An Ill-Made Match (Vawdrey Brothers Book 3)

by Alice Coldbreath

  Eden drew herself up, but remained silent. Her uncle had turned quite purple. In the main, her uncle’s moods were fairly even, he usually only blustered and shouted when he was feeling ill-at-ease about something. In truth, he was under a lot of stress and his wife, Eden’s aunt Gwenda usually only added to his burdens, rather than supporting him. That was usually Eden’s role. She felt a pang of conscience at making things difficult for him now.

  “Well!” he huffed. “I have said enough, I think. I hope you will consider my words. Since your father died, I have tried to do my best by you, I think you will admit.”

  Eden felt herself stiffen under the mention of her ne’er-do-well father. “You have, Uncle,” she agreed in her most colorless voice.

  “Have I not sponsored you at Court and raised you in my own home?”

  “You have provided for me most handsomely, Uncle.”

  “There now,” he said, climbing down off his high horse. “I hope you know I am fond of you, child.”

  “Yes, Uncle,” she said, for it was true. In his own way Leofric Montmayne had acted very handsomely by the wife and daughter of his younger brother Godwin. No-one could claim any differently in all conscience.

  “Run along now,” he advised. “For Hobson has everything well under way here. Make yourself useful by rousing your grandmother from her self-imposed exile. Unless,” he added doubtfully. “You wish to try and raise your aunt.”

  Eden could think of nothing she would like less. Instead she hurried off in the direction of the North tower.

  **

  Eden found Lady Dorothea Montmayne ensconced in her private rooms and surrounded by her tapestry looms.

  “What say you to this match?” her grandmother asked, after suffering a kiss on the cheek by way of greeting. “Will he do for her?” she asked. “Is he enamored of her?”

  Eden sank down into a seat and pondered how to reply diplomatically. “He admires her beauty greatly,” she said at last.

  “My own instinct tells me he is not the one for her,” continued Lady Dorothea with a sigh. “He is handsome to be sure. But I predict they would be living in separate abodes by this time next year. Lenora barely tolerates court.”

  Eden looked up, startled. “Oh but…”

  Dorothea turned a gimlet gaze upon her. “You think because she is the toast, she enjoys the adulation?”

  Eden frowned. It seemed their grandmother was far more insightful where Lenora was concerned than she had been. “She rides out,” she said stubbornly. “Her company is much sought after…”

  “She does not enjoy the society of young men,” said Lady Dorothea dismissively. “She never has. She dislikes being fawned over or pawed.”

  Eden hesitated. “I do not think Roland Vawdrey is the fawning type,” she said slowly. “His admiration has barely taken any physical form that I have seen.” She thought a moment. “I am not sure they have even spent much time in each other’s company,” she said with a helpless shrug.

  “And yet, you are sure he admires her?” asked her grandmother sharply.

  “Of course, he asked for her hand after all,” pointed out Eden, feeling uncomfortable.

  “There are some men,” said the older woman. “Who see a wife merely as a possession. They want the most sought-after, the most beauteous, the most admired. They do not see her as a help-meet or even as a person, simply as a way of triumphing over others.” She looked at Eden shrewdly. “Could it be that the youngest Vawdrey is such a one?”

  “I barely know him,” Eden said, not adding that what she did know, she did not like. “I am not qualified to answer such a question.” She cast about her. “His older brothers both seem happily wedded. Mayhap, once married to Lenora, he would come to appreciate her finer points, her sweet nature…”

  “Pffft!” Lady Dorothea interrupted abruptly. “Not he! He is his father all over again. Did you ever meet Baron Vawdrey?”

  “Not that I remember-”

  Her grandmother’s lip curled. “He was a great churl of a man, much given to shouting and railing. He rode roughshod over both his wives, and was more considerate toward his hounds than his spouses!”

  Eden sat quietly a moment. “Then what is to be done?” she asked hopelessly. “Lenora insists this is the right step for her.”

  “She said that?”

  “Yes, not even an hour ago.” Lady Dorothea seemed much taken aback by this. “Don’t misunderstand me, grandmother,” Eden said painstakingly. “She was far from enthusiastic…”

  “Lenora is never enthusiastic about anything,” cut in her grandmother despairingly. “Except for soothsayers and cats!” Sadly, this was nothing but the truth, and Eden could make no argument. “Well, there is precious little we can do,” she said heavily. “Except watch events unfold.”

  “At least,” said Eden perking up. “This is a betrothal and not a wedding feast. There will be some time afterward for both parties to recant.”

  “True enough,” pondered Lady Montmayne. “And after the betrothal, they will be expected to associate more closely…”

  “And familiarity may breed contempt on Lenora’s behalf,” finished off Eden hopefully. They exchanged a look.

  “That is the most we can hope for,” said her grandmother at last. “Though it pains me to say it. And my son is strangely determined on this course.”

  Eden looked up sharply. “My uncle could not have coerced Lenora,” said Eden with a frown. “She would have told me!”

  “I did not mean that precisely. Perhaps he has heard some inside information,” she shrugged. “That young Vawdrey is to be granted a peerdom? And he feels he is stealing a march by snaring him now before it is common knowledge.”

  “Do you really suppose that could be it?”

  “Stranger things have happened, and I would not be at all surprised,” intoned her grandmother. “The King has promoted many a man for stupider reasons than being a good fighter.” Eden murmured in agreement. “And let us not forget that his brother is in a position of great power. Both his brothers,” she added. “The Vawdreys are not a family to be trifled with.” She shrugged. “Perhaps, after all, Leo knows what he is doing allying us with them.”

  Eden eyed her doubtfully. In her opinion, Roland Vawdrey was nothing more than a well-muscled brute. He had an insensitive nature and a callous, shallow outlook on life. But what was the point in voicing that opinion now? Women married such men all the time. Very likely her opinions were out of step with general thought. She knew the King’s Champion to be much admired among the court ladies. She just wished to goodness he wasn’t marrying her cousin!

  **

  Three hours later, the betrothal feast, Hallam Hall

  It was very strange, thought Roland frowning down at his plate. His head was swimming although the last course had not yet been cleared, and he held a half-full cup of wine in his hand. He was commonly known to have the constitution of an ox, and could drink into the early hours before he got addled. This stuff they were serving was damnably strong, though. He tried to reckon up how much he had consumed, but kept losing his train of thought. He knew he had something he urgently needed to impart to his brother Oswald, who was sat at his right, although it kept slipping sideways out of his mind. Catching sight of the ladies who were setting up their instruments for the entertainment, he remembered it again. “Oswald,” he said with urgent conviction, and reached across to catch hold of one of his brother’s silver buttons.

  Oswald looked at him in politely enquiry. “Yes Roland,” he said, angling his face toward him.

  “Can you hear me?” Roland asked, suddenly doubtful. His own ears felt very muffled.

  “Perfectly,” his brother assured him, although he did inch closer. “What is it? You look troubled. Be at ease. You are among family and friends.”

  Roland held up his finger. “Wrong one,” he said, forming his words carefully. “She’s the wrong one.”

  “Well, well,” said Oswald looking amused. “Alcohol
is generally held to muddle the senses, not clear them.”

  Roland frowned at him. “What?” His gaze returned to where Eden Montmayne was in the act of strumming her harp with her slender, white fingers. He didn’t really like skinny wenches, but for some reason, she drew his eye like no other. He liked the way she moved too, so gracefully, and almost… sinuously. ‘Twas a pity she wasn’t dancing tonight instead of playing at her harp. The odd thing was, that he couldn’t hear any music, although all around him the other guests were tapping their feet, or nodding their heads as though in enjoyment. “Think I’m going deaf,” Roland said aloud.

  “Try not to shout, brother,” Oswald murmured in reproof, as heads turned to look at them censoriously.

  Roland looked up to find Eden’s annoyed face glaring at him across the rom. “Why do I want her so much, answer me that if you’re so clever,” he said thickly.

  Oswald’s mouth twisted into a smile. “How refreshingly candid you’re being, Roland. Although you have left it a little late in the day.” He leaned forward to look at their other brother on Roland’s left. “Mason, can you hear him?”

  “It’s too late for cold feet now, Roland,” said Mason bracingly.

  Roland turned his head and nearly pitched forward onto the table.

  “Steady,” warned Oswald, his hand suddenly at Roland’s neck, pinching him there.

  “What’s wrong with him?” asked Mason. “He can’t be sotted already.”

  “Ah, but he is,“ murmured Oswald. “It must be nerves.”

  But that couldn’t be right, thought Roland. He’d drunk no more than his companions, and everyone knew that Oswald had no head for drinking. He caught sight of Eden and Lenora side by side again, and felt frustrated. “Can’t do it,” he said shaking his head. “Wrong one, damn it. Need to call it off.”

  “My dear Roland,” tutted Oswald indulgently. “You’ll be getting a reputation as a jilt at this rate. After all, this is not the first prospective wedding you’ve cried off.”

  Mason’s head turned to spear Oswald with a vicious glare. “You’re speaking of my wife,” he scowled.

  “I didn’t even know Linnet,” Roland objected unevenly, throwing out a hand which thudded oddly against the table leg. He felt like he had pins and needles all over.

  “What possible objection could you have to this one?” Mason asked.

  “She’s not Eden,” Roland slurred and fell forward face-down onto the table-top.

  **

  Something was tickling Roland's nose. He scrunched it up and blew out of his mouth to try and dislodge whatever the irritation was. It drifted away before settling again across his mouth this time. With an annoyed murmur he tried to reach up to drag it away, only to find both his hands were already occupied, palming the charms of his current bed-mate. He glanced down in surprise to find one handful of buttock and one of breast. She was lay sprawled a-top of him and was gently snoring into his chest. His eyebrows shot up as he tried and failed to remember how this one had ended up in his bed. He must have gotten steaming drunk he realized, as his last memory was sat between his two brothers at the betrothal feast. He must have picked up some serving wench, he thought uneasily, though he had done precious little of that in recent months. Not since that witch Eden Montmayne had kissed him and tied his libido up in knots. He frowned down at the top of his companion’s hair, which was black and shining, but he didn't remember a damn thing. Eden’s hair was black, he thought uneasily. Maybe that was why this one had caught his eye. He released her perky breast with faint reluctance and reached up to brush her long hair from his face. It was straight and long and smelt faintly of roses. That was when he felt the first frisson of alarm. Most serving wenches did not smell of flowers the morning after. He reached down and gently lifted her hand from where it lay on his mattress. Slender and soft with clean rounded pink nails. Holy fuck. He'd bedded a high-born lady yester e'en. If she was married, he'd cuckolded some poor bastard and if she was a virgin, even worse! He lay staring at the ceiling in horror a moment as he absorbed this. Pray to the gods she was a horny widow who had fallen into his bed like a ripe plum! But even widows could be troublesome he thought with distraction as he released the soft hand and absently re-cupped her breast. What if she demanded he made an honest woman of her? He'd finally pledged his troth to most beauteous woman at court - Lenora Montmayne. It would not go down well if he’d swived some friend or relative of hers at the betrothal feast! He cleared his throat and the wench gave a muffled groan which made his dick perk up with interest.

  “Thirsty,” she whimpered and lifted her face to gaze at him through blurry blue eyes. He knew those eyes, though usually they were sharp as gimlets. He knew those delicate features too.

  Fuck.

  They both stared.

  The moment stretched.

  Then an insistent hammering started on the door.

  Eden yelped, and he sucked in a sharp breath, as they drew closer to each other in mutual confusion. Roland slid his hand from her bosom around her back to cradle her body against his.

  There was a splintering sound, and then suddenly the door burst open and they found themselves confronted with their host Sir Leofric Montmayne, his brother Sir Christopher, Roland’s own two brothers and an astonished looking man he vaguely recognized as the steward.

  “Ah there you both are,” said Oswald. There was a glint in his eye that Roland didn't care for.

  Eden gave a strangled scream and bounced off him, dragging the covers up to her neck and exposing his naked body and very hard cock. For some reason, when he had realized his naked bed-partner was Eden Montmayne, it had gone from half to full stand. He sat up with a muffled exclamation and dragged a cushion over his crotch.

  Oswald coughed, and Sir Leofric made a strangled noise in his throat. The steward’s eyes opened so wide they almost fell out of his head. Sir Christopher’s face turned an outraged purple color as Mason rolled his eyes.

  Oswald looked like he was struggling to keep his face straight, the bastard. “Tsk, tsk brother!” he said shaking his head. “I didn't like to speak out of turn Sir Leofric, but I could see how things were brewing when I saw them together yesterday.” He gave a heavy sigh. “Roland has seduced your poor niece.”

  “You - you - Blackguard sir!” shouted Sir Leofric. “If I had not seen this with my own eyes I would ne'er have believed such infamy!”

  His words seemed to rouse his brother Christopher’s ire too. He took a hasty step forward and pointed at Eden. “You’ve certainly shown your true colors and no mistake!” he wheezed. “The apple never falls far from the tree. You have nurtured a viper in your bosom Leofric. She’s nothing but a little wh-!“

  Mason’s arm shot out and pinned Sir Christopher to the doorway. “Who the fuck is this again?” he asked Oswald over his shoulder. He dwarfed the other man, who was dangling feebly from his fist.

  “I forget,” said Oswald. “Some cousin of yours?” he asked Sir Leofric, turning to him.

  “My brother, Christopher” said Sir Leofric awkwardly.

  “Tell him to shut the fuck up,” said Roland from the bed. “I’ve got a pounding head.”

  “Yes, do,” said Oswald. “His shouting isn’t really contributing to the matter at hand.”

  “Shut up your racket, Christopher,” said Sir Leofric irritably. “You’re not master here, I am.”

  Sir Christopher opened and shut his mouth like a fish. “Very well,” he uttered on a wheeze. Mason released him and he landed on his feet with a yelp.

  “This is an outrageous business,” agreed Oswald cutting in smoothly. “You have every right to be incensed at his behavior, Sir Leofric. Let us not sink to his level, however. Let us remember that we are gentlemen.”

  Eden who was sat rigidly at Roland’s side, tried to speak. Roland thought she said ‘uncle’, but then went off into a coughing fit.

  “Get your bride-to-be some water, boy,” said Oswald mildly.

  Roland's head snapped up a
nd they locked eyes a moment. He experienced the oddest feeling of …. He didn’t know how to describe it. Something blooming in his chest. He’d never felt anything like it. Whatever it was, it seemed laced with something very close to relief. He exhaled noisily and climbed from the bed, dropping the cushion. There no longer seemed a reason to shield her from his nakedness. After all, she was going to have to marry him now. He sauntered over to where his clothes were neatly folded onto a chair. Dragging on his braies, he then turned to a small table with a glass pitcher full of water and some cups. He downed a cup himself before pouring a second for Eden.

  Oswald, he noticed was talking in a persuasive and smooth voice to Sir Leofric. “Shall we repair into the adjoining room to thrash out the details, my dear Sir Leo,” he said. “After all, the damage is now done. Let us attempt to pick up as many pieces as can be restored.” Sir Leofric mumbled something, passing a shaking hand over his brow, before allowing himself to be ushered into the sitting room. He looked a broken man. Mason turned and followed them.

  Roland crossed swiftly to the door and shoved out Sir Christopher and the steward who were still stood there still staring. Then he shot the bolt. He was surprised to see it hadn't bust off its hinges at the ill-treatment it had suffered. He turned back to look at Eden who was as white as the sheet she was wrapped in. “What happened?” he said simply.

  She drew in a sharp breath. “Are you saying you don’t remember either?” she asked shakily.

  He narrowed his eyes at her before returning to the water jug and picking up the cup he'd poured out. Walking over to her side, he sat heavily on the bed beside her, holding it out.

  Eden released the edge of the sheet she was white-knuckling to take it, and then took a deep draught. Her hand trembled as she drained the glass. He took it from her and set it down.

  “Did we...?” he let his gaze travel over her shrouded form.