The Unlovely Bride (Brides of Karadok Book 2)

by Alice Coldbreath

  “I don’t suppose that my cousin had any idea of which brother to betroth me to?” Magda asked with a slight telling hitch in her voice.

  Interesting, thought Lenora. If she wasn’t mistaken, proud Magda was already invested in one of the rough and ready Hainfroys. She hesitated. Huw was the elder brother and perhaps Ivo’s scar would make him more sympathetic to Agnes’s plight.

  “Huw?” Lenora suggested tentatively and saw the unmistakable flare of disappointment in Magda’s eye. “Perhaps I have that wrong,” she pondered aloud. “Would Ivo be more palatable to you?”

  At that, Magda gave a little start and seemed to remember herself. “I assure you it would make little difference to me,” she said woodenly, in what Lenora could plainly see was an outright lie. She was suddenly exceedingly curious to learn what past lay between Ivo and Magda.

  “Actually, now I come to think of it,” Lenora said thoughtfully. “I think I have it the wrong way around. I believe Garman said he meant Ivo for you.” She cast a sharp look in Magda’s direction and noticed the shallow breathing and the quiver of her hand as she raised it to her lips. Ahah! She was not mistaken!

  “R-really?” Magda breathed. “Ivo Hainfroy for me?” She swayed slightly in her chair.

  Lenora hid her smile behind her handkerchief. The girl was clearly almost giddy at the prospect. Lenora was suddenly wild to know what lay behind her liking for Ivo, but knew Magda was far too reserved to ever tell her. “I wish you’d tell me your history with Ivo,” she said on impulse and watched Magda succumb to a coughing fit.

  “I—I dare assure you cousin, that—that naught lies between us—” the girl forced out as soon as she could draw air into her lungs.

  Lenora made a hasty gesture of dismissal. “Your pardon,” she said kindly. “I did not mean to pry. It was most wrong of me. You’d hardly think, would you, that my cousin upbraided me mere months ago for not taking more of an interest in my fellow creatures! Now I am the most prying female alive!”

  “No, no.” Magda gulped. “I did not mean to imply—”

  “Please don’t trouble yourself,” Lenora said easily with a smile. “I should not have asked.”

  “He kissed me once,” Magda blurted. Then she turned quite puce.

  “Ivo?” Lenora’s eyes widened. For some reason she had pegged Huw as the one who would be popular with ladies, not Ivo.

  “He was just a boy,” Magda continued in hushed tones. “It was nothing to signify. He did not,” she said sadly. “Even know who I was. I daresay he would scarce remember it. But I—never forgot,” she finished wistfully.

  “It was your first kiss?” Lenora guessed.

  Magda was silent a moment. “My only kiss,” she said quietly.

  “How was it that he did not know your identity?” Lenora puzzled.

  “Oh dear,” said Magda. “It’s not the easiest tale to tell. You see, I should not have been there that day, but it was such a beautiful spring day. And my old nurse’s daughter Joan used to play with me. She told me there was a fayre on the village green that day, with dancing. It was May day.” She cast a look of appeal Lenora’s way. “It was very wicked of me—”

  “Nonsense!”

  “You see, Joan gave me the loan of her headscarf and we went together. She told everyone I was her cousin who had come to stay from Leigh Green.” Magda’s eyes glazed over at the memory. “We walked arm in arm through all the crowds and drank apple wine.”

  “How old were you?” asked Lenora, trying to picture the scene in her mind’s eye.

  “But fifteen years.”

  Lenora pictured Magda at fifteen, a little softer, a little less brittle and haughty. And of course, if she was pretending to be a cousin to Joan, her shabby dress would not be such a source of shame to her. Magda probably felt free as a bird under the blue sky that day. Perhaps for the first time and only time in her life.

  “Yes,” said Lenora softly. “I can imagine.”

  “Joan had taught me all the dances of course, when we played together. So, I—I joined the dances with her.” Magda’s voice faltered. “You are probably not familiar with country dances,” she said apologetically. “But there’s one where the menfolk join in and whisk you away to the edges and then all the maidens spin back into the center.”

  Lenora nodded encouragingly.

  “Well.” She lowered her voice. “Ivo Hainfroy caught me up, and after the third time, I did not spin away. We broke away from the dancing and walked around the fayre together, hand in hand.” Her gaze skittered away from Lenora’s. “I’m sure this all sounds exceedingly foolish to a sophisticated courtier such as yourself.”

  Lenora shook her head. “Did you tell him who you really were?”

  “Of course not!” Magda sounded quite shocked. “I was Joan Inver’s cousin from Leigh Green. He would not have cared in any case. I was just a village girl he kissed when he was seventeen.” Her voice was practical and forced. “He will not even remember it.”

  “You remember it,” Lenora pointed out.

  “Of course, I do,” sighed Magda. “It was the most thrilling day of my life. But I’m sure for Ivo Hainfroy there were many sunny May days and many dances on village greens. I was just one of a long succession of willing girls to kiss.” She looked back at Lenora. “I’m sure that story was extremely disappointing and not at all what you were expecting.”

  Lenora gazed steadily back at her. “I thought it was wonderful,” she said staunchly. “And I am vastly grateful to you for telling it to me.”

  Magda broke out in a startled laugh. “I can quite see why you were so popular at court.”

  Lenora raised a hand to her pock-marked face and lightly traced the scarring at her jaw. “No, you can’t, Magda,” she said wryly. “But I thank you for the compliment.”

  38

  Strangely enough, the interview with Magda Orde had the effect of stiffening Lenora’s resolve.

  She broke her fast with her father who ate a goodly quantity of herrings and then hummed and hawed a while before telling Lenora that she had made the best of a bad situation.

  “Thank you,” she said gravely. “I hope you will tell Mother that all is well with me.”

  “Your mother will agree with me, I am sure. She will be pleased you are to be a countess.”

  Privately, Lenora thought her mother would be most put out that her daughter had achieved one of her own ambitions, but she kept this to herself. “I saw Eden at Kellingford, did you know?”

  “Kit told me, young scoundrel,” her father said mildly. “Everything seems to be going well with that marriage at all events.”

  “They are a most devoted couple,” Lenora agreed.

  “Orde um—he, er—” Her father frowned and stroked his whiskers. “He does not look to be the easiest man to live with.”

  Lenora lowered her spoon and regarded him thoughtfully. If Eden had seen Garman manhandling her the way he had the night before, she had no doubt her cousin would have had plenty to say. Her father, however, only wanted to skate over the subject. Garman’s prospective title made any behaviour acceptable it seemed. “In the main we get along much better than last night. He is somewhat displeased with me at present.”

  “Hmmm.” Sir Leofric gave her a fleeting look from beneath his brows. “Well, you would marry him, daughter.” He clicked his tongue. “You shall reap what you sow.”

  “Indeed.”

  He looked up sharply at that but checked himself before speaking. “I wanted you to marry Sir Lionel,” he said fretfully. “Which you refused. Yet by all accounts, he is still devoted to you. At court, they speak most highly of his chivalric heart. The Queen herself has been most touched by his steadfast regard for you.”

  “Oh, do they? He is back at court then? Enjoying the attendant fame.” So much for his penance, thought Lenora cynically.

  “Apparently he is having a new poem written to your lost beauty.”

  Lenora rolled her eyes. “If he is not careful, my husb
and will hear of his moping and carrying on.”

  “Do you suppose he will do his duty and attend court when he achieves his earldom?” said her father hopefully.

  Lenora could only suppose he looked forward to introducing his son-in-law, the Earl of Twyford to his acquaintances. “I doubt it somehow.”

  Her father sighed. “A great pity. Duty to one’s sovereign is paramount.”

  “Garman is a northerner,” Lenora pointed out. “His duty lay in serving the Blechmarsh army in the late war.”

  Her father looked startled, as if this thought had never occurred to him. “Karadok is now united, daughter,” he said rallying himself. “And all late rebels have long since surrendered.”

  “This is true, but you do not see all that many northern courtiers, you will admit.”

  “The Marquis of Martindale did spend a whole month at Caer-Lyoness last spring, you will remember?”

  “To please his southern wife,” Lenora agreed.

  This her father grudgingly conceded. “Well, well,” he said. “Mayhap you could accompany him to the Winter palace in Aphrany for the royal tournament later this year?”

  Considering the display they had subjected him to of their current marital discord, Lenora could only envy his optimism. “We shall see,” she murmured in lieu of any other response.

  Her grandmother, Lady Dorothea, ran her to ground later that morning, as she sat with the household accounts Gerard had left her to study. They had not held Lenora’s attention long and she was soon pondering how to approach the issue of Garman’s cousins. That seemed far pleasanter to dwell on than her own woes.

  She had just decided to send for Berta, when her grandmother swept in, wearing her cloak and outdoor shoes. “You will accompany me on a walk now, Lenora,” she said grandly and not waiting for an answer, promptly exited the room. Lenora, given little choice, went to fetch her ankle boots and followed her. It was a fine blue sky and she did not require a cloak, only wrapped a mantle about her shoulders.

  She caught up with her outside and they proceeded past the kitchen gardens and through the gate into the orchard. Lady Dorothea walked briskly, though a little stiffly, taking small neat steps, her back ramrod straight as ever. “A well-maintained place, this. Master Sutton seems a conscientious man.”

  “Oh, he is, very. He is teaching me household management.” Though, if she ever were to end up mistress of monstrous Twyford Castle, she had no doubt its running would be quite beyond her. She thought of its neglect and disrepair and almost winced.

  “And how do you enjoy that?” Lady Dorothea asked. “You certainly showed precious little aptitude for lessons as a girl.”

  Lenora pulled a face. “I am trying to change, Grandmother. For the better.”

  “Oh, I believe you. Indeed, I see some improvement already.”

  Lenora looked up, feeling her grandmother’s eyes on her face. She lifted her chin. “How do you find my face?” she asked and heard her grandmother’s swiftly indrawn breath. “I’m sure Father prepared you for the change the pox wrought on me.”

  “Your father’s a fool,” her grandmother sniffed. “Prepared me indeed! He and your mother talked a great deal of nonsense.” She lapsed into silence a moment before speaking again. “All three of my sons were a sad disappointment to me, Lenora.” When Lenora looked up in surprise, she gave a quick gesture with her hands.

  “I can speak to you this way, now you are a grown woman, and a child no longer. Leofric at least was not vicious as Christopher and Godwin were. Unfortunately, his wife was ill-chosen.” She pulled a face. “His father would give him his head in the matter which was a mistake. He chose a pretty face over a decent character. Your mother encouraged his worse traits until they eclipsed all his good ones.”

  Lenora considered this in silence.

  “It was the opposite way with your grandfather. I took care to cultivate his better points and he flourished under my attentions. Sadly, I gave him too great a sway over our children. At the time, I thought it took a man to raise one. By the time I realized my error, it was too late.” She sighed.

  “Hey ho, ‘tis done now. I was more fortunate by far in my grandchildren and I took great care to exert as much of my will as possible in their molding.” She gave Lenora a level look. “You were the one I worried about the most, as you resisted my efforts the most.”

  Lenora bowed her head.

  “I feared you would go the way of your own mother.”

  “Perhaps I would have,” Lenora admitted. “Had I retained my beauty.”

  “No-one retains their beauty, child,” her grandmother corrected her sharply. “Your own mother grew sadly fat and her stupidity started to show in her expression.” Lenora blinked. “Your father retains only the most spurious of crumbs of affection for her. Their marriage was a disaster.” They carried on past the pear trees in silence.

  “I had no idea you set so much store on one’s chosen helpmate,” Lenora admitted.

  “Of course, you hadn’t. Your head was too full of rubbish about true love.”

  Lenora set her lips. “I should warn you, I still believe in true love, Grandmother,” she said firmly.

  “Oh, do you now? Why then, I must ask, did you not marry that mooncalf Emworth? He has spoken many vastly pretty speeches about you.”

  “Vastly pretty and vastly empty speeches,” Lenora corrected her. “Besides, he is not my true love.”

  “And that brute you married is?”

  Lenora’s steps halted. “Yes, he is rather a brute,” she agreed evenly. “But he is also…” Her throat closed over words like considerate, thoughtful and compassionate, though at times she thought he had demonstrated all three qualities. The memory of poor Beatrix Skenfrith’s fate bothered her too much to utter them. She groped for words that were true. “To those he feels a sense of kinship or belonging toward, he demonstrates great care and loyalty,” she said earnestly. “He is capable of kindness and decency and a whole host of other qualities. ‘Tis only—” She broke off frowning furiously.

  “Yes?”

  “His good opinion is rather hard to achieve,” she admitted. “He has an outer shell which is hard to crack. But once you have, there is great sweetness to be found within.”

  Her grandmother gave a short laugh. “I doubt he would thank you for such a description.”

  “Likely he would not,” Lenora admitted. “I would not even attempt to explain except to yourself or Eden.”

  “Hmm. Still, I do not think he will ever be known for a great philanthropist,” Lady Dorothea said, screwing up her face.

  Lenora laughed. “Assuredly not. I do not think he will ever care for more than a handful of people in his whole life.”

  “But you are one of them?”

  Lenora paused. “I thought perhaps I was getting there,” she said slowly. “Though I do not deny, I have set myself back a few paces on that path.”

  “How so?”

  Lenora clasped her hands together. “My actions last night,” she admitted. “He holds no love for his paternal relations and no doubt thinks my visit with them an act of disloyalty.”

  “That is unfortunate,” her grandmother conceded. “Incidentally, why did you visit with them?”

  “Curiosity,” said Lenora simply and did not notice her grandmother’s startled look. “And I am trying to solve a problem at present that is rather thorny.” She did not really want to explain about Matchings Halt, so she cast a sidelong glance at her grandmother to see if she could get away with skipping over that part. “‘Tis about our living arrangements and not worth discussing right now, but I am trying to find my way to a different outcome to that which he desires.”

  “Curiosity?” her grandmother echoed. “You? My most serene and empty-headed granddaughter.”

  Lenora flushed. “I have been taking more of an interest in others of late. Some more so than others,” she admitted. “Eden lectured me most roundly on the subject before my illness. While I recovered, I confe
ss I did ponder her words and resolve to improve myself.”

  “I see, and this outcome that you wish to thwart your husband over,” Dorothea began with interest making Lenora flush guiltily. It seemed she had not gotten away with it after all. “It is a matter on which you feel you must intervene for his own good.”

  Lenora turned toward her with a gasp. “How did you-?”

  Her grandmother smiled. “Did I not just explain that my own marriage was run on very similar lines?” Lenora stared at her grandmother a moment before they moved on. “I am pleased,” Lady Dorothea said shortly. “Yes, very pleased on the whole. For I always thought it would take something drastic to shock you out of your complacency. Though I confess, I did not imagine you would undergo quite so rigorous a trial by fire. You have been forged anew by it. I see a better and stronger Lenora before me.”

  She halted their progress abruptly. “We have come far enough. Come, let us return to the house. I shall speak to your father about returning to Hallam on the morrow. That should give you time enough to concentrate on repairing this tear in the fabric that occupies your mind at present.” She gave a short laugh of amusement. “It greatly pleases me to think of you wrestling with thorny problems, child.” She shook her head. “I foresee this will be the making of you.”

  “Thank you, Grandmother,” Lenora responded, feeling oddly touched. She slipped her arm through Lady Dorothea’s. “Perhaps I should tell you about my servant Berta and my husband’s cousins on the walk back. For they too greatly occupy my mind at present.” When Lady Dorothea looked intrigued, Lenora began to outline her half-formulated plans.

  *

  The rest of the day passed peaceably enough. Lenora’s family announced they would be leaving on the morrow, except for Kit who would remain in his current role. Lenora slipped down to the kitchens before supper for a word with Berta. She found her servant oddly quiet and thoughtful.