Lenora inclined her head and saw Lady Jehanne’s head move infinitesimally. A proud, disagreeable woman she looked too, but then, shut up in this mausoleum, who could blame her? Magda gave a strained smile while her sister’s lips moved as though in greeting, but she stared down at the table with a ferocious scowl.
“Do you not envy me my company this past twenty-five years?” Earl Twyford asked contemptuously. “A merry bunch, are they not?” Mercifully, he did not wait for an answer but motioned for his wine cup to be filled by a scared-looking servant who darted out of the shadows. Lenora waited while the meat was carved.
Lord Twyford’s plate, she noticed, had barely a morsel placed on it and seeing the way his bony hand clasped and unclasped the arm of his chair, she wondered if some of the lines on his face might not be due to constant pain. He had the look of a sufferer who does not admit to his malady. His color was not good, his breathing shallow and uneven. “Well madam, what said your husband of this visit?” he asked tightly once the servers had withdrawn again and the food served.
Lenora paused, lowering her spoon. “As to that, my lord, I was not so imprudent as to tell him of it.”
Again, he gave that short bark of laughter. “A canny woman,” he said, looking down the length of the table. “Did you hear that, Jehanne? This one knows how to handle a man.” Lady Jehanne bristled and he turned back to Lenora. “Or do I over-estimate you?”
Lenora considered this a moment before replying. “I do not know,” she said truthfully. “I have not long been married and before that, I did not care about men at all.”
He gazed at her keenly, one of his long fingers tapping against the tabletop. Lenora noticed a large gold signet ring which rolled loosely above the middle knuckle. “Did not care for them, eh? But by all accounts, they cared for you.” Lenora’s brows rose with surprise. “Yes,” he said with a chuckle. “Word still reaches me now and again of the wide world. And when I heard of my grandson’s marriage, you may be sure I made enquiries as to the lady. I heard all about the once beautiful Lady Lenora and her squalid fate.”
Lenora raised her chin. “Have you looked your fill, my lord?” she asked boldly. “As to my fate, I have been reliably informed it will be whatever I choose to make it.”
“Who told you that?” he asked with a sneer, raising his cup to moisten his thin lips.
“My husband,” she replied serenely and was pleased to see the cup quiver in his hands with surprise.
“He told you, no doubt,” Lord Twyford said, his tone diamond hard. “That I sent for him some years ago. When he numbered some fourteen years.”
Lenora shook her head. “He does not speak of any of you,” she admitted frankly. The Earl’s color rose to a violent hue. “Did he come here to Twyford castle then?” she asked, hoping to distract him from the inevitable explosion of wrath.
“Aye, he did,” the old man admitted, thrusting out his chin. “Wherein he showed himself to be an ungracious, unmannerly churl!”
“And by that, I suppose you mean he did not fawn on any of you or trouble to make himself agreeable,” Lenora answered mildly.
Garman’s grandfather spluttered. “If you think I enjoy being flattered and fawned over, you are fool, girl!”
Lenora leaned back in her chair, looking him over. “I don’t say that you enjoy it, my lord,” she said slowly. “But I daresay you were expecting it. And very likely you were looking forward to rebuffing the pretensions of your upstart grandson, and putting him in his place,” she added shrewdly. “Unluckily for you, his rightful place is your heir apparent.” She steadfastly ignored Lady Jehanne’s shocked indrawn breath.
“I do realize that, Mistress Impertinence!” he snapped back at her, and she noticed he did not argue her point. “Perhaps I did take the wrong approach that time,” he conceded after a moment, surprising not only her. “But I tried again when he reached twenty-one and you may be sure his reply was none the prettier. Said he’d throw his cousins out on the street before I was cold in my grave and watch this place rot to its last timber.” His eyes glinted. “Now what do you say to that?”
She found she could well imagine a young Garman flinging that in this high-handed old devil’s face. “I daresay you took entirely the wrong approach with him,” she admonished. “And now you’re paying for it dearly.”
The old earl snorted. “Oh, so it’s you that’s got the handling of him, is it?” he asked with heavy sarcasm.
Something about the expression in his eye was oddly hopeful, though Lenora noticed with alarm. It would not do to get his hopes up. “Oh no,” she said quickly. “Garman is his own master. I only mean that I know how not to get his hackles up from the outset.” Lord Twyford merely grunted, eyeing her with a challenging gleam in his eye. “He’ll never come to you on bended knee, you know,” she said simply. “He wouldn’t know how.”
“Fine talk!” jeered the old man contemptuously. “He’d sing a different tune given half the chance!”
“Oh no,” said Lenora firmly. “Your problem is that Garman is a man of his word and not fine speeches. When you heard him say he would let this place rot to its timbers and throw your dependents out into the street, he would have meant every word.”
One of his cousins gasped, Lenora guessed it was Magda, but she did not look across at the womenfolk. She was watching the Earl’s knobbly fingers tighten on the arms of his chair so hard they turned white. Was that concern about his granddaughter’s fate, she wondered? Or that of his sprawling estate. She fancied she knew the answer.
At this, Lady Jehanne could no longer stay silent. She flung her head back and said in a low, angry voice. “If you imagine Sir Garman would escape the judgement of his friends and neighbors by taking such action, you are vastly mistaken!”
Lenora glanced across at that lady. “He has no friends,” she answered simply. “And moreover, cultivates none. He cares not the snap of his fingers for neighbors save for the Hainfroys and they would not blink an eye to see him exact his revenge.”
Lord Twyford gave a chuckle of amusement at that.
“His reputation.” The older woman rallied in a loud, throbbing voice. “Would surely suffer beyond repair! He would not dare—”
But here she was forestalled by a sharp crack of laughter from her father-in-law. “We Ordes have never given a damn for the opinion of others,” he put in scathingly. “My grandfather dispossessed a whole brace of orphans when he wanted to expand the southern border of his estate. Burned their cottages to a rubble.”
Lovely, thought Lenora, noticing how the old man’s eyes gleamed with unholy glee. Perhaps Garman’s savagery was not learned from old Sir Bernhard after all. Maybe it was bred in the bone.
“You aren’t an Orde, Jehanne,” the old man continued dismissively. “You only married one!”
Lady Jehanne drew herself up, pursing her lips. “My fortune was squandered on this estate. Both my daughters—”
“Don’t speak to me of your pair of mewling females!” he spat contemptuously. “I’ll say this for that steward’s brat. She gave my son an heir!” His thin lips worked angrily. “Which is more than you ever did, for all your stiff-necked pride!”
This was too much for Lady Jehanne’s dignity. She flushed scarlet and rose jerkily from her seat. “I will not sit here and be insulted in my own home,” she said in outraged tones.
“Hah!” the old man muttered. “Enjoy it while you can, my dear. My grandson means to throw you out on your ear and reduce these hallowed halls to mere rubble.” The last few words were filled with such a wealth of bitterness and Lenora held her tongue as Lady Jehanne exited grandly from the room, her daughters swept along in her wake.
“Is there no provision made for the girls?” Lenora asked as soon as the door had banged shut.
“None,” he answered harshly. “And they are hardly girls.” His lip curled. “They ought to have been married off years ago.”
“Oh, I agree,” she replied calmly. “Why did you not see t
o it?”
He regarded her beadily through his bright eyes a moment, then gave a lopsided smirk. “You’re not afraid of me at all, are you?” he said with grudging respect.
“Certainly not. After all, I am not under your yoke.”
He gave a dry chuckle. “I can see now, why he married you, even though you lost your looks.”
Lenora ignored this. “I shall speak to Garman,” she said impulsively. “About his cousins.”
He arched a thin eyebrow at her. “You should not waste your breath,” he advised her. “I doubt very much he could be induced to stir himself on their behalf.”
“Oh, but I’ve quite made up my mind they should be provided for.”
At this, the Earl of Twyford gave a disbelieving huff. “You’d never find a pair who’d take their like, not without a hefty bribe.”
“You might be surprised,” Lenora told him, lifting her chin. “Connections,” she said vaguely.
“Connections!” Lord Twyford repeated disparagingly. “I’ve not been at court for over fifty years. All my connections are long since dead and buried.”
“I didn’t mean with you,” Lenora responded with some spirit.
“Oh-hoh!” The Earl gestured to one of his servants to fetch the wine. “Refill my granddaughter’s cup.” Lenora set her goblet down while the servant hurried to comply. If she was not mistaken, the old man had taken something of a shine to her in his own, rather acidic way. “A connection to the Montmaynes, you mean?” he asked, giving her a hard look. “Are you not still in disgrace with your own father?”
“Doubtless,” she agreed. “But I did not mean a Montmayne connection, but rather one of Garman’s own.” At his raised brow, she added, “The Hainfroys.”
The Earl went into a paroxysm of coughing. “The Hainfroys!” he gasped as soon as he was able.
“Indeed, they are an old and venerable family, are they not?”
“Venerable?” he wheezed, still having trouble catching his breath. “Their line was sprung from country squires and has now degenerated to the state of barbarous yokels!”
She was not fooled though; he was not offended at the idea but instead derived some dark amusement from it. She suspected it was his haughty daughter-in-law’s reaction he anticipated with such relish.
“I have heard it said on good authority that old Sir Bernhard’s dearest wish was to marry Garman to his daughter Isabella Hainfroy.”
“Impudence!” muttered the Earl without much heat.
“But when she eloped, that hope was thwarted. Ivo and Huward Hainfroy quite regard Garman as a third brother, but I am sure they would like a binding family link to him. Such as,” she finished triumphantly. “Marriage to his first cousins.”
The Earl hunched a shoulder. “Think you could bring that off, do you?” he asked skeptically. “I think you over-reach yourself. Especially as you say he is not under your sway.”
“He isn’t,” she swiftly concurred. “But he can recognize when his wife speaks plain sense, I hope.”
“Humph!” Lord Twyford took another swig of wine. “You’ve some opinions of our own at any rate. What my grandson will make of them is another matter.”
“And you would not object to the match?” Lenora prodded.
“I?” He shrugged. “I am indifferent. Jehanne would have plenty to say about it though.” His eyes gleamed.
“She is still a handsome woman,” Lenora said thoughtfully. “And could very likely marry again.”
“Cleaning house, are you?” He sat up in his seat. “If you were to take your seat as mistress here,” he said slyly. “You would not want the place filled to the rafters with inherited womenfolk.”
Lenora regarded him sternly. “Stop plotting, my lord. I am merely trying to avert them being flung out on the street.”
“Pah!” he said with a quick gesture of his hands. “That does not concern me. Securing the future of my estate – that is what consumes me! This land has been in our family for generations. It deserves its rightful master.”
Lenora remained silent. From what she had seen, Twyford castle was a monstrously large and ramshackle concern of faded grandeur. The estate was likely neglected and in poor repair, badly in need of investment of both time and money. Garman had no affection for the place, quite the opposite. His intent was to buy Matchings Halt, a comfortable and pretty estate which could be run on a much smaller and tighter scale with less money, servants, and overall effort.
She glanced at the Earl who was sat rigid with affront that his grandson had no interest in taking up the helm. Lenora sighed. It was difficult not to pity the old man, despite everything. “You look tired, my lord.”
“Nonsense!” he snapped, though the lines about his mouth looked very marked, as though he was in some considerable pain.
“Can I call for an attendant my lord? Or some medicine?”
“Don’t fuss now, I can’t abide it!” he rapped out sharply. “You will undo my good opinion of you entirely if you start with that now.”
Lenora rolled her eyes. There was clearly nothing to be done with the man. Perhaps it was an Orde trait.
“You will tell me now about my grandson’s reputation,” he said so casually, that she realized it was important to him. “You mentioned it earlier, and I admit to some curiosity.”
“Garman’s reputation?” repeated Lenora in some alarm. She hesitated.
“Now, none of that!” he admonished, holding up a crooked finger. “I want the unvarnished, plain truth!”
“Do you mean his reputation at court? Or his reputation in the tournaments?” she stalled.
He gave her a sharp glance. “Everything, and no holding back, mind!” He leant back in his chair, clearly trying to find a way to get comfortable.
“Well then, he is considered to be entirely ruthless, arrogant, cold, brash and heartless,” she admitted on an outward breath. “A merciless opponent in the field and a brutal fighter. He is a man that gives no quarter and cares not for the good opinion of others.”
Lord Twyford pursed his lips. “So,” he said after a moment’s pause. “It is as I have heard reported. There is precious little of the weak Sutton blood flowing through his veins.” He sounded inordinately pleased by this.
“I spoke of his reputation, not his character,” Lenora said with more force than she’d intended. “Of course, he has some good traits that he keeps from prying eyes.” At the older man’s unconvinced expression, she added, “There is a side to him that he reveals only to his intimates, who have his confidence.”
“Oh that.” Shrugged the old man. “So long as he keeps that to its proper place. You will not expose him, I imagine.”
Lenora blinked. She wasn’t sure they were at all on the same page. Toward the end of the meal, the Earl slumped down in his seat as though all energy was expended, and his speech slurred. Lenora gestured for one of the attendants she saw lurking beyond the candlelight to come forward, but when they tried to help the Earl out of his seat, he grew quite heated and angry.
“Damn it, I won’t be dragged from my own hall in front of my guest!” he spat angrily. “I shall remain here until she takes her leave of me.”
“Indeed, I will need to set off very shortly if I am to keep the wool drawn over my husband’s eyes,” she said quickly and earned a gleam of amusement from his.
“He will beat you soundly before ere long, I daresay,” he gloated. “For all you are a cozening piece.” He rapped his hand against the tabletop and held his hand out palm up. For a moment she was not sure what he wanted but laid her own hand upon it and felt her fingers gripped with surprising strength. “Tell me quick,” he panted. “The boy. You’ll bring him up to scratch? He’ll be the Earl of Twyford after me and I’ve had precious little handling of him.” His mouth twisted. “It won’t be long now.”
“He does not require that I should handle him,” she answered. “For he’s already his own man. And a fine one at that.”
His fingers tightened e
ven further and Lenora bit back a wince. “I’ve a black heart, my dear,” he said in a low voice. “Make no mistake. I enjoyed all my mistakes heartily, save one.” He shot her a look. “You understand?”
“You mean,” she hesitated. “Garman?”
He grimaced. “Should have had him here,” he winced. “Should never have renounced my Merek! Rulf was nothing to him, nothing at all!” Pain wracked him a moment and Lenora would have called for the servant if he had not leaned so far forward his nose almost touched hers. “Take this now,” he said, drawing the large gold ring from his finger. “Take it!” he snapped when she made to protest. “It will be his in any case, soon enough.” He pushed her fingers back to close around the heavy ring. “Tell him,” he hesitated. “Tell him his wicked old grandfather died with only one regret in his black heart. Now,” he said on a wheezing breath. “Oates will take you to the gallery and you will first look at the portraits and then return home.”
She opened her mouth to say farewell, but he waved her irritably away, so she lowered him back into the seat and looked around for Oates who proved to be the same old man who had shown her in. She straightened up and Oates plunged into the shadows so she was forced to hurry after his retreating footsteps. Shivering, Lenora climbed a winding stone staircase in his wake, until they came out on a draughty platform above the banqueting hall.
Oates held his flaming torch aloft and Lenora saw he was gesturing for her to behold a large portrait of a flinty-faced man with familiar cold turquoise eyes and dark blonde hair. He was not as strongly built as Garman in the shoulders and she could not imagine her husband wearing a jeweled chain about his, but in spite of that, the resemblance was a striking one. This must be Garman’s great-grandfather, she thought. The present earl’s father. She looked back at Oates and he took this as a prompt to move to the next portrait.
The next was unmistakably the present holder of the title. The artist had captured the cold calculation in those eyes almost perfectly, the cruel twist of the lips. He wore his hair longer than his father had, and Lenora could only suppose his raiment to have been the height of fashion in his day. He was tall, but not so athletic as the first earl for all he held both sword and shield. Lenora drew a shocked breath when she beheld the shield. For though the same colors as the black and white crest Garman displayed, the image was quite a different one. On this shield, the white field displayed a black heart shedding three drops of blood.
The Unlovely Bride (Brides of Karadok Book 2) Page 36
