“Otho! I’m surprised at you!” Una plunked her hands on her hips. “Rose is a virtuous and kind young woman with many good points and does not deserve to have you speak of her in such a way.”
He rolled his eyes. “Sister, you have led a—”
“Don’t be ridiculous!” she cut him off. “If you mean to tell me I’m some sheltered virgin, then I would remind you I am a married woman.”
He spluttered. “I never intended to say any such thing!”
“Then kindly do not speak poorly of that girl in my hearing or I will be quite cross with you!” Before he could respond, Una turned on her heel and marched in the direction of the house. She made straight for the kitchens in the expectation she would find Rose in floods of tears and in need of comforting. To her surprise, she found her sat at the table humming a tune and grinding herbs in a pestle and mortar.
“Rose,” she said crossing the threshold and ignoring the Mrs Brickenden’s disapproving look. “You are not feeling upset?”
She looked up with shining eyes. “Oh no, milady,” she said with a smile trembling on her lips. “Was not Master Otho wonderful?”
Una felt a twinge of misgiving. Something about Rose’s reaction seemed decidedly amiss. Abelard who was sitting next to Rose, whined and she reached down to pat him absently. “Master Roger said he would like to apologize to you in person, Rose. I hope that would not distress you?”
“Distress me?” Rose looked surprised by the notion. “Oh, no, why should it?” she said vaguely, then started humming again, a small smile hovering about her lips.
Oh dear, thought Una. Roger might be young and handsome, but it seemed Rose’s tastes ran to burly Northern men with cantankerous dispositions.
*
When she tried to discuss the matter with Armand as they rode over to Anninghurst that evening, he seemed disposed to treat it lightly. “Yes, Fulcher mentioned something about it before he set off on his travels. I’m sure Rose will soon recover,” he said dismissively. “Roger’s a young fool. He should have told my father years ago he did not want to be a cleric. Then he’d have a bit more finesse with wenches, than to try and wrestle them into his arms like that.”
“Not everyone might find it easy as you to stand up to a strong personality like Sir Hugo’s,” Una pointed out.
“I told my father the Church wasn’t for me before I was twelve,” he retorted, drawing in his rein. “Second sons are usually dedicated to the Church. Stop here,” he said, reaching for her horse’s bridle.
She drew in closer. “What is it? What are we looking at?”
He pointed to an impressive grey stone property surrounded by its own moat in the distance. It had castellated walls and big square mullioned windows. “Anninghurst,” he said shortly. “Where I was raised.”
“It’s a very impressive size,” Una commented, though to her eye Lynwode was far prettier. The night was fine and mild, and they could see for miles as they rested the horses, taking in the view. “It’s lovely countryside around here. I take it the surrounding lands are attached to the estate?”
Armand nodded. “That there is its own private chapel,” he said pointing to the left. “I’m sure you will get the official tour of the place when we arrive.”
He spoke nothing but the truth, and Una was duly led on an hour-long exploration of Anninghurst’s every nook and cranny by both Muriel and Henry, who were keen to point out its every superiority to their new sister-in-law. Una professed deep admiration for its every detail, indeed, they would not move on into the next room until she had done so. Armand declined the offer to reacquaint himself and remained in the great hall with his father and a sheepish looking Roger.
By the time Una was brought back to them, Anne and her husband Matthew Buxton had also arrived for supper. Anne took great pains to greet her warmly, showing their prior acquaintanceship. Una could not help but respond with a smile when her sister-in-law took both her hands and kissed her cheek.
“Matthew is most keen to meet you, Una,” she said, introducing her to the fair, solid man stood at her side. “For I told him how good you were with our children.”
Una shook hands with Anne’s husband, and they were led to the table where a rather spartan supper of cold mutton awaited them.
“You will have need of a second supper when you return home,” Anne murmured behind her hand, as they took their places at the long table. “Matthew always prepares himself by lining his own stomach before we even leave.”
Una schooled her features not to betray a reaction to this, for Muriel was already addressing her.
“You will see, my dear Una,” she said with a wintry smile, “that we do not permit our servants to dine with us here at Anninghurst. In my opinion it encourages waste and overfamiliarity between the ranks.”
Una saw that Roger gave a violent start at his sister-in-law’s words and he sent her an accusing look. Surely, he did not think she had been telling tales at supper, she thought, and sent him a reassuring smile. Unfortunately, as Roger was now staring at his plate, he could not receive her unspoken message.
“We prefer to run our house along more traditional lines,” Armand said loudly, reaching for Una’s hand and kissing it. “The old ways are good enough for us.” He met her eyes and smiled.
Una saw his father Sir Hugo’s eyes widen at this sentiment and Muriel turned quite puce. “I assure you that both Henry and I consider ourselves custodians of tradition here at Anninghurst,” she replied quickly.
“Quite so, my dear,” Henry echoed. “Armand mistook your sentiment entirely.”
Sir Hugo interrupted at this point. “Armand speaks nothing but the truth,” he said heavily. “In my day, the household always ate their supper together in the great hall, one and all.”
An uncomfortable silence fell over the table, only broken when Anne commented how disappointed she was that Armand was not dressed in his court raiment this evening, for she had so much been looking forward to seeing it. Even Una could tell he was being ribbed by his sister, and once again realized that the outfit she had made him must not be suited for anything outside of a royal residence.
“No,” Armand answered mildly, lowering his wine goblet. “For Una has not yet made me a second suit. The first was her wedding gift to me.” He covered her hand with his and lightly squeezed her fingers. “I hope she will make me another very soon.” He looked at her thoughtfully over the brim. “Perhaps blue and white next time to match the family crest.
She had scarcely had chance to recover from the idea that he might welcome another outfit, than Muriel was speaking to her again, this time with much more enthusiasm. She very much approved of the fact that Una had some practical skill and believed it must be very economical to make your own clothes. Tailors she opined, charged such a shocking amount, it was little more than robbery!
The rest of the evening passed without much incident.
Henry and Muriel de Bussell were doubtless an eccentric couple, but to Una they seemed to exist in a state of deep accord. Their chief interests in life seemed to be the same; namely Anninghurst, and schemes of how to save money. Muriel’s gown again was rather shabby and old-fashioned, but she carried herself with assurance and seemed to accord her husband the utmost respect and deference.
Roger cheered up after the eating was done, no doubt assured that his conduct that morning was not about to be brought up. He even managed to contribute some talk about horses for his own was old and ready to be put out to pasture. Armand remarked that one of his tenant farmers had several mounts for sale, which might interest his brother.
Their father, Sir Hugo, cut in at this point, extremely surprised that Armand was familiarizing himself with the running of his estate. “You have visited your farms, Armand? I had feared you would be in a frenzy to return to your tournaments. That is your usual habit after all. Generally, you are itching to get away from us after you have been here a few days.”
“No doubt,” Armand returned easily. �
�I will in good time. There are still some matters to be sorted about the smooth running of the place.”
Una looked at him fleetingly, and then, realizing her father-in-law’s eyes were upon her, hurriedly turned back to Anne to resume their conversation.
When they came to take their leave, Sir Hugo drew her to one side. “I’m pleased,” he said abruptly. “Armand seems to be finally waking up to his responsibilities. I take it we have you to thank for that.”
Una gazed back at him. “I am not—”
He waved her words away. “Do not bother protesting. We are only too familiar with Armand’s many faults, I assure you. His mother ruined the boy and now we are all reaping what she sowed.”
Una bristled. “I do not think he has any faults!” she found herself saying defensively. “Not any serious ones, in any case.”
Her father-in-law seemed at a momentary loss for words. “You are very newlywed,” he remarked dryly, after an awkward silence.
“Yes, we are,” Armand agreed cheerfully, coming to her rescue. She hoped he had only heard the latter part of their exchange. “Are you ready, my love? Night is falling.”
Una collected her cloak from the hovering servant, and they made their way out of the gloomily-lit hall.
“Thank the gods that’s over with … excruciating conversation and unpalatable food,” Armand said breezily as soon as they were out of the door and heading for the stables. “We need not consider ourselves duty bound to visit again for at least a month.”
Una breathed out. “It was not so very bad as all that.” He made no response and she bit her lip. “Armand?” she said on impulse.
“Yes?”
“Is there any special reason we are not disclosing my true identity to your family?”
He looked confused for a moment. “What do you mean?”
“About my being a … Northerner,” she finished lamely.
He was quiet a moment. “You are Lady Una de Bussell now,” he said with a twist of his lips. “And there is no secrecy about the fact.”
“So, your father would not be very angry if he knew my background?”
“No. Why do you ask?”
“The King mentioned that the De Bussells have always been loyal to the Argent throne.”
Armand snorted, tugging her toward the stables. “Is that what he told you? My great-grandfather was a champion it’s true, but my father has not been to court in over forty years. Henry only ever went once, to be presented. If you hadn’t noticed, my family is a pack of country yokels these days. House de Bussell has sunk into rural obscurity.” He squeezed her hand. “You need have no fear whatsoever on that score.”
Looking at his warm smile, Una found that by some miracle, she was reassured and answered it with one of her own.
He laughed. “Now tell me, what did the old man say to get you so heated? I told you he was a damned cold fish.”
Una looked away in confusion. “I forget now,” she prevaricated.
He carried her fingers to his lips. “You must not cut up rough on my account. I know he doesn’t think much of me.”
“Then he is a fool,” Una burst out hotly.
“Una!” He swung her round to face him, and she saw he was laughing.
“If he does not know what a good, true friend and faithful companion you can be, then—,” she started, but he did not let her finish, snatching her up to kiss her lips soundly.
When he released her, there was a faint frown on his brow. “Friend and companion?” he echoed with some displeasure. I’m your husband, Una. Make no mistake about that.”
“I-I could not mistake the fact,” she assured him breathlessly, and he pinched her chin.
“Good, now let’s get home.”
*
Una woke late the next morning and found Armand had already risen. When she descended to the great hall, Janet told her he was with some new hands outside. “Peter told me they’re a right bunch,“ the garrulous maid confided. “He says—”
But Una was not to learn Peter’s opinion on the new recruits, for the housekeeper came in at that point and pinned Janet with an accusing look.
“If you’ll excuse me, milady,” Janet said hastily, dropping a curtsey and scurrying off. Una eyed the housekeeper with some exasperation. She could not warm to the woman, who seemed to have as much personality as a chair.
“Have you seen my dog, Abelard, this morning, Mrs. Brickenden?”
“Yes, milady,” the older woman answered repressively. “It was following that Rose about earlier. Now if you will excuse me, milady. I have much to do this morn.” She made a hasty retreat.
It was not Armand but Otho who Una came across next. He hurried into the great hall with a hunted look on his face. “Otho?” she addressed him, and when he wheeled about with a start, she gazed at him in some surprise. “What is it, brother?”
“Oh, nothing,” he said hurriedly. “I thought you were someone else.”
“Who?” she asked curiously.
He cleared his throat. “Rose.” Una glanced at his flushed face and bit her lip. “She keeps jumping out at me from around corners,” he complained. “Asking if she can fetch me anything.”
“No doubt she wishes to repay you for the kindness you did her yesterday, in repelling an unwanted suitor.”
Otho looked harassed. “That was not what I was doing! She should be focused on her work, not on dalliances!” A light step was heard in the distance and Otho took to his heels.
Una watched him disappear around the corner, as Rose came blithely into the room.
“Good morning, milady,” Rose sang out with a beatific smile. Abelard trotted from her side to greet his mistress.
“Good morning, good morning.” Una stroked his sleek little head. These days he was starting to look a lot more presentable as his coat was starting to grow back in and his ribs recede as he put on weight.
“’Tis a lovely day,” Rose told her earnestly. “The orchard’s in full blossom. You must take a scented walk down there while it is so pretty, milady. There is nothing like it.”
“You look in full bloom today, Rose,” Una told her truthfully.
Rose beamed back at her. “I don’t know why, but I feel as full of joy as a spring lamb,” she admitted. Una thought she might know why and marveled at it. In truth, she had never seen a lovelier girl than Rose, and though she highly esteemed Otho, not even the fondest sister could think him handsome with his blunt features and savagely shorn head. Then again, she reflected, her own meager physical attractions were no match for Armand’s. Rose drifted off again in the direction of the kitchen.
Una felt restless and though she knew she ought to schedule a long-overdue meeting with Mrs. Brickenden to talk over household matters, she found herself shying away from the task. Maybe it was the fault of the balmy weather, she thought distractedly. Then she remembered Armand’s words about wanting another outfit and headed back upstairs, determined that she would spend the morning sewing instead.
She had been interested last night to see that the crest of the De Bussells was a white winged horse on a field of dark blue. She dimly remembered Armand’s shield had borne such a device at the May Day tournament, but she had not seen it since that day. Certainly, it was not displayed anywhere at Lynwode. Of course, he had inherited the place from his godfather, who was not a De Bussell, so that was hardly surprising.
Perhaps she ought to sew a banner to hang from the minstrel’s gallery in the great hall, she pondered, as she looked over her remaining stash of fabric. She had not been able to bring all of it from the palace, but she had a good quantity of blue she thought might be the right shade. She was just walking over to the bedchamber window to hold it up to the natural light, when she heard Armand’s step in the corridor outside.
“You’ve missed some excitement,” he said striding into the room and heading for the chest against the far wall.
“What excitement is that?”
“Roger came by to give a much
-rehearsed apology to Miss Rose.”
“Oh?” Una lowered the cloth. “How, pray, was it received?”
Armand shrugged. “She didn’t even allow Roger to finish, I felt quite sorry for the lad. Told him his cause was hopeless for she loves another.”
Una gasped. “She did? Was … um … Otho present?”
Armand shot her an inquisitive look. “No, though that talkative maid was there, hanging on every word, so no doubt it will soon be all over the house. Why?”
Una bit her lip. “I think Otho might be the object of her affections,” she admitted.
“Otho?” Armand was incredulous. Then he laughed. “Who knows, maybe she’ll balance him out. He’s far too serious.”
“I was thinking much the same earlier,” she confessed.
“I wouldn’t hold my breath if I were you,” he warned her. “They seem a mismatch to me.”
Una watched him covertly as he opened his trunk and began rooting around in there for something. “I’m thinking of sending to Muriel, to see if I could borrow some representation of the family crest,” she said aloud. “Do you suppose she would have some token she could send me?”
Armand rolled his eyes. “Sure to,” he answered. “They’re stiff-necked with family pride and past glory.” He regarded her with sudden suspicion. “I don’t want it emblazoned across my new tunic, mind.”
Una smiled. “I would be a bit more subtle than that,” she assured him. “Perhaps a small badge might be acceptable?” When he made no reply, she asked, “can I help you locate what you are looking for?”
“I have it,” he said, brandishing several wooden poles. At her curious look, he explained briefly. “It’s for training the new men.”
Una nodded. “Did you really mean what you said about my making you another suit of clothes?” she asked, choosing not to dwell on the fact he thought their outside servants would need to bear arms.
“Of course,” he replied lightly. “I think another hat too, while you’re at it.”
The Consolation Prize (Brides of Karadok Book 3) Page 23