“My dear,” admonished Hester. “What about your servants? Have you not been interrogating them?”
“No,” admitted Fen. “Trudy did tell me some gossip on her first day, but I didn’t think I ought to encourage it.”
Hester rolled her eyes. “How else are you supposed to find out what is doing the rounds? Unless you have a gossipy friend or two.” Her eyes were roaming around the room with a faint pucker between her brows. “My dear, who is that positively gloomy child?” she asked staring at Fen’s portrait.
Fen puffed out her cheeks in frustration. “Hester, please!”
“A younger sister?” hazarded Hester. “If so, you must bring the poor child to court. She looks as though her life is positively dreary! I must say,” she leaned forward in her seat and gazed about her. “It does look a good deal more colorful in here than the last time I visited you. Is it that rather extraordinary tapestry? Where did you get it?” when Hester looked as if she would get up to examine the tapestry, Fen nearly jumped out of her chair.
“But what is the current gossip about my marriage?” she demanded in exasperation.
Hester smiled triumphantly and settled back in her seat. “Ah – a sensible question! Never fear, I shall tell you.” She took a sip of fruit juice. “Why, that you have quite overset your poor husband’s orderly bachelor life onto its head! That he no longer knows whether he is coming or going. That his every waking moment is consumed with thoughts of you and wiping your previous marriage from the annals of history.”
Fen stared at her friend aghast. “But-”
“Do not deny it!” she said holding up her hand. “For even my prosaic spouse now believes it to be nothing more than the truth!”
Fen cast her mind back to the previous evening. “But Oswald did nothing last night to make Lord Schaeffer believe such a thing!” she objected.
“Did he not?” asked Hester archly. “Did he not indeed?”
Fen cast about in her memory, but nothing sprung to mind. Her husband had been his usual attentive self, but she could find no reason for Lord Schaeffer to believe him suddenly infatuated with her.
“Apparently Lord Vawdrey has been similarly distracted during his council duties. It has been much commented on. Andrew said, even the King remarked upon it last month. It has been highly diverting for them all. Before now they have all thought him quite the perfect politician. Almost single-minded in carrying out his duties, with no life outside of it whatsoever.”
Fen twisted her fingers in her lap, remembering her father’s beliefs that ambition had caused Oswald Vawdrey to break his vow to her. But in her experience, he had been nothing but thoughtful and solicitous of her feelings since acknowledging her as his wife. True, she had managed to displease him on a couple of occasions, but he had climbed down off his high horse swiftly and shown that he was sorry by his actions, rather than his words. She did not like the thought that she was bringing his reputation into any kind of disrepute. “He is always very conscientious in his duty to the King,” she said defensively. “And it seems to me that he takes his duties as head of the Vawdrey family very seriously.”
“Oh, everyone knows that,” said Hester with a sweep of her hand. “And he has very firm convictions. Otherwise why would he cross King Wymer about the fate of the Blechmarsh princess? Everyone agrees that he has quite a brilliant mind. It is only that he has always seemed,” her friend broke off with a wince and a shrug of her shoulders. “Something of a cold fish.”
Fen nearly choked on her marchpane. “That – that does not sound like the husband I know,” she answered truthfully. “He is not cold at all, but rather-” she broke off, not wanting to be indiscreet. For how could she explain that her husband’s public image concealed a very sensual and passionate man? She could not. Nor could she explain that when Oswald spoke in his most polite, cool voice, he was often masking some fury. “Sometimes,” she ventured, “his words tell one story, but…”
“His actions another?” suggested Hester.
“Yes. No. Not exactly,” sighed Fen. It was more complicated than that. “He is not the most straightforward man, but…” She broke off realizing she could not explain it adequately. “He is a very good husband,” she finished lamely.
“You must not look so serious,” Hester implored her. “I want to hear all about this annulment business.” She helped herself to another piece of marchpane and settled back into her seat. “Now make sure you tell me everything and leave out not a single detail.”
Hester stayed some two hours, and left promising to read the play as soon as she was able. Fen found she could not settle after she had left, but instead unpacked and re-ordered all of her trunks with her ever-growing amount of clothing. She even made a bundle of her Sitchmarsh dresses to give to Trudy. Her maid would be able to alter, or perhaps cut them down for her children, or do whatever she wished with them. She had no excuse for keeping hold of them now she had no firm date that she was going down to the country. After this, she wrapped up warm in her sky-blue cloak and scarlet gloves and she and Bors went for a walk in the castle grounds. It was a crisp and cold afternoon and Fen lost track of time as they enjoyed the fresh air. They had walked all the way to the rose gardens, before Fen realized that it was rapidly turning dark and they would have to think about turning back. They made haste to hurry back toward the castle, but did not beat the descending dusk. The exercise had blown the cobwebs from her mind, but she was still in turmoil over the play which loomed over her like a dark cloud on the horizon.
So absorbed was she in her thoughts, that she almost fell over the profusion of trunks and boxes piled up outside their rooms. Bors barked as she stumbled and caught hold of the door handle, which swung inwards with her still clinging onto it and scraped her knees on the floorboards. A hush fell over the room, and she looked up, to her embarrassment finding the reception room full of occupants, all of whom were staring at her. Fen stared back at them, a cold feeling creeping up her spine. Her gaze went from the two small little girls sat on the window seat, to a red-haired lady sat by the fire holding an equally red-haired baby, to a tall glowering male stood with his back to the fire. Her gaze fixed on him, and she swallowed. Now this, was definitely a Vawdrey. The dark hair, the powerful build, the height all gave it away. If she wasn’t mistaken, this was Mason Vawdrey. Which meant, she thought dazedly, that this was her other brother-in-law, with his family.
“Hello,” she croaked, still clinging to the door handle. The sound of footsteps behind her, had her turning to look back over her shoulder as Oswald came striding down the corridor toward her, a hard and angry look on his face.
He didn’t even blink an eye at finding her on her knees. His hands were under her arm-pits in an instant, dragging her to her feet. “Where the hells have you been?” he hissed, spinning her round to face him. “I’ve had Bryce running from room to room, checking on your friends’ whereabouts! Lady Schaeffer said she left you here some three hours ago!”
“Oswald, your family-” she began, darting her eyes toward the other people in the room, but he ignored her.
“You didn’t tell your maid or Meldon where you were going!” he continued to rage, slashing one hand through the air. “What the hell was I supposed to think when I got back here and found you missing?”
“Missing?” Fen’s mouth dropped open. “I just went for a walk with Bors,” she said helplessly, and started to glance around for her dog, but Oswald’s hand caught her chin and bought her attention forcibly back to him.
“Don’t. Do. That. Again,” he said ominously.
“Walk my dog?” asked Fen, in confusion. His expression turned livid and she hurriedly tried to explain: “Neither Meldon or Trudy was here, and I didn’t think it was as late as it was when I set out.” To her embarrassment, tears had sprung into her eyes and she tried to blink them back. “The portrait sitting took up such a chunk of my time this morning, that I fell behind. I’m sorry-”
As if becoming aware of their audie
nce, Oswald released her so abruptly that she almost tottered back, except his hand shot out to catch her again above the elbow. “Let us discuss this later,” he said stiffly, and turned her about to face his family. “This is my brother Mason and his family. Linnet, his wife. My nieces Margaret and Lily, my nephew Archie.”
So, he had been aware of their presence! Fen managed an awkward curtsey as Linnet, hampered by a baby on her lap, nodded her head with a hesitant smile. Mason Vawdrey was frowning at her, his arms crossed, and a severe look on his face. He did not look pleased to meet her.
“Girls, come and greet your new aunt,” Linnet directed her daughters, who dropped down off the window seat and approached her, dragging their feet. They only got halfway across the room before they bobbed their curtseys and fled back to their window seat. “I’m afraid they’re rather shy until they get to know you,” she added.
“It’s very nice to meet you, girls,” Fenella called after them feebly. She felt in utter disgrace, her face hot and no doubt red as a ripe apple. Looking around the room, she was unsure where to put herself. She could hardly run to their bedroom like a frightened rabbit. Instead, she unfastened her cloak and draped it over a chair, wishing she could sink through the floorboards. Collapsing into a corner seat, she busied herself unfastening her gloves and trying not to feel conspicuous.
“You must not sit there in a dark corner,” Linnet protested. “Or you will make me feel like we have driven you away from the hearth. Do draw your chair near to the fire and sit with me. I have been so anxious to meet you.”
Fen looked up and saw her sister-in-law had a kindly and earnest look on her face; that, and a good many freckles.
Linnet smiled again invitingly and shifted the baby on her lap. “I declare I can scarcely feel my legs,” she groaned. And no wonder, for her baby was a large one, thought Fen looking at his chubby cheeks. Mason broke off speaking to Oswald, and wordlessly reached down to take the baby from his wife. He slung his son over one shoulder and turned back to his brother, without pause in the conversation. Fen stood up and started to lift her chair, only to find it taken out of her hands by her husband, who carried it over to the fireplace and set it down next to Linnet’s. He too, returned to his conversation with Mason, almost seamlessly. Fen noticed, as she arranged her skirts, that they were talking about the state of the roads on the journey down from Cadwallader.
Fen cleared her throat. “I do hope your journey was not too arduous,” she said taking her cue from them. “It must be difficult travelling with small children.”
“Oh, not so as you’d notice,” said Linnet cheerfully. “We’ve got our servants Gertie and Nan with us, who positively dote on them. And Cuthbert, Mason’s squire, always helps out too.” She looked around distractedly. “Where is that boy? He must have snuck off. Either to the kitchens or the stables, I’ll be bound.”
Feeling a gaze on her, Fen turned her head to find the infant gazing steadfastly at her from his father’s shoulder. He crammed one of his chubby hands into his mouth and drooled on it.
“What a fine boy,” said Fen. Despite his shock of red hair, the brooding glower already marked him out as a Vawdrey. “I understand he is my husband’s godson.”
“Yes, that’s right,” answered Linnet sounding pleased. “I do hope my brood won’t get under your feet too much over the next couple of weeks.”
Fen looked up finding the two dark-haired little girls had crept in closer to hear their conversation.
“Oh, of course not,” she said encouragingly. “I hope we shall all become firm friends.”
One of the little girls leant against the arm of Fen’s chair. Her hand crept up to place a small silver thimble on it. “For you,” she whispered.
“Why Lily, how thoughtful,” said her mother. “A present for your aunt Fenella.”
“How kind,” said Fen, feeling quite touched. “Is it a Solstice gift?”
The little girl nodded, but couldn’t quite meet Fen’s gaze. It occurred to Fen, that Lily had some fellow feeling for a female so clearly in disgrace.
Another little girl appeared at her other elbow and tugged on her sleeve.
“Yes?” asked Fen. “You must be Margaret.”
“Meg,” the other girl confided. She seemed a little bolder than Lily, for her eyes fleetingly did meet with Fen’s. She pointed at the portrait above the fire. “Is that your little girl?” she asked.
Fen winced. “Um, actually that’s me. When I was younger and first betrothed to your Uncle Oswald.”
Both girls’ gazes were riveted on her now.
“How fascinating!” said Linnet, clasping her hands together. “I’ve always been curious about Oswald’s betrothals.”
“Well, I’m afraid I only know about his first one,” admitted Fen.
“Girls,” said Linnet, looking at her daughter. “Aunt Fenella was chosen for your uncle by your Grandfather, now what do you think about that?”
Both sets of green eyes widened. “Grandfather!” whispered Lily.
“You knew our Grandfather?” asked Meg.
“Yes,” agreed Fenella. “He had a big booming voice and a large bushy beard.”
“That was him,” sighed Linnet fondly.
The girls, clearly taking this as an endorsement, crowded in closer.
“Want to see your ring.” said Meg.
Fen held up her hand and all three females inspected it.
“Vawdrey panthers,” murmured Meg, while Lily settled for running a finger over the ruby.
“How beautiful!” exclaimed Linnet. “And how thoughtful of Oswald.” She looked as if she wanted to say more, but was mindful of her children’s presence. Instead she settled for: “I do hope we can spend some time getting to know each other this Solstice.”
“That would be nice,” agreed Fen. Feeling a gaze on her again, she looked up expecting to see baby Archie, but instead found it was her husband looking at her. She smiled, but he turned swiftly away.
Supper was a much noisier affair with the Cadwalladers in residence. Cuthbert, who turned out to be a good-looking, blond youth of about fifteen, reappeared and after helping to carry the dishes through, joined them at the table to eat. Meg and Lily hung off his every word as he explained he had been to see the horses stabled. Baby Archie was passed between the servants and the family as he reached for food, cutlery and generally whatever was placed out of his reach. Whenever his will was thwarted he let out a mind-numbing squawk and his face turned quite puce.
“He’s very strong-willed,” Linnet said in what seemed to be simultaneously an apology and a boast, as she tried, in vain to extricate her hair from his grip.
Roland turned up as the final course was uncovered. “Gods,” he groaned. “Did you not think to give us any warning?” He dutifully kissed Linnet’s cheek and ruffled the girls’ hair.
“Why?” asked Mason. “So, you could make yourself scarce?”
“Is that you, Cuthbert?” Roland asked, sounding startled. “You’ve finally found some inches.”
Cuthbert grinned and wiped his greasy fingers absently onto his tunic. “I’ll be taller than you before next summer,” he boasted.
Roland snorted before catching sight of the decimated meal. “Is this all that’s left of the goose?” he complained. “Well, I like that!”
Gertie and Trudy were duly dispatched down to the kitchens to fetch more food and Linnet moved around, ostensibly to make room for Roland. When she made a beeline in her direction, Fen suspected it was a deliberate ploy to have some quiet chat with her. She shuffled her chair across to make room for her sister-in-law. Oswald at present was caught up in conversation with his two brothers, so they were free to converse. Archie was re-settled onto his mother’s lap. He was yawning now and blinking his eyes as if sleepy. Linnet filled Fen’s goblet and then her own. “Now, while we have the opportunity,” she said in a low voice, passing Fen her drink. “I would dearly love to hear how things stand with you and Oswald.”
Fen to
ok a hurried sip of the wine and winced. “I’m sure you noticed I am quite in his bad books at the moment, but are just too kind to say it.”
“Oh, that,” said Linnet dismissively, “but that was nothing. He was just annoyed because he was concerned for you. One has to make allowances for husbands sometimes. They get very het up when they fear for your welfare.”
Fen’s eyes widened. “But I was only…”
“Oh yes, I know,” agreed Linnet hurriedly. “But perhaps, when his whole day is taken up with such unpleasantness as a spy-master’s are wont to, he could be excused for becoming a little over-protective.”
Fen sat back in her seat. She had never considered that Oswald’s line of work might have an effect on his behavior. He was talking now with Cuthbert. With a start, she realized Linnet was still speaking, as she mopped the dribble from Archie’s chin. “And mayhap,” she suggested. “Sometimes, when he seems a little tense, you could reach out and just give him a little touch.”
Fen, who was in the act of putting down her goblet, nearly missed the table. “A touch?” she repeated in surprised tones.
“The merest gesture,” elaborated Linnet. “A fleeting touch, say, to the back of his neck or between his shoulder blades. Just to let him know,” she beamed.
“Let him know what?” wondered Fen aloud.
“Why, that you support him, and he may depend on you.”
Fen considered this as she mopped up the spilled drops of wine that had sloshed out of the cup. “It’s just,” she said with a faint frown. “That, well, Oswald is so very important and I don’t want to be thrusting my presence forward. Or trying to distract him,” she said painstakingly.
“But you see,” said Linnet. “Sometimes, they need to be distracted.”
“They do?” asked Fen uncertainly, as Archie lurched forward on his mother’s lap and snatched a piece of buttered bread off the table.
His mother seemed unconcerned, “Oh yes,” she carried on. “When they’re angry and bellowing or perhaps sinking into a brooding sulk.”
His Forsaken Bride (Vawdrey Brothers Book 2) Page 32
