as Otho looked increasingly annoyed that the formal interview he had planned, was turning into an exchange of female confidences.

  “Now, what I wants to know is this,” said Janet, leaning forward in her seat. “Is bed and board included, as there’s sure to be a ruckus when Pa finds I’m jumping ship.”

  Otho opened his mouth, a disagreeable expression on his face.

  “Certainly, there is,” Una responded, forestalling her brother smoothly. “Though there is the likelihood you may need to share a bedchamber with another maid.”

  “Lord, I won’t fret about that,” Janet said, settling back in her seat, looking vastly contented.

  “How soon can you join us here at Lynwode?” Una asked.

  “Lord bless you, milady, I only needs to throw a few things in a sack, and I can be with you this very evening!”

  Otho collapsed back in his seat, looking defeated.

  *

  She did not see Armand until before supper, when they met in their bedchamber. Una, who had just changed her dress, looked back over her shoulder to see him looking dusty and cobweb strewn, and guessed he had only just emerged from the attics. “There’s clean water on the side,” she told him, and he headed for it immediately to wash. “It must be dirty in those attics.”

  He grunted in agreement. “Extremely.”

  “Shall I lay out a clean suit of clothes for you?” she asked, turning to look at him critically.

  He looked down at himself in surprise. “I’ll just dust myself off,” he said, then looked at her with dawning suspicion. “Are we expecting guests for supper?”

  “No, no,” she hastened to assure him. “’Tis only …” Her words trailed off.

  “What?” he asked. “Tell me.”

  “Well,”—Una, fussed with the pleats at her beaded waistband—“’tis only that tonight will be the first night that we take supper with our whole household in the great chamber.”

  “Whole household?” Armand asked, with a lift of his eyebrows.

  “Otho hired Peter, Mr. Beverley, Mrs. Brickenden, and Janet today.”

  “I have met Peter,” Armand said, “but who are the others?”

  “Mr. Beverley is the cook.”

  “Ah yes, I have heard of him,” Armand said dryly, turning back to the basin of water and scrubbing his neck with a cloth. “His reputation precedes him. Or should I say ill fame?”

  “He is cooking for us tonight in any case,” Una informed him. “Mrs. Brickenden apparently will not be joining us until the end of the week, but Janet our new maid will be there.”

  “Oh yes?” Armand did not sound particularly interested. “So, I am expected to put on a clean outfit to impress our servants, am I?” Una did not answer, and after a moment he turned to survey her. “Una?”

  “No, of course not,” she said quietly and started to walk toward the door. She wasn’t sure how it happened, but somehow, suddenly Armand was stood in front of her, blocking her way. She blinked at him with surprise, for he moved with surprising rapidity for such a large male. He caught her wrist and held her arm out, surveying her dress of rich gold brocade.

  Suddenly, Una felt foolish for putting on such a fancy gown. Was she making a spectacle of herself? She couldn’t quite meet his eye.

  “Very nice,” he said slowly. “Well, if my wife is to be so fine, I can hardly appear below stairs in these old things, now can I?” She caught her breath and raised her gaze to his. He smiled. “Whatever you want me to wear, I will wear it.”

  Una felt a rush of gratitude so strong, she could have kissed him. Then it flashed into her head that after what he had said that morning, she very likely should. Before she could change her mind, she surged forward and bestowed an impulsive peck on his lips, stepped back and would have hurried to fetch him a clean tunic, before realizing he still had a firm hold of her.

  Una looked toward him questioningly, and he tugged her toward him. “Just a minute,” he said, drawing her closer and lightly clasping her waist. “I don’t want to get you dusty, but I need to know what that was for?”

  “For … for giving me pleasure,” Una stammered, feeing she was on uncertain ground. “Is that not what you said I ought to do?”

  He stared at her enigmatically a moment, before clearing his throat. “I suppose it was,” he said, sounding a little unsure himself.

  “What about the burgundy tunic I made you?” Una asked eagerly. “With the matching chauses?” For a moment, she thought a look of displeasure flashed across his face, but it was gone so fast, she thought she must have been mistaken.

  “Was not the gold legging ripped of that pair?” he asked.

  “I mended it this afternoon.”

  “Oh,” he swallowed. “Then yes, of course.” He smiled and Una felt reassured. He released her with a show of reluctance that was highly flattering and then started stripping off his black tunic and breeches.

  Una crossed to the trunk and retrieved her handiwork, laying it lovingly on the bed for him, then hurried downstairs to see that Rose had set out the candlesticks they had retrieved from storage as she had bade her.

  She need not have worried, for Rose seemed fully aware of the momentous occasion, or perhaps she just liked to see the room illuminated by candlelight, for by the time Una descended the staircase, the great hall had a blazing fire in its grate and at least fifty candles lit along the high table.

  “Oh, you look beautiful,” Rose breathed, coming toward her, and taking her hands in what was no doubt a breach of etiquette, but Una found she did not mind at all. “What a lovely, lovely gown.”

  “I made it myself,” Una told her, and Rose gasped with gratifying astonishment, encouraging her to turn full circle. Una happily complied.

  “I so admire the sleeves,” Rose marveled, gazing at the long tips, which extended down to her knees. “And the matching cap. It all drapes so beautifully to show your figure to advantage. You must be extraordinarily talented with a needle.”

  Una reached up to touch the small beaded cap that sat atop her coiled auburn braids. Though the fabric was rich and beautiful indeed, the gown itself still felt wonderfully elegant and fuss-free to Una, who was so accustomed to wearing padding and rolls and panniers. Perhaps she had a distorted view of what was considered formal wear?

  The only aspect she found a little daunting was the neckline, which was cut in a square as fashionable ladies wore and showed rather more shoulder and skin than Una was used to. She had not dared to go as low as the Queen who was graceful and slender and a good deal less endowed in the bosom area than Una. She knew full well that what looked refined and sty
lish on Armenal, would look vastly indecent on herself!

  They both heard a footfall on the staircase, and Rose hurriedly retreated to the kitchen to let everyone know the master and mistress were in place. Una walked to the foot of the stairs and felt her heart almost burst with pride when she saw Armand coming toward her in the outfit, she had made him.

  Seeing him wearing it hurtled her right back to that first time she had seen him in it. She felt the emotion welling up that she had felt on that day she had escaped from the palace at his side. The tunic truly fit him to perfection, and the burgundy and gold chauses made him look as fashionable as any courtier in the Southern court. She mourned the loss of the matching cap but knew she had not been mistaken in thinking he had not liked it, so she could stand its omission.

  When he reached the foot of the stairs, he held his arm out to her and she took it, and they made their way into the great hall and mounted the dais, as Otho came hurrying through from the kitchen, carrying a large flagon of wine and a tray of cups. Peter followed him with a large platter of three loaves of freshly baked bread and a dish of butter.

  “The bread smells wonderful,” Una commented, as Armand pulled her chair back for her. He sat beside her as Otho plunked down the wine before them.

  “I sampled the wine, and it tastes alright to me, but I’m no connoisseur,” Otho said with a shrug. “I don’t know how long it’s lain in the buttery.”

  Armand poured two cups and passed one to Una, then passed the flagon back to Otho who poured it into the remaining cups. Una took a sip.

  “It tastes fine to me.”

  Rose entered the room, gracefully carrying two large dishes, one holding glazed root vegetables and the other of fresh peas with parsley, butter, and mint. Following her bounced Janet, proudly bearing a side of roasted beef covered with mushrooms and gravy. Last but not least, came the cook himself, a small man with large moustaches, carrying a large, decorative golden pie. He set this down with a flourish. “Roasted chicken, cooked in wine with saffron and served in a herb-crusted pie,” he announced.

  “It’s a very beautiful pie,” Una said, gazing on its magnificence. Not to mention its enormous size. They would be feasting off such a pie for a week! Doubtless, Mr. Beverley was exerting his every effort to impress them with his culinary skills.

  He executed a bow and hurried down the table to take his seat opposite Rose. Peter sat opposite Janet, and Otho sat himself squarely between themselves and the servants as a sort of barrier.

  “I wish Otho would come and sit next to me,” Una murmured to Armand. “Why must he sit there in the middle on his own like that?”

  Armand opened his mouth, either to reply to her or summon Otho closer, she could never be sure, because at that instant came the sound of a loud rapping, presumably from the front entrance. Conversation fell away as everyone looked from one to other in consternation. No one was invited for supper, yet only guests would come to the front door.

  Armand and Otho exchanged a look and Otho sprang to his feet. “Peter, come with me,” he said and strode out of the great hall, closely followed by the brawny young man.

  Una’s heart raced as she was suddenly filled with an irrational fear that whoever it was had come for her. As though picking up on her inner turmoil, Armand’s warm hand covered hers. “It’ll be nothing,” he said calmly, but Una could already hear raised voices in the passage outside. Soldiers, she thought, turning dizzy, as her stomach pitched and rolled. They’ve come to drag me away.

  She saw Armand’s head turn quickly and then, the door was flung back and Otho was leading a small party into the great hall. They were not soldiers, Una saw, forcing herself to draw a pained breath. Just three men and a woman.

  “Oh gods,” muttered Armand under his breath. “Brace yourself. It’s my bloody family.” He dragged his chair back, plastering a smile onto his face. “Welcome! Father! Brothers! All!”

  *

  After that came a round of confused introductions that Una unfortunately felt completely removed from. Her head swam and she still felt quite sick with the dread that had overtaken her at the unexpected interruption.

  Desperately, Una tried to focus on the tall flinty-eyed stranger who she was sure Armand had introduced as his father, Sir Hugo de Bussell, and then the other two males who curiously did not resemble her husband at all. They must be Henry and Roger, she realized after they had been persuaded to sit themselves down and been given trenchers and plied with wine and bread.

  The younger one’s eyes nearly fell out of his head when Rose passed him his goblet of wine and Una frowned, for had not Armand said his youngest brother was bound for the clergy? Everything seemed to have got muddled up in her head, and she gave herself a slight shake to try and rouse herself from her stupor.

  Armand turned away from the hearty conversation he was conducting toward the menfolk of his family and refilled her goblet. “Drink this,” he muttered, passing an arm around her back. “Are you going to faint?”

  “I—I don’t think so,” Una gasped out. “Not now.” She swallowed down half the cup of wine. “I don’t know what’s come over me,” she said miserably.

  His hand at her waist, squeezed comfortingly. “A perfectly natural reaction, I assure you,” he said staunchly. “I told you they were a parcel of frights.”

  Una gave a choked laugh. “Nothing of the sort,” she said weakly.

  Just then, a woman’s querulous voice was raised above the hubbub of conversation. “Two kinds of meat at one sitting, Henry, mark you,” she said in a thin, reedy voice. “I hope you could never accuse me of such folly, even in the early days of our marriage.”

  “Such extravagance would bankrupt me within a twelvemonth,” replied Henry sourly. “But it seems my brother is above such considerations.”

  Una glanced down and saw the other woman eyeing her gold gown with a scandalized expression. She was clad respectably, if shabbily, in a velvet robe of navy blue, which looked a little threadbare at the elbows and hems.

  “Ah, but we are newlyweds, my dear Muriel,” Armand boomed. “You must allow us our homecoming feast.” He gave them a beaming smile. The woman sniffed, her long nose quivering. Una thought she muttered something about the extravagant use of candles, and the harassed-looking Henry tutted.

  “Roger!” Sir Hugo barked suddenly, and Armand’s younger brother was forced to divert his rapt attention from the fair Rose and back to his supper plate.

  “Sorry, Father,” he mumbled.

  Una turned her head to Armand’s ear and murmured. “I’m so sorry, but I did not perfectly take it in, that lady is your—”

  “My sister-in-law, the sainted Muriel,” Armand supplied, then a look of horror passed over his handsome face. “Please don’t say you mistook her for my twin sister!”

  Una leaned against him heavily. “No, no,” she said, and glancing at her plate realized she was not going to be able to eat even a morsel of her food. “Oh dear, I do hope Mr. Beverley won’t be offended.”

  Armand gave her a shrewd look, then reached over and stabbed a piece of beef from her plate and ate it. For the rest of the meal, he ate alternately from their plates, so it appeared Una had cleared hers. No one seemed to notice, though she was sure people must think it strange that he kept her clamped to his side in such an odd fashion.

  “I won’t fall over,” she whispered at one point and he smirked.

  “Ah, but what you don’t realize is that I’m the one clinging on to you. For moral support,” he added with a wink.

  Una could only give thanks once again, that the fates had blessed her with so good-natured a husband.

  Toward the end of the meal, he raised a toast to his “good lady wife,” which was echoed heartily by the servants and faintly by her mealy-mouthed in-laws, and then the meal was over and done with.

  After supper, the servants started to industriously tidy away. Una managed to tell Mr. Beverley that he had surpassed himself and Armand’s family trooped up to the sol
ar.

  Armand cast his eyes heavenward. “We’re not done yet”, he murmured, and led her up the stairs to join them there.

  As Una stepped over the threshold, she heard Muriel making disparaging comments about the state of the tapestries and she winced inwardly for though she and Rose had shaken and beaten them, it had not improved their murky green appearance one bit.

  “Oh,” said Armand nonchalantly. “You needn’t worry about those old things for we mean to tear them down and consign them to a dung heap. We’ll have new tapestries all round,” he announced, to the sharply indrawn breaths of Henry and Muriel.

  Una could only suppose that he was deliberately baiting them, for now she came to think of it, she was sure that he had previously described Henry as a miser and clearly his wife also had something of a mania for economy.

  Armand led her to a two-seated bench and drew her down beside him, his arm sliding about her waist once more. “And now, music,” he said extravagantly. “Will you entertain us, dear sister-in-law, with a song?” Muriel pressed her pale lips together and folded her thin hands in her lap. She was dressed in the fashion of at least a decade ago, with a large pointed wimple and velvet hood that covered her hair completely. Her little face looked quite swamped beneath the huge headdress.

  “No?” continued Armand in mock disappointment. “Well then, I suppose we must not be greedy. After all you have been entertaining us with your voice all evening.”

  Roger let out a guffaw, which he hastily stifled by pressing the back of his hand to his mouth.

  “Armand,” said his father warningly.

  “I could ask Rose to come up and play the harp for our entertainment,” Una suggested. “She is a most obliging girl and—”

  “I think not,” said Sir Hugo, cutting across her words coldly.

  “Father,” Armand said in the same warning tone his sire had used only moments before. They stared at one another a moment.

  “I apologize,” said Sir Hugo stiffly. “I forgot where I was for a moment.” He rose jerkily from his seat. “I think it is high time that we departed. Henry, Roger.” The other two rose and Henry crossed to where his wife sat rigid-backed, to offer her his hand before hauling her out of the chair.