Wed By Proxy (Brides of Karadok Book 1)

by Alice Coldbreath

  “Aye,” he agreed. “But it seems when Julia used to complain other women did not like her, she spoke true. The Countess of Strethneal and Lady Wallace put fleas in their husbands’ ears after that night. They were as appalled as everyone that I had not given you your due. And it seems Kirkby is a romantic. He should get on well with your Queen,” he grumbled.

  “How do you mean?”

  “Seems he heard some ballad he took a fancy to. About my wronged wife kicking my arse and throwing my leman out on her ear.”

  “What leman? Julia? I bet she’s spitting about that.”

  “Oh aye, she’s furious her sainthood’s been revoked,” he agreed dryly. “Kirkby’s very much looking forward to meeting my warlike bride. And they all agree the Crown should returned you to me, if I vow to treat you right.”

  “You do treat me right,” she said staunchly.

  “You’re too good to me, my love,” he said frankly. “I have your jewel by the way. It’s in the case back home with the rest of them. She wasn’t happy to relinquish it,” he said grimly. “I was forced to be quite blunt.”

  Mathilde forbore to answer, remembering her mother’s words. “Lord Vawdrey told me you’d suffered enough, and I should go easy on you,” she said instead. She for one, thought they had dwelt quite long enough on Julia.

  “He did?” Guy sounded startled.

  She nodded. “I know you don’t like him, but—”

  “He brokered our marriage,” he interrupted her. “So, I already owe him a considerable debt. And if he asked you to look kindly upon me today, then it seems my grudge against him is long past.”

  “Truly?”

  “Aye.”

  “That’s good,” said Mathilde earnestly. “For Fenella, his countess, is very dear to me and has written that she hopes our children will grow up to be close friends with theirs.” Guy’s eyes widened at the idea of future Randalls being friends with Vawdreys, but he managed a murmur of assent.

  “If that’s what you want, then they will be,” he vowed.

  “What do you think of the name Leander for our first-born son?” she asked musingly. “Leander Randall, Marquess of Martindale.”

  Guy’s expression wavered a moment, then he swallowed and nodded. “Aye, love, it sounds ... very well.”

  “Really? You didn’t look too sure.”

  “Quite sure,” he insisted, and when she continued to look unconvinced, he coughed and added. “I was only thinking, that young Leander would have one of my lesser titles until the time comes for him to inherit mine.”

  “Lesser titles?”

  “Probably my secondary one — Viscount March.”

  “Viscount March?” Mathilde sat up a moment. “Leander Randall, Viscount March,” she pronounced with satisfaction. “Oh, I do like that.”

  “Wait a minute,” Guy frowned. “Vawdrey said you were not yet expecting…?”

  “Oh, well, I’m probably not, just yet,” Mathilde agreed. “But even if I’m not already, I’m sure I will be before long.”

  Guy breathed out noisily. “Aye.”

  She nodded. “I should have told you I loved you before you left for Allworthy, but I didn’t want to fling it in your face as a reason for you not to go…” She bit her lip, and lowered her gaze ashamed. “I know I acted very badly that night, but even I was not quite up to that.”

  “Mathilde.” He enveloped her in his arms. “This queen should not be expecting you to sit out on a hillside in bleakest February. Are you cold, my love?”

  “Not anymore and I never will be again.” They both sat a moment deriving comfort from their embrace.

  At last, Mathilde drew back with a small sigh. “Guy, can I just say that when I said what I did about divorcing you that night at dinner… I was not in earnest. I have been angry with myself, remembering those words. I want you to know, I spoke false.”

  “They did not hurt me as much as they should have,” Guy admitted now, apologetically. “For I knew I would never permit it, not while there was breath in my body.” He hesitated. “Then there was the fact you were so angry about Julia…”

  Mathilde groaned. “Is that your tactful way of saying I acted like an extremely jealous wife.”

  He definitely smiled at that, though it quickly died away.

  “That was the only thing that gave me hope,” he admitted. “You were so cold to me, but when it came to her, you grew hot as fire.”

  She watched his eyes darken. “Are you thinking of that night?” she asked awkwardly.

  He nodded and cleared his throat. “Constantly,” he admitted. “You were so—”

  “Guy…” Mathilde squirmed, feeling herself blush.

  “—demanding,” he finished. “I loved it.”

  “Really?” She exhaled.

  “But I’ll only be gentle now,” he said, tightening his hold on her. “Until you’re fully recovered from your ordeal.”

  “Oh, but I am fully recovered,” Mathilde, assured him hurriedly. “I was the moment you returned to me.”

  “I still want to be tender with you,” he said gruffly. “Until I’m assured you realize how much you mean to me.”

  “Well, gentle is good too,” Mathilde said, placing her forehead against his. “But what if I want you rough again?”

  “Then you can scratch your nails down my back, and I’ll be as rough as you like,” he promised in a low, intimate voice. Mathilde sighed happily and he laughed, before gazing down at her face. “I hope you are with child,” he said. “Not just for my sake, but ’twould be a factor for winning over your mother. I would have an ally in her camp,” he said. “Leander will be her first grandchild.”

  Mathilde laughed. “It could be a girl.”

  “And what would her name be, I wonder?” He looked, she thought, a little nervous.

  “I thought perhaps… Heloise?” she ventured.

  “The honorable Lady Heloise Randall of Acton March,” he said aloud and nodded his head. “I like it.” She smiled. “There’s just one thing I still don’t understand.” He frowned.

  “Tell me.” She stroked his chest encouragingly.

  “How the hells can people think you timid?”

  Her hand halted a moment. “You don’t find me timid?”

  He snorted. “Hardly. And it doesn’t sound to me like you ever were.”

  She frowned and leaned one elbow on his shoulder. “You mean because of my daring escape from court? Or because … of Tristan Kerslake.”

  His arms tightened around her. “Because,” he said with deliberation. “Nervous little virgins don’t dream about marrying great ugly brutes like me.”

  “You’re not ugly,” she said indignantly.

  “I’m not the stuff of maidenly dreams.”

  “You have no idea what maidens dream of,” she pointed out with a smothered laugh.

  “That may be so,” he conceded. “But dreams are dreams, and you madam, seduced me.”

  “I?”

  “You,” he said firmly.

  “I did, didn’t I?” she whispered. He nodded, his eyes alight with admiration. “I should probably warn you,” she said, biting her lip, “that after your audience with the queen and my mother…”

  “Yes?”

  “I’m going to do it all over again.”

  He groaned, tipping his head back to rest on the chair. “You little witch,” he complained. “How am I supposed to concentrate now on the task at hand?”

  Her eyes danced. “You’ll manage,” she patted his shoulder. “I have every faith in you.”

  XXXXII

  Her mother had been shocked, and the queen delighted when the Marquess of Martindale had gone down on one knee before them, humbly appealing for the return of his wife.

  “She has put you through the mill, this one, I think, no?” The queen had speculated, her eyes gleaming. “And brought this proud warrior to his knees?”

  “Once proud, your majesty,” Guy had corrected her heavily. “She has all but destr
oyed me. My pride lies in tatters.”

  Mathilde could remember her mother’s astonishment and the queen’s high glee. “But yes!” Queen Armenal had breathed, clapping her hands. “This is very satisfactory. But very satisfactory to me!”

  “I would face any challenge,” he had declared. “Swear any vow to ensure her return.”

  “But I haven’t gone anywhere!” Mathilde had pointed out and been ignored.

  As the interview had continued, Mathilde had realized with dismay, that the queen fully intended promoting her to a position of eminence among her ladies. “Oh, but your majesty—” She had started to protest, but Guy had squeezed her hand, and given the tiniest shake of his head.

  “But how can I spend time at the southern court?” she had demanded in an indignant whisper. “When I have no intention of leaving your side?”

  He had smiled at her words and then in a low voice responded. “My love, there is no southern court, there is only one royal court these days. And if you’re there, just where do you imagine I will be?”

  That had brought her up short. “You wouldn’t.” she had answered uncertainly. “Would you?”

  “I would,” he had answered firmly. “You’re going nowhere without me.”

  Later that night, they had lain together in one of the guest bedrooms at Woodcote House.

  “You did not mind,” Mathilde said anxiously. “That the queen wished for us to remain one night here before returning to Acton March?”

  “Nay wife, I care not where we are, so long as we are together.”

  “Tell me about Prudie, and Destrian and the hens.” She had demanded after they lay in the afterglow of their lovemaking. Guy had been as good as his word. First he had been painstakingly tender and slow and taken great care with lavishing his every attention on her, whispering sweet nothings and praise in her ear the whole time. Then she had sunk her nails into his back and he had responded every bit as ferociously as she could have wished. She watched the rise and fall now of his hairy chest, as his labored breathing returned to normal.

  He did not seem to have heard her request, for he turned his head and swiftly kissed her shoulder. “Mouse indeed,” he mocked. “If only they knew.”

  “Someone once said I was more like a mink,” she admitted. He lifted his head at that and frowned. “Small and exquisite, with sharp teeth.”

  “Who the hells said that?” he asked sounding annoyed.

  Mathilde thought a change of subject might be expedient. “Tell me about Prudie, Destrian and the hens,” she insisted.

  His hand rested at her hip as he considered this with a pucker between his brows. “Prudie and Destrian are well, as are the hens. Waldon and Rob are here so you can ask them in the morn. Now tell me, who said that to you.” His expression was foreboding in the extreme. Mathilde reached up to brush the fall of dark hair back from his brow.

  “No one you need worry about. How long do you suppose it will take before my hair grows back?” she asked. “Mother said I look more like a pageboy these days than a maid.”

  “I know what you’re doing, and it won’t work,” he growled, rolling onto his side and looming over her. “Distracting me,” he elaborated in answer to her raised eyebrows.

  “Tristan said it,” she admitted softly. She looked away from Guy’s intent stare. “I think he rather liked me, despite everything.” She looked up sharply at Guy’s muffled exclamation. “I daresay I’ll always feel guilty over what happened. I wish it could have been resolved differently.”

  “It wasn’t your fault, Mathilde,” he said tightly.

  “I know that really, but I can’t help feeling badly about it.”

  “I’ll fill your belly with babies to stop you getting such foolish ideas.”

  Mathilde considered this. “How many?”

  “Dozens,” he replied without pause. “One after another. ’Til you’re past bearing age. But I’ll plough you even then.”

  “I want you to grow your beard back longer,” she replied, supremely unconcerned by this glimpse of a future filled with incessant childbearing. She tugged on the short black bristles. “It was longer on that first night I met you.” He grunted. “Will you?”

  “Aye. Anything. Whatever it takes.”

  “To what?”

  “Keep you contented with me.”

  “You do and you always will,” she assured him confidently. “Now, let us think about names for all these children.”

  Guy groaned.

  Epilogue

  “Guy!” Mathilde lowered her letter from her friend Fenella, her face flushed. “Only fancy! Twin boys!”

  Guy lowered the cloth he was scrubbing at his neck with. “Twins?” he repeated and frowned.

  Mathilde nodded eagerly, returning to her letter. “They have called them Nathan and Stephen Vawdrey. Is that not terribly exciting?”

  If anything, Guy was silent a moment. “And she is well?” he asked in a low voice. “After birthing them?”

  He cast down the cloth and made his way over to the bed where his wife was reclined having an afternoon rest. He edged his way up onto the mattress next to her, resting a palm on her pregnant belly.

  “Oh yes,” Mathilde assured him quickly. Just lately, Guy seemed to have fallen prey to anxiety around any accounts of labor or pregnancy. “Fenella writes she is very well and enjoying a period of rest at their new town residence.” She read aloud from the letter. “The boys are healthy and hearty. Nathan is the elder by a quarter of an hour.” She lowered her letter again. “I suppose that means he will bear his father’s lesser title for now — Baron Vawdrey. It’s funny to think of a baby being a baron, is it not?” She thought briefly of all the barons she had known, who had mostly been bluff old men with booming voices. “I think perhaps we should have Heloise now,” she said resting her hand on top of his. “And have Leander as our second child.”

  Guy looked startled at the postponement of his son and heir. “And why is that?” he asked in bewilderment, raising his head from the pillow to squint at her.

  “Because then Heloise can marry Nathan or Stephen and ally our two families,” she pointed out reasonably.

  A slight frown passed over Guy’s face and Mathilde wondered if he had entirely accepted Oswald Vawdrey as an ally. He had been wholly impressed with his countess, Fenella, when they had met and had told Mathilde that she was free to visit Acton March whenever she pleased, but he still seemed to have a few reservations about Earl Vawdrey.

  “If our daughter marries a Vawdrey she’ll marry the future Earl, not the younger son,” he said with feeling.

  “Nathan then,” nodded Mathilde. “I shall write back to Fenella.”

  “I don’t think we should be overly hasty to enter into any betrothals for our children,” Guy said, He shot her a sidelong look.

  “Oh, but I think it is quite important that there is not too much disparity in age, Guy,” she said earnestly.

  Immediately, he was contrite and she realized he knew she had been thinking of her own previous marriages. “Of course,” he muttered soothingly. “But Strethneal has an infant son, don’t forget. Heloise will have more than one opportunity to be a countess. And if she marries Strethneal’s heir, then she would live very close to us after marriage.”

  Mathilde’s eyes widened. “That is a good point,” she conceded. “I had not thought of that.”

  “Of course, if Heloise is an unspeakable brat, we could send her down south without any compunction.”

  “Guy!” He laughed and turned to kiss her lips. “I thought perhaps we could bring my old nurse back to Acton March with us to help with the baby when it comes,” Mathilde said tentatively. “Mother doesn’t know what to do with the poor old thing these days and I’m no longer worried she’ll go back to cossetting me now I’ve found my feet.”

  “I don’t know about that,” he frowned. “She must be blind as a bat to have mistaken Willard for you.”

  All three boys had been to stay at Acton March, and
Guy had spent some considerable time befriending them all. Mathilde had been very touched by the efforts he had made. As for Robin, he never had returned to old Sir Avery, but had stayed instead as part of Guy’s household, officially as his squire. He and Mabel the cat shared quarters now in the west wing. His hens and goats had been moved up to the manor as his personal pets.

  “I don’t want her mistaking a piglet for our son and heir.”

  “Well, she’s not likely to make that mistake!” Mathilde pointed out with a giggle.

  “And what about our daughter, the fair Heloise?” he continued. “What if she tries to mold her into a perfect Lady Tilda.”

  “We’d never let her!” Mathilde said, impressed he’d remembered the tale she’d told him. “Fancy you remembering that.”

  “I remember everything you tell me,” he said, smugly.

  “You’re very good,” she agreed with a sigh. “But I’ve thought of a counter for that. How would it be if we made Old Helga one of Heloise’s godparents?”

  Guy went off into a coughing fit. “Gods, Mathilde!”

  “She’d be perfect,” she insisted.

  “Perfect?” He looked skeptical. “I’ve only just forgiven the old crone for causing all that discord between us six months ago!” he said sternly.

  He had told Mathilde the whole conversation that had passed between himself and the witch, including her prophecy of his southern wife. Mathilde had freely forgiven the old woman for her interference, for it was clear to her that Old Helga clearly knew what she was about. Guy had found it a little harder to let bygones be, but he was getting there.

  As for Mathilde’s mother, Lady Doverdale had been and stayed with them on a month-long visit. She and Guy had clashed a couple of times as both had strong opinions, but Mathilde had learned to simply take a step back and let them argue. It soon passed and on the whole she did not think they thought any the worst of each other for it.

  “Have you finished with your letter?” he asked, eyeing that missive she still held loosely in her fingers.

  “What? No, why?” Mathilde took it up again. “There is something really astonishing as a post-script which you will hardly credit, Guy. Now, when we went to court in the spring, I do not remember, did I introduce you to the Lady Eden Montmayne?”