“Someone has,” Garman said darkly. “So, I want you to make it known that she is a fixed part of our household. Lenora trusts her as none other and holds that she owes her, her life. We won’t be casting her off when she outlives her usefulness.”
“The servant Berta, you mean?” His grandfather looked uncertain. “I don’t think anyone would dare to cross her,” he said. “And she seems to be keeping herself very busy about the place. But I will ask Hopkirk if anyone has fallen afoul of her. It seemed to me she and Hawise were going along very well together in the kitchen.”
“Hawise?” Garman repeated slowly. “Is she not the one whose grandsons run your stables?”
“Your stables, my boy,” his grandfather corrected him gently.
Garman ignored him. “Maybe that’s why,” he muttered.
“What’s that?” The older man looked bewildered.
“It seems Berta is estranged from her own children,” Garman said absently, scratching his neck. “Maybe spending time with Hawise has touched her on the raw.”
His grandfather peered at him. “You mean… because Hawise has two generations of her offspring about her here helping run the place?”
Garman nodded. “Quite.” Then he noticed his grandfather regarding him oddly. “What?”
“Oh, nothing my boy. Nothing at all,” Gerard Sutton assured him with a cautious smile. “Only, that I can see a new influence at work on you. One that seems highly beneficial.”
Garman scowled. “Well you needn’t expect us to sleep in separate bedchambers in that case, need you?”
Gerard Sutton colored. “That is your own affair,” he said primly. “I merely wished to give you options should you not be on such terms.”
“Sharing a bed, you mean?”
The older man visibly bridled. “I did not intend to put you out of temper about it, my boy. I just wanted to be sensitive to any issues that may remain unresolved.”
Garman cast him a withering look. “In fact, we came across two of her cousins at Kellingford. They are quite reconciled to our union. Her father’s heir is shortly to become my squire.”
“Indeed?” Again, his grandfather looked a good deal taken aback. “I will say, that sounds very promising.” He hesitated. “Has her father attempted to make peace with you at all?” he asked, a look of pained enquiry on his face.
“No, and even if he did, I’m not interested in making peace with him,” Garman retorted bluntly.
His grandfather tutted. “My boy,” he said, shaking his head. “Extremely imprudent, if you will allow me to say so. Very ill-advised indeed to be at odds with your own kin.”
“We’ve had this conversation before,” Garman said dryly. “Albeit, another version of it.”
His grandfather sighed. “Very well, I have made my feelings clear on this score,” he admitted. “And will say no more about it.”
“I’d appreciate that.”
“I was wondering only yesterday if word might not have reached Twyford Castle of your marriage,” his grandfather said, casting a furtive glance about.
His words brought Garman up abruptly and he gave him a furious look. “I believe I’ve asked you before not to speak of that place in my hearing,” he said angrily.
His grandfather quailed. “I only thought—”
“Well don’t!” Garman growled. “I haven’t undergone some miraculous change of opinion on that subject, I assure you!”
Seething, he carried the basin into the kitchen and set it down with a thud. Trust the old man to shatter his good mood, he thought caustically. They had always rubbed each other the wrong way and that wasn’t likely to change any time soon.
28
Lenora slept soundly all afternoon, with the cats at the foot of the bed. She awoke suddenly to the conviction rain was coming into their tent. Blinking up at the beamed ceiling, she foggily recalled she was at Matchings Farm, Garman’s boyhood home and wondered where her husband was right now. No sooner had the thought entered her head, then she heard the door quietly open and close. Lifting her head from the pillow, she saw him enter the room soft-footed as a feline.
“There you are,” she murmured. “I just had a dream our tent was leaking.”
“Better a tent than a boat,” he said with a wry twist of his lips.
“I’ve never been on a boat,” she admitted with a yawn.
“Do you want to join my grandfather downstairs, or take your supper here in our room?”
“Where will you be?”
He paused as though he had not considered it. “Where do you want me to be?”
“By my side,” she answered truthfully, then knew a moment’s panic he might not appreciate this.
“Then I will be.” He shrugged, and she relaxed.
“My head feels fine,” she said as he approached and peered under the dressing. He grunted at this and Lenora perceived it must be coming out as an ugly bruise. “Does it look very unsightly?”
“It’s turning purple.”
“Don’t people say the worst of the pain is passed once the bruise comes out?”
“That or something like it.”
Was it her imagination or did his replies seem a little more clipped than usual? Lenora gazed up at him. “I believe I will take my supper downstairs,” she said decisively.
“Very well.” Absently, he trailed the back of his fingers down her cheek and reached out and stroked Fendrel’s head. The little cat had stalked up the bed with a reproachful meow when he approached the bed. “I’ll let them know,” he said, straightening up.
“I’ll get dressed.”
“Don’t bother.” He cast a look over her. “Just put that robe on you wore earlier. It looked presentable enough.”
“I can’t come downstairs in a robe,” she protested.
“Why not? You’re decently covered. Besides, it’s only my grandfather and I at table. You’ll be back up to bed directly after.”
Bossy, thought Lenora, but did not protest. As soon as the door closed behind him, she rose, donned her robe and made for the looking glass. She could do nothing about the dressing stuck to her brow with the strange mixture Berta had prepared. Still, she tidied her hair around it, washed her face and then pulled on some soft pointed slippers.
She hardly missed her lady’s maid at all these days, she reflected as she left the room and wondered if Hannah had left her father’s employment or remained on. She ought to have asked Eden. No doubt her cousin would know. As she approached the bottom step, she heard voices in a room off the hallway, one of which was clearly her husband’s.
“I’ve told you before,” he said with chilly detachment. “I don’t give a damn what the old man wants. I’d see him hanged before being reconciled with him.”
Lenora froze a moment on the stair. She had not realized things were quite that bad between Garman and his grandfather. Then, to her considerable relief, she heard the other speak and realized he was talking to and not about Gerard Sutton.
“I wish you would not talk in such a wild fashion—” the older man started querulously, but Garman’s upraised voice suddenly cut through his words.
“Is that you on the stair, Lenora?” he called.
“It is,” she answered guiltily, and took the last step.
“Come in here and join us.”
Following his directions, she walked quickly into the large chamber where a long table was laid with their supper. Both men rose and Garman rounded the table to catch her hand and draw her down to sit at his left-hand.
“It’s a cold collation,” Garman’s grandfather said apologetically. “We eat simple fare on a Friday as a rule.”
“I am perfectly content to eat such foods,” Lenora answered truthfully enough, though she wondered what the hard-boiled eggs were seasoned with. They appeared to be steeped in vinegar and strewn with parsley which unfortunately brought Berta’s bruise treatment to her mind. Avoiding the eggs, she settled instead for roasted onion salad and helped herself to a dis
h of fried root vegetables with bacon.
To her interest she noticed that Garman’s grandfather ate only sparingly and eschewed wine altogether. She wondered if he had ever been in holy orders and wished her husband was not so close-lipped at all times.
“What are you thinking of?” Garman asked her with disarming shrewdness as he poured her a goblet of wine.
Lenora almost dropped her spoon. “Nothing much.” Her mind raced. “I was just remembering Father Udolphus,” she prevaricated and to her annoyance colored hotly.
He frowned. “Who?”
“You remember, the hermit who married us?”
“Father Udolphus did you say?” asked Gerard Sutton with interest. “I think I’ve heard of him. Is he not the famous Head Abbot at Pryors Norton?”
“Can’t have been,” Garman answered with a frown, though in truth, he had looked the part. “This one was a hermit dwelling on a road-side.”
His grandfather coughed. “I believe this abbot spends six months of every year living as a poor friar serving the community. He believes it keeps his soul untainted by the trappings of his worldly station.”
Garman remembered the hermit’s manner and pondered the likelihood they were one and the same. Accepting the probability of this with a shrug, he turned to Lenora. “Thanks to your character assassination, the good abbot heartily despised me.”
Lenora choked on the mouthful of wine she had just taken. “I had forgotten I blackened your name to him,” she admitted ruefully.
“Blackened it?” he mocked. “You stripped me of all human decency.”
“Hardly that,” Lenora objected, setting down her goblet. “I merely invested you with the qualities of my wicked seducer.”
A knife clattered against the table and they both turned to find Garman’s grandfather listening, his eyes round, his face pale.
Lenora started. She had forgotten they were not alone. “Did you know,” she said hurriedly. “That my own father thought the life of a holy nun might suit me at one time.”
“Did he?” Garman asked coolly. “I fancy I can guess precisely when that thought occurred to him.”
Lenora’s startled eyes met his own glittering ones. Was he angry? She took another hasty sip of wine.
Gerard Sutton cleared his throat. “Is that why your father did not wish for your marriage, my dear?” he asked sounding as though he were making an effort. “He wished you to devote your life to the gods?”
“Not exactly,” Lenora winced.
“He wanted her to marry Sir Lionel Emworth,” Garman interposed heavily.
“And I refused,” Lenora added.
“You had some material objection to your father’s choice?” the older man asked, clearly striving to conceal his disapproval of such filial impiety.
“Oh yes,” Lenora agreed. “You see—”
“Sir Lionel could not keep his hands to himself,” Garman interrupted cuttingly.
Lenora’s eyes flew to his. “Well, yes,” she agreed. “He is the sort of man who corners maids when no-one is looking.” She could see Garman’s grandfather was a good deal taken aback by such frank speech. “I find I do not trust a man who acts differently when he thinks himself unobserved. Your grandson, for instance, would not moderate his behaviour one whit, regardless of audience.”
Gerard Sutton blinked. “That is probably true,” he agreed in a faint voice, and Garman grinned wolfishly. Lenora hastily covered her own mouth with a napkin.
“And then,” she said, lowering the napkin, striving for a calm, even tone. “There was the fact that I wished to marry your grandson.” She did not dare to look at Garman at this point, just smiled brightly at his grandfather. “You see, I have always been a great follower of the jousts.”
“I see,” said Gerard Sutton faintly, though his expression was disbelieving. “You are of an—um—romantic disposition, Lenora,” he said with a sad smile. “Like so many young women.”
An uncomfortable silence hung over the table a moment as all three of them registered that Gerard Sutton thought she was heading for a big disillusionment. “I do not think so,” Lenora rallied after a heartbeat. Was that true though? She thought of her previous preoccupation with fortunes and true loves and colored hotly. Mayhap, she had been rather foolish and ill-informed in the past. Gerard Sutton shook his head, plainly not believing a word she said, and Lenora found herself growing stilted and awkward at the idea he believed her head over heels for his grandson.
When Garman firmly escorted her up to bed at the close of the meal, she was almost tongue-tied in bidding his grandfather goodnight. They were halfway up the stairs when she glanced back down and found the old man watching her sorrowfully.
“What’s wrong?” Garman asked as he opened the bedroom door for her.
She bit her lip. “Your grandfather thinks me the biggest fool in the county,” she said, slipping past him.
He gave a short laugh but stayed by the door. “He thinks I seduced you and stole you away, more like.”
Lenora gazed back at him, feeling troubled. She sank back to sit on the bed. “Does his opinion really not bother you?” she asked curiously. He shrugged his large shoulders. “You will not trouble then, to tell him the truth?” she persisted.
“And undo all your hard work? When you took the trouble to tell him such a pretty tale?”
Lenora’s face flamed and she looked away. She deserved that, she supposed, but right now all of her playfulness seemed to have trickled away.
“You look tired,” he said abruptly. “Get into bed.”
“Where are you going?” she asked quickly.
“I thought I would ride over and visit with the Hainfroys.”
“Oh.” She had no idea why she felt so put out. She plucked at the embroidered bed covers. “I see.”
“You’re dog-tired,” he said again. “And need your rest.”
Lenora nodded. It was nothing but the truth, but for some reason she felt ill-used. When he went to shut the door after him, she said, forestalling him, “I wish you will enquire how Tybalt and Purcel are faring. If they are not suited to life at Cofton Grange, you could bring them back with you.” Even she could hear the wistful note in her voice.
For goodness’ sake, Lenora! She told herself crossly. He’ll think you’re pining for him and he hasn’t even left yet! He gave a nod and quietly shut the door behind him. Falling back onto the pillows, Lenora stared at the ceiling. It was the strangest thing. She felt… she didn’t know what she felt precisely. Out of nowhere, it occurred to her that this prickling resentment she felt at Garman leaving her side now could be… jealousy.
She propped herself up on one elbow and stroked Fendrel who had jumped up on the bed beside her. The more she thought about it, the stronger her conviction grew. She was jealous of the Hainfroys, for her husband sought out their company in favor of her own. The realization winded her. Until now, her favorite person in all the world had been her cousin Eden. But Eden had a wide circle of friends and acquaintances and Lenora had never begrudged her them or any time they spent apart.
Before now, she’d had admirers drop her, citing her indifference and paying court to other beauties who actually bothered to flirt and flatter back. Lenora had never felt even the faintest flicker of resentment or sorrow at their abandonment. Her mother had said she would one day pay for her coldness to her suitors, but she never had. Why then, did she feel these stirrings now?
It wasn’t even as if he left her side to visit with another woman! In vain she told herself that he had not seen the Hainfroys in a long time and indeed, they were like brothers to him. The gnawing feeling did not subside. Doubtless, she told herself sternly, it was because she had spent too much time in his company. Closeted in that small tent with him, she had started to imagine there was only the two of them against the whole world. But their marriage was not to be of that sort, she reproached herself. It was an arrangement, not a partnership. Why had she forgotten that? Nay, not forgotten precisely. She
pressed a hand against her chest. It was not her memory that was at fault, but something else.
Fendrel meowed, startling her. “He’s gone to visit your brothers,” she said, striving for brisk, and only sounding forlorn. This wouldn’t do! Hauling herself off the bed, she moved around the room, undressing and washing and preparing for bed. She needed to put a stop to this. No doubt, it was a product of her illness, this inclination towards neediness and melancholy. They were not true facets of her nature and never had been.
She needed to collect herself. As she loosely braided her hair, she strove to remember her original intent in pushing for this marriage. Ah, that was it! It had not been a husband she craved, but a home of her own. A safe haven away from prying eyes and the world that now had no place for her.
Disquieting thoughts pushed into her mind, giving her no peace as she blew out the candle and climbed under the covers. Was it even true, her conscience whispered, that the world had no place for her? She remembered the cheering crowd at Kellingford, her cousin Kit, Cuthbert, Hal, Lady Bridget and even Sir Lionel. None of them, she thought, moving restlessly, acted like she was no longer a principal player in life’s game. They acted as though… As though she still had a role to play. Could it be, that it was only her parents who considered her life to be over?
She stared into the darkness, wondering what her father would think when he heard she had been crowned at a tournament, despite her ruined face. That Sir Lionel had still desired her, or at least her back-view in any case. Would her father regret his hasty judgement that she belonged on a heap now? Almost, she was tempted to write him a breezy letter, listing her triumphs in a casual off-hand manner.
Nay, she thought, turning over and dragging the blanket with her. Maybe she should write to Queen Armenal herself! Her eyes gleamed and she had to smother a chuckle. How the dark-eyed Queen would revel in such gossip. It would whip around the court like wildfire. Armenal would insist on regaling everyone with it until everyone grew quite sick of the story.
But then, Lenora thought regretfully, the Queen would write summoning her to court. Or even worse, show up here with her retinue on a state visit. She imagined Garman’s grandfather’s horrified reaction to visiting royalty. She had better not, she thought with a sigh. Fendrel, irritated by her restlessness, jumped off the bed and sauntered over to lie before the fire. Lenora flipped onto her back again. What she really needed, was some new purpose to distract her from feeling empty or lonely when Garman inevitably abandoned her in these strange surroundings.
The Unlovely Bride (Brides of Karadok Book 2) Page 26
