His Forsaken Bride (Vawdrey Brothers Book 2)

by Alice Coldbreath

  Bess puffed out her cheeks. “Not likely. Look like they’re hanging out for well-connected husbands,” she said with disinterest. “That one there with the meek downcast eyes and the white hands is the one that’s caught my uncle’s eye.”

  Fen looked at Bess’s prospective aunt and thought she looked rather younger than Bess. She didn’t voice this opinion. Thank goodness she was already married, she thought as the musicians struck up and the ladies started to make weaving complicated steps as they moved in and out, touching hands before spinning away. She would never have been able to keep up with such intricate patterns. Eden was easily the most fleet of foot and elegant of form as she glided across the floor, her black hair sleek and shining, her pale neck long and delicate. Her slim body bent and swayed in time to the music and it was obvious the other dancers were looking to her to keep time and follow her lead. But as the crowds around them began to discreetly whisper, Fen noticed that the name on most people’s lips was that of the prettiest girl in the group, Lady Helen Cecil. From the faux-demure look on her face, it looked like she was well aware of the stir she was causing and was rather enjoying it.

  “Who’s that one?” asked Bess. “Smug faced-one, with the big eyes.”

  Fen cleared her throat. “I believe that’s Lady Helen Cecil,” she murmured as discreetly as possible.

  “Eh? Isn’t that the King’s latest trollop?” asked Bess with interest.

  Fen made a strangled noise in her throat which to her dismay quickly turned into a coughing fit. The tall gentleman to her left stepped up to her and presented her with a handkerchief, which she took with thanks and dabbed her watering eyes.

  “Countess Vawdrey,” he greeted her with a bow, and hearing his low drawling voice, she remembered his name at once.

  “Viscount Bardulf,” she said with a curtsey, and offered him back his handkerchief. He waved a hand for her to keep it, and turned back to watching the dance.

  Fen turned back too and found she did recognize one other of the young ladies, Lady Helen’s older sister, Jane Cecil. Jane performed the steps competently enough, though she had neither Eden’s grace and suppleness or the voluptuous lure of her sister. In short, the eye was not drawn to her as it was the other two. Bess nudged Fen in the side and nodded her head toward the royal couple. Queen Armenal was watching the dancers with every apparent pleasure, a smile about her lips, and King Wymer was tapping the arm of his seat in time to the music. “Wonder if she knows,” whispered Bess hoarsely, presumably referring to the Queen. Fen shot an uneasy glance at Viscount Bardulf. Had not Oswald said something about him being a countryman of the Queens? His narrowed eyes were fixed on the formation of the dance and he gave no indication of having heard them. “Eden’s easily the best,” said Bess, nodding toward Eden. “Shame she’s so uppity.”

  “Uppity?” whispered Fen. “She’s always been most agreeable to me.”

  “Oh me, too,” agreed Bess, tugging at her wimple. “But people do say she’s a bit aloof and rather prim and prudish.”

  Fen thought suddenly of Roland. What was it he’d said of Eden? Knowing Roland, it was probably something shallow about her looks. But to Fenella’s mind, Eden looked lithe and slender as a faery dancer.

  Suddenly the ladies all turned in a circle, and the dance was ended. Everyone clapped politely and the ladies dropped into low curtseys, the last strain of the music dying away.

  The King cleared his throat, but before he could speak, Armenal cut clean across him with her loud carrying voice.

  “A most commendable performance. I congratulate you, my dear Eden on your masterly execution. You had by far the lightest and most graceful step, as always, but I fancy I see another close on your heels.” Her gaze travelled over the party of young women. “Lady Jane Cecil,” she said benevolently, and Fen watched the ripple of surprise her words created. The Queen paused, nodding at the reaction. “You see,” she said holding up a finger and taking the murmurs for agreement. “I am not the only one to admire such dainty steps.”

  Lady Jane turned quite pink with pleasure. “Your majesty,” she said breathlessly and sank down into another low curtsey. At her side, Fen noticed Lady Helen’s smile looked a little fixed at the fulsome praise her sister was receiving.

  “Come before me, young woman,” said the Queen beckoning to Jane. To everyone’s amazement, the Queen removed the brooch from her own bodice, which had an opal in it as large as a pigeon’s egg and pinned it to the trembling Jane’s dress. “Accept this trifle as a small tribute to your talent,” said the Queen benevolently.

  “Your highness, I am overcome,” said Jane, who really did seem to be on the brink of grateful tears. The Queen held out her hand and Jane clasped it as reverently as if it were a holy relic.

  “It is no more than you deserve,” said the Queen, and Jane seemed to almost float back down the steps to rejoin the other dancers, her expression dazed, but deliriously happy.

  “Most commendable my dear,” muttered the King, whose thunder had clearly been stolen by his consort’s antics.

  “You are too modest, husband” Armenal told him. “In this I am led by you, as in all things.”

  The King looked bewildered.

  “Did you not yourself recommend that I considered Sir Phillip’s niece for one of my attendants?” she said with a gentle smile. “And you were quite right, for she is clearly the most superior young lady of the current crop by far.”

  The King sat like a stunned bullfrog, his mouth opening and closing. “Quite, quite,” he agreed in a strangled voice. Though it must have been obvious to everyone that it was his paramour Lady Helen that he was trying to secure the position for.

  When Fen looked back at the group of young ladies, Lady Helen was finding it hard to mask her chagrin at being so overlooked in her sister’s favor. Clearly, she was not used to being eclipsed.

  Viscount Bardulf gave a gentle laugh. “And there’s the killing blow,” he murmured. “Bravo.” He melted away into the crowd and when he reappeared he was at the Queen’s side.

  Eden materialized at their side. “Did you enjoy the demonstration?” she asked.

  “It was very instructive,” said Fen, thinking of the royal couple’s relationship. “Your dancing was sublime, my dear.”

  Eden waved this off modestly. “The result of many days of practice.”

  “The Queen seemed to think that Lady Jane Cecil was practically as good as you,” said Bess rudely.

  Fen opened her mouth to disagree, but Eden responded instead, with great dignity.

  “She certainly gave great encouragement to Lady Jane.”

  Fen wondered what an earth was going on with Bess, as she seemed to have taken an unaccountable dislike to Eden. She frowned at her and then turned back to Eden.

  “To my mind, there was simply no comparison to be made,” she said truthfully. “I wonder,” she said in a low aside. “Did you receive that note I sent care of yourself for that playwright fellow?”

  “Oh yes, I meant to speak to you about that,” said Eden. “I forwarded it to the address I had listed for Mr Entner, but alas, it was returned this very morning. He has left those lodgings for cheaper ones. Unfortunately, his old landlord did not have a forwarding address.”

  “Oh dear,” said Fen, her face falling. “So, he has not received my message.”

  “I’m afraid not,” said Eden. “But never fear, I am sure he will be in touch soon with details of when the play is to be performed.”

  “That’s what I’m worried about,” mumbled Fen, but the other two were already turning and executing low curtseys. To Fen’s horror, King Wymer had descended and was making his way through the crowd toward them. Fen watched his approach with alarm. Surely, he would not acknowledge her, she thought as he seemed to make a bee-line for her. Not when she knew how much he disliked her! To her dismay, King Wymer came right up to her and glanced over her, his lips pressed together with disapproval. She dropped into a curtsey and he gave her a brief nod. �
�I bet your husband paid a pretty penny for that girdle belt,” he grunted. “Poor devil.”

  Fen flushed and looked down at the glittering diamonds on her belt. “As you say, your majesty,” she agreed miserably. The King rocked backwards and forwards on the balls of his feet a few times. Fen glanced around hoping someone else might come along to alleviate the awkwardness. No such luck. Indeed, both Bess and Eden had faded tactfully away at his arrival. Pressure mounted with every second for her to speak and break the silence. “The – erm – weather is very fine today, sire. Is it not?”

  Wymer shot her a look of disgust. “Gads woman, if you’ve nothing worth saying, you’d best hold your tongue!”

  Fen blinked, then turned to face forward again. “As you wish sire,” she said sadly. King Wymer was clearly no more reconciled to her existence than he was a month ago. She had no idea why he had singled her out for his attention, and she devoutly wished he had not! She shifted uncomfortably, noticing how many people were shooting looks of envy and curiosity toward her. Doubtless they had not overheard his brusque words and thought they were passing the time of day. Pressing her own lips together firmly, she clasped her hands in front of her and did her best to shut down her feelings of discomfort.

  After a few moments, Wymer surprised her by clearing his throat. “You might want to take it a little easier on him,” he said gruffly. “He’s not used to feminine ploys.”

  Fen blinked at him in astonishment. “Ploys?” she repeated faintly.

  “Aye, ploys!” said Wymer, nodding his head. “You’re all the same, never happy unless you’ve got us dancing to your tune!”

  Fen cast about in bewilderment but could think of no reply to that, unless to point out that her lute was back in Sitchmarsh. She knew instinctively that would not go down well.

  “You’ve got him all twisted up and back to front since you ensnared him in your machinations, woman!” he continued sternly.

  Fen bit the side of her mouth and eyed the King nervously.

  “Cat got your tongue?” he barked.

  “I’m afraid I’ve nothing to say that will please you,” she admitted.

  “Humph! Like that is it?” The King tsked and gave a quick shake of his head. “Poor bugger,” he muttered under his breath and took his leave of her without even a backward glance.

  Fen gazed after him, utterly mystified by both his words and his actions. She almost wondered if they spoke an entirely different language!

  She gave a start when Eden’s voice spoke in her ear. “The King does you great honor by having private conversation with you,” she said with satisfaction.

  Fen struggled with a reply. “I’m afraid,” she said selecting her words carefully. “That his majesty is not pleased by my marriage to Lord Vawdrey.”

  “Nonsense,” said Eden with a frown. “It is very much remarked upon how he singles you out.” And I am sure,” she added complacently. “That he means the highest respect to your husband by doing so.”

  “Perhaps,” conceded Fen weakly. After all, he did seem most concerned that she was a troublesome wife to Oswald. She sighed and vowed to ask her husband for advice on how to handle Wymer’s dislike at some later point. “My husband seems to think that King Wymer will suddenly one day realize he does not detest me after all. Sadly, I think he is somewhat optimistic.”

  Eden played with her handkerchief. “On the whole I think Lord Vawdrey may be right. His majesty has shown great favoritism in paying you attention today.”

  Fen spluttered. “You would not say so if you had heard the topic of our conversation.”

  On this though, Eden refused to believe her.

  **

  Oswald found his wife extremely quiet that evening as she prepared for bed. On the one hand, he appreciated the quiet, as he was exhausted after a long day maneuvering ministers into doing what he wanted. On the other hand, he felt immediately uneasy and wanted to know what was on her mind. She barely spoke a word as she undressed and braided her hair in a single rope. He watched her covertly in the mirrored glass, as he stood shaving over the washing basin. She climbed into the bed and lay there a moment with her hands clasped over her stomach. “Is there any especial reason why your brother Roland won’t take his own personal squire?” she asked him, surprising him.

  How the hells should I know? was what sprang tetchily to his lips, but he tamped that response down and instead grunted “No, not that I’m aware.”

  “Poor Cuthbert wants most dreadfully to attend the tournaments and jousts and so forth,” she said confidingly. “I suggested he squired for Roland for a time here at court, but when he asked him, your brother turned him down. Rather ignominiously as I understand it.”

  “Sounds like Roland,” said Oswald sourly. He had no idea why his wife thought their bedchamber was the place to ask him questions about his own brother. He didn’t appreciate it. Not one bit.

  She lapsed into silence for a moment. “I went to an audience with the King and Queen today,” she said surprising him. “It was funny but…” her words trailed off, a faint frown on her face.

  Oswald half turned to look over his shoulder at her. “Our exalted rulers,” he said dryly. “What about them?”

  “Do you think they actually like each other?” asked Fen looking confused.

  “I don’t think ‘like’ comes into it,” he answered with a shrug. “Their marriage was arranged to align the houses of Lisle and Argent.”

  Fen considered this. “Yes,” she said after a moment or two. “But, that’s not really all that different to most marriages at court.” She sounded a little sad.

  Oswald frowned and swung back round to look at her. “They didn’t meet until Armenal was fetched from her ship at the port and transported to the cathedral,” he said dryly. “Whereas we met several times, over a three year period.” He watched her turn pink. He just knew she had been comparing them. He turned back to the mirror, but his attention was still mostly on her as he dragged the straight razor down his jaw.

  “It’s almost like…” she bit her bottom lip. “Like, they’re opponents…”

  “In the midst of some kind of battle,” he finished for her

  Fen sat up in the bed. “Yes,” she said looking impressed. “That’s exactly what it’s like.”

  He turned back around to face her, wiping his face down with a cloth. “That’s because they are.”

  “But I don’t think the King’s fully aware of the fact,” she said. “Or, if he is, then he doesn’t realize that the Queen’s much better at it than he is.”

  Oswald smiled grimly and he threw down his cloth. “That is something you might not want to repeat outside of these four walls.”

  “I wouldn’t say it to anyone else,” she said guiltily and lay back down, flat on her back. Oswald breathed out and started unbuttoning his cuffs.

  “They say the King loved his first wife Queen Eleanor. Do you suppose that is true?”

  Oswald shot a look at her, but she was staring resolutely at the ceiling.

  “I wouldn’t know,” he said carefully, after a heavy pause. “She had already died by the time I became a permanent fixture at court.”

  If Wymer had loved his first Queen, thought Oswald, he had certainly not been faithful to her. He knew of at least two royal bastards from that era that were common knowledge. He decided not to share this with Fen.

  “People are saying that the King may divorce Queen Armenal, and instead marry the Princess Una,” she rambled on.

  Oswald drew in a breath. “Are they?” It was frankly news to him. He pulled a face as he shrugged off his tunic. He doubted the King would appreciate such a rumor. “You should not set much store by gossip,” he said. “There is not often much substance to it.”

  Fen appeared to digest this a moment. “Queen Armenal said the only woman the King has ever really loved is his old nurse, Bathilde,” said Fen.

  Oswald paused in the act of pulling off his boots. “She said that?” In his experience the
Queen was rarely so frank.

  “Well…” Fen plucked at the bedsheets. “Not in so many words, but …pretty much.”

  He stripped down the last of his clothes and swiftly blew out the candles as he rolled into bed. “Is something bothering you?” he asked as he arranged himself around her. Oswald was dog-tired from his efforts to rush through the agreements about the Princess coming to court. He was facing a lot of opposition, not least from the King. Even so, he could tell Fenella was troubled. She sighed softly. “Not really. Are you tired?”

  His libidinous body perked up, despite his mental fatigue. She was as delightfully soft and cushiony as ever. “It depends,” he grunted. Gods, that was churlish. Sometimes he shocked even himself! “What do you need?” He hoped it was something simple, like his cock.

  “You’re not going to arrange a royal divorce, are you?” she asked in a small voice.

  “No,” he answered. “Put that from your mind.”

  She breathed out. “I’m glad.”

  For some reason that touched him on the raw. “I fail to see why you should feel sensitive around the subject,” he said. “I told you, you’ve never even been divorced.”

  Fen lay still, no doubt stunned by his lack of sensitivity.

  “Is that it?” he asked. “Or is there more?” He was being sarcastic, but clearly his wife took it as an invitation to ramble on at him about a bunch of random things before he was to be permitted to sleep.

  “How can I make the King look favorably on me?” she asked suddenly, completely blind-siding him.

  “Why the hell would you want to do that?” he asked in a harsher tone than he’d intended.

  Fen turned to look at him over her shoulder in surprise. “I thought that was what you wanted,” she said in confusion. “You said-”