Lady Martindale let out a frightened squeak as her mother sucked in her cheeks.
“If you are granted an audience with the King,” answered Lady Doverdale with gravity. “It will only be after he has weighed up all the facts of the case from every angle.”
Linnet placed her napkin carefully on the table before her. “But how, pray, is he to do that Lady Doverdale?” she asked calmly. “When he is not in possession of any of them?”
Her hostess gazed at her sternly. “Are you so unfilial as to suggest your aunt and uncle are not best placed to represent you to the King?” she asked in an awful voice.
“Yes, quite frankly I am,” answered Linnet. “My aunt and uncle have abused their position as my trustees for years.”
Lady Doverdale’s thin lips flattened. She glanced speakingly towards the servants. “You have led a very sheltered life, Lady Linnet, and so are probably not aware how very serious an allegation that is to make. I would caution you to choose your words wisely at court. Things can be misconstrued and words treated as very dangerous weapons.”
“My life has not been so sheltered as you seem to think,” answered Linnet who had no intention of allowing herself to be browbeaten or cowed. Take that back to the servant’s quarters, she thought, catching the eye of a wide-eyed maid. “And if you think I am unaware of the grossly inaccurate rumors circulating around court about me for years you are quite wrong!” She could feel that two bright spots of color had appeared in her cheeks and twisted her skirts in her fingers beneath the table.
Lady Doverdale grudgingly inclined her head in acknowledgement of this. “Life at court is rife with rumor,” she said damningly. “It is a blight which affects us all.”
Linnet remembered Mason speaking of it once, although he referred to it as ‘spreading horseshit’ if memory served. “Yes, so my husband has told me,” she answered unthinkingly.
“Sir Mason has discussed court life with you?” asked Lady Doverdale sounding startled.
Not willingly, thought Linnet wryly, but she nodded her head anyway. “We are husband and wife, Lady Doverdale,” she said loftily. “Naturally, my husband discusses all aspects of his life with me.”
Lady Doverdale looked skeptical but kept her tongue.
“I am accustomed to taking exercise after breaking my fast,” Linnet commented as Lady Doverdale and her daughter led her towards the sitting area by the fire where several embroidery frames were set out. She was hanged if she was going to sit playing at needle-work this morning, as though nothing out of the ordinary was going on, when her marriage was in danger of being dissolved!
“Indeed? I had thought some quiet occupation might be better suited for you,” Lady Doverdale said with a frown. “In view of your delicate health.”
Linnet drew herself up to stand at her tallest height, which admittedly was not very tall. “My health is far from delicate, I assure you. I take daily exercise, ride, and manage my household accounts. I do not, I repeat do not, live the retired life of a semi-invalid.”
Lady Doverdale clicked her tongue. “Very well,” she said, clapping her hands so a servant sprang forward. “We will go for a walk in the long avenue. Fetch forth our cloaks.”
Linnet considered slipping a note to Cuthbert to take to Mason to ask him to meet her there, but in the end decided against it. After all, she little knew his movements this morn. ’Twas possible he was about important business.
XXII
Mason stared across the table at Lord Schaeffer, who shuffled his papers and coughed awkwardly.
“Feel awkward asking you these things, m’boy,” the older man said regretfully. “But the King’s orders, you understand. Got to do my duty for king and country, same as you.”
With great effort Mason managed not to point out that his duty had involved a series of bloody battlefields, not asking some poor bastard awkward questions about his marital relations!
He cleared his throat. “Of course,” he answered shortly. “Let’s get on with it, shall we?”
Glancing over at the scribe, he felt a tightening of foreboding in his gut.
“In the event of the marriage being deemed canonically invalid, a period of some three months would be necessary before remarriage to ensure the female were not expecting any issue from the union.” Lord Schaeffer paused and looked over the top of the papers at Mason questioningly. “What I am asking, Sir Mason, is would that precaution be entirely necessary in this instance?”
Mason narrowed his eyes, leaning forward in his chair. “There will be no question of invalidity, canonical or otherwise. And. There. Will. Be. No. Remarriage.”
Lord Schaeffer’s eyes widened with alarm. He coughed. “Erm, what I am trying to ask, with the utmost delicacy is—”
“I am well aware of what you’re asking me,” snapped Mason. “And I consider it to be a damned impertinence!”
Lord Schaeffer turned pale.
For Mason, it was the beginning of a long and annoying morning and as he snapped and snarled his answers to the increasingly intrusive questions, he wondered what version of marital interrogation Linnet was going to receive. His gut twisted when he thought of her being mortified by strangers. “When do I get to see the King?” he asked at the end of it.
Lord Schaeffer flinched. “Don’t think he’s too keen to get dragged in at the early stages, m’boy. Damn awkward for him with you being so recently promoted.”
Mason squeezed the arm of his chair, imagining it was Roland’s neck.
XXIII
It was a pleasant walk in the long avenue which was lined with oak and beech trees. Lady Martindale had cried off with a slight cough, but Lady Doverdale was made of stronger stuff, and they kept a brisk pace. Linnet could not be unaware of the heads that swiveled and the excited whispers that followed them. She kept her chin high in the air and marched determined to keep apace with her companion.
“How far a walk is it into town?” she asked in a loud, clear voice which she hoped would carry. “I do enjoy a nice, long constitutional walk in the mornings.”
“You will not be permitted off castle grounds at present, Lady Linnet,” her guardian pointed out drily. “You are the King’s guest here and would require permission.”
“And how does one apply for permission?” answered Linnet, not to be put off. “I should so like to visit on market day.”
Lady Doverdale frowned. “Market day is extremely busy and chaotic, Lady Linnet. You would require a male escort for such a visit.”
“Oh that’s fine,” she answered breezily. “I could simply ask my husband after all!”
There was a heavy silence and someone in the background tittered.
Lady Doverdale cursed under her breath and Linnet looked up sharply to see an approaching gaggle of women. At the head of them, scarlet cheeked and completely out of breath was her aunt, Lady Jevons. She must have run the whole way to head them off. Linnet felt a spurt of anger at the sight of her skinny aunt with her busybody lady companions. Today she wore a very large headdress with buns over each ear and a gold net holding them in place. Her dress was royal blue, slashed with scarlet which had the unfortunate effect of matching her red face.
“Niece!” she squawked. “What a surprise to see you here!” She looked around, noting the onlookers with satisfaction. “At last,” she puffed. “We are reunited. You poor, poor child!” She flung her arms out to embrace Linnet who smartly sidestepped her.
“Aunt Millicent,” she said coolly. “Why, how out of breath you are! You should take more exercise. You look quite rubicund.”
A spasm of annoyance showed on her aunt’s face, but she made a swift attempt to mask it. “What are you doing out of doors, you poor, misguided girl. You will surely suffer an inflammation of your lungs!”
“Nonsense, Aunt,” Linnet flatly contradicted her. “I enjoy regular exercise these days now I am no longer shut up in that tower all day long.” The crowd murmured as Lady Doverdale and her aunt exchanged deep curtsies.
“So I’ve heard,” answered Lady Doverdale briskly.
It occurred to Linnet that there was no love lost between the two, which heartened her no end. “Not so sheltered now, thank you,” Linnet corrected her. “I’ve been thinking I should be presented, now I am finally at court.” In truth, it had only just this moment popped into her head, but it occurred to Linnet that if she could show as many people as possible that she was in good health it might aid her cause.
Her aunt’s face fell. “Oh I don’t think that’s a good notion at all, my dear. Not with your precarious health.”
“I’ve told you, aunt, my health is excellent,” said Linnet forcefully. She turned to Lady Doverdale. “As my current guardian, would you be so kind as to consider such a request?” she asked.
Her aunt made a choked sound of rage and a small smile appeared on Lady Doverdale’s face. She inclined her head. “I will consider it.”
“Thank you,” answered Linnet with satisfaction. “Goodbye, Aunt,” she said pointedly and stepped around her aunt.
“Wait! I mean, but where are you going? I insist that you return to your bed to recover from your journey!”
Linnet waved a vague hand and continued on her way, doggedly ignoring her aunt’s shrill tones which continued to echo up the avenue.
Lady Doverdale inhaled a deep breath. “Perhaps you should tell me about this time you spent shut up in a tower?” she suggested grudgingly.
XXIV
Mason had returned to his quarters after the frustrating interview with Lord Schaeffer. He found his father there full of fury and railing about Roland, who it seemed was holed up with the Jevonses in their chambers.
“Wouldn’t even see me!” he bellowed. “His own father! Skulking along with that pair of weasels like a—like their little lapdog!”
Oswald tutted and poured wine for all of them.
Mason took his wordlessly. In truth, he didn’t wonder that Roland was giving them a wide berth. Probably the wisest thing the little swine could have done.
“Roland’s being manipulated by the Jevonses,” Oswald said in his most reasonable voice. “We all know that.”
“Young fool!” spat his father angrily. “I ought to tan his hide!”
Mason rubbed his eyes and winced.
“What’s up with you?” grunted his father.
“Didn’t sleep,” he answered brusquely.
“Out whoring, were you?” snorted his father. “Well I’ve no symp—”
“No, I was not out whoring,” roared Mason, flinging his goblet of wine across the room so hard it bounced off the wall and rolled all the way back to his feet. “For fuck’s sake!” He glared at his father. “I couldn’t sleep because I am in danger of losing my wife, which is something you wouldn’t have the first fucking clue about even if you have been married three times. Because let me explain this to you father,” his voice was trembling with rage, and he only managed to lower his voice with the greatest of effort. “Wives are not like livestock and you do not breed them like horses. And if you ever speak of Linnet dying of a disease again, so help me, I will—”
“Mason,” Oswald had stepped in front of him. “Mason, calm down. Calm down, Mason.”
The red mist obscured almost everything for a moment, but after a few seconds Mason managed to see his brother’s mouth moving and realized Oswald was talking to him. Mason shook his head and let Oswald shove him back into a chair. He went hot, he went cold. He could suddenly hear again.
His brother was talking sharply to their father, “If you haven’t got anything useful to say, just keep your mouth shut for fuck’s sake,” he scolded.
And suddenly that struck Mason as the funniest thing he had heard in years. His prim and proper brother cursing his sire out. He started to laugh and then found he couldn’t stop. Oswald and Baron Vawdrey stared. Tears rolled down his face. His ribs hurt.
“I’m getting a physician,” yelped their father, backing out the room. “He’s gone raving mad!”
Oswald shut the door after him and shot a look of concern at Mason. “Listen to me Mason,” he urged. “This whole business is going to be resolved. You need to keep your head.”
Mason covered his face with his hand. “I’ve made a mess of everything,” he groaned.
“What’s that?” Oswald looked, if anything, even more worried. “You mean with Lord Schaeffer?”
“No, not him. With Linnet.”
“Linnet?”
Mason scrubbed his eyes, unable to speak.
Oswald had crouched down before him. “Mason, I don’t know what you’re talking about. Linnet thinks the sun rises and sets with you.”
“You didn’t read that fucking book.”
Oswald looked bewildered. “Book? What book?”
“Sir bloody Maurency of Jorde.”
Oswald’s expression cleared. “I have read that book Mason,” he corrected him crisply. “It’s a popular book. What has that to do with anything?”
“That’s what she thinks a knight is.”
Oswald sighed. “I’m sure even Linnet would realize that is a highly romanticized version of a knight,” he pointed out. “I’m getting you a drink.” He picked up the goblet which now had a huge dent in the side of it. Putting that back down, he picked up Baron Vawdrey’s abandoned wine and passed it to Mason with an awkward pat of his shoulder.
Mason tipped it back and swallowed the wine down. “It’s not just the book,” he admitted, not meeting Oswald’s gaze.
His brother took his cup and refilled it before passing it back to him. Then he fetched the jug and placed it on the low table between them and pulled up a chair. “Tell me,” he said simply.
“You remember,” said Mason slowly. “The day after I was married? When all I cared about was counting how much wealth Linnet had bought me? And you said—” he broke off to rub his temple. “You said that I should have given her soft words. And I laughed, like the bastard I am, and said I had only married her for her money—” He found himself unable to speak another word and took another gulp of wine instead.
Oswald waited patiently a moment but then realized nothing else was forthcoming. “I do remember Mason,” he said steadily. “I think I probably remember it better than you. Do you know why?”
Mason shook his head.
“Because I realized, even at the time, that you were full of shit, Brother,” said Oswald ruefully. He settled back into his seat with a soft laugh. “I remember I said something about even ugly women deserving kindness and your eyes blazed up with murder and you accused me of being jealous. Do you remember?”
“No,” said Mason dully. “Call her ugly again and I’ll kill you.”
Oswald ignored him. “Then you went haring straight up to her and didn’t emerge until supper time when she hung off your every word and clearly thought you were the hero of the hour.”
“I need to get drunk,” said Mason, pouring himself another wine.
“And let’s face it, you’ve been like a dog with a bone with her from day one. Anyone so much as looks at her too long and you growl. You’re insanely possessive.”
Mason shifted in his seat. Well, that might be true enough. “Are you going to join me?” he held up the jug.
“I think one of us should keep a clear head. Besides, you know I can’t hold my ale.” Oswald watched him take another deep draught of wine. “What I’m trying to say is this, Brother. That even if you thought your motivation in marrying Linnet was unprincipled, I don’t think you were aware of what truly compelled you.”
Mason frowned. “Which was?”
“You took one look at Linnet and saw your future.”
XXV
Linnet was in her temporary bedchamber, braiding her hair, when she heard the soft knock on the door. Something about how lightly the knuc
kles grazed the door made her pause. She remembered Mason telling her to always be accompanied, so she crept to the adjoining dressing room where Gertie and Cuthbert were now bedded down and called softly to her maid. Gertie woke at once only being in a light doze.
“What is it, milady?” she whispered.
“Someone’s at my door,” said Linnet. “It’s not Lady Doverdale and I don’t dare answer it in my nightgown in case it’s a stranger.”
Gertrude’s mouth set determinedly and she marched through the other room to wrench the door open. “Oh sir, it’s you,” she whispered and turned back to Linnet, who was hurrying to join her. To her surprise it was Oswald at the door.
He looked slightly embarrassed. “Can I come in?” he whispered. Gertie opened her mouth to deny him, but Linnet opened the door wider and he slid in. “Linnet, I realize this is highly irregular.”
“What is it? Not Mason?” She felt something clutch at her chest.
“He’s not doing so well,” admitted Oswald looking pained.
“Is he sick?” her voice rose an octave.
“Shhhhh!” cautioned Gertie.
“Heartsick maybe. And I’m not going to lie to you, drunk.”
“You’ve come to tell her the master’s drunk?” asked Gertie in disgust.
Linnet shushed her maid. “Is he missing me?” she asked with a catch in her voice.
“Ridiculously. He read your illustrated tales and got completely demoralized.”
“Demoralized? Why?”
“Thinking he wasn’t the chivalrous knight of your dreams,” said Oswald gravely.
“But . . . but those are just silly tales,” said Linnet. “What has that to do with—?” She huffed. “Let me get my cloak.”
“Where are you going, milady?” squeaked Gertie.
“Shhhh, Gertie! You must sleep in my bed and pull the covers over your head in case Lady Doverdale checks.”
“What?” her maid whisper-shrieked.
“Oswald, you must take me to him and then you must lead me back before day breaks.”
He nodded. Linnet slipped on a pair of her old cloth slippers and padded along the corridor after her brother-in-law. To her surprise, he led her to a low wooden door rather than carrying on down the corridor.
Her Baseborn Bridegroom Page 20
