His Forsaken Bride (Vawdrey Brothers Book 2)

by Alice Coldbreath

  Bryce remained attendant and made copious notes, disappearing at various intervals to send out messengers with requests. He sent the invite to Mr Entner and his troupe of players and cancelled the musicians that had already been booked to perform the following evening in the Great Hall. Bryce meticulously wrote out a general notice about “The Tragical History of a Lady Most Foully Betrayed in Three Acts: A Morality Play” being performed at the special request of the Earl and Countess Vawdrey, with all courtiers welcome to attend. A company of soldiers was dispatched to meet with the Mycott party with express instructions for where they would rendezvous with a map, pinpointing the exact point that they would meet the royal party in two days time. He also dictated the notice to be given to the nobles who would be accompanying the King. It was well past midnight by the time the preparations had all been made. Despite his words to the contrary, Oswald found his steps returning to his personal chambers after all. That angered him too. He had no reason to go back on his word. He could easily find a vacant apartment with very little trouble, but instead, he wanted to go and take a look at his sleeping wife and check – what? That the treacherous bitch hadn’t run off to Sitchmarsh and left him? He shook his head. It beggared belief that he should be reduced to this. Him? It was a bitter realization. He wouldn’t stay. He would collect some clothes and leave her there, sleeping in his bed. Where she belonged. The faithless, traitorous wife it seemed he could not do without.

  When he reached their rooms, he found Mason up, clearly awaiting him. They eyed each other warily, and Oswald crossed the room to open his bedroom door and look inside. The huddle in the bed did not move and he could see Fen’s dark hair spread across the pillow. He shut the door and returned to the communal room where his brother was pouring him a glass of apple wine. Oswald walked to the table and wordlessly picked up the handwritten invitation on the top of a large pile. It was addressed to Lord and Lady Schaeffer inviting them to watch tomorrow night’s entertainment in the Great Hall. Oswald read it without comment, and dropped it back on top. He threw himself down into a chair opposite his brother and accepted the goblet that was passed to him.

  “You’ve been busy,” Mason said, taking a swig of his own drink. “All the plans in place for Friday?” he asked referring to the collection of the princess.

  Oswald gave a short nod. “As good as. You will accompany the King, of course.”

  Mason grunted his assent. As one of Wymer’s most senior generals he could hardly get out of it. “Lot of fuss and nonsense,” he added. “But I suppose you had to appease the King somehow, as you were so determined to spare her neck.”

  Oswald took an absent sip of his drink before replacing it carefully on the table top. He was in infrequent drinker, preferring to keep a clear head. He certainly could not afford to lose his wits over the next few days.

  “What’s this business about us all going to watch a play on the morrow?” Mason asked, nodding toward the pile of invites that Fenella must have laboriously written out all evening.

  “Seems pretty self-explanatory to me,” Oswald responded, mirthlessly.

  “Presenting a united family front?” asked Mason, a pucker between his brows.

  Oswald shrugged a shoulder.

  “Seems a damned funny time for theatricals,” growled Mason. “When you’ve got all this other business afoot.”

  Oswald gazed back at him stonily. “It is the Midwinter festival after all,” he said.

  Mason’s eyebrows shot up. “You’re going to try and pass this off as part of the Solstice festivities?” he asked.

  “I am,” said Oswald smoothly.

  Mason shook his head. “You can fob off everyone else, but don’t try it with me.” Oswald said nothing. His brother narrowed his gaze at him and took another draught of apple wine. “What did she do?” he asked abruptly.

  “I’m not about to discuss this with you,” said Oswald. “Or anyone.”

  Mason nodded slowly at this. “What’s between a man and his wife is private,” he agreed, and almost in spite of himself, Oswald felt himself relax infinitesimally. “But if you need a brotherly opinion…” He shrugged. “You know where I am.”

  “I do,” agreed Oswald. He took another sip of wine, and made a sudden decision. “I’m sending her down to Vawdrey Keep,” he said in a hard voice. “After the Solstice.”

  Mason looked surprised, but held his tongue

  “I’ll do better here, without her distracting me,” said Oswald calmly. “I’m in the midst of difficult negotiations at present.”

  Mason shot him a strange look. “You’re always in the midst of difficult negotiations,” he said dryly. “If you send her away for that reason, you may as well give up on ever recalling her back.”

  “I never planned on keeping a wife at court,” said Oswald coolly. “That was always the plan in the long run. I told her this from the outset. Fenella is a country-bred girl. Court life does not agree with her.”

  Mason gave a spluttering laugh. “So, your plan is to stick her in Vawdrey Keep and leave her there?”

  Oswald inclined his head. “As you say.”

  “It won’t work like that,” said Mason knowingly. “You’ll be thinking about her the whole time. Worrying she’s been bitten by a dog, or fallen down a flight of steps.”

  Oswald shot a curious look at him. “That’s absurd. Do you really worry like that when you’re apart from your Linnet?”

  “I make damn sure I’m not apart from her for long,” said Mason mildly. “And yes, she’s on my mind constantly.”

  Oswald shifted in his chair. Mason’s candor over such matters surprised him. “Fenella’s very capable,” he said. “She’s not been sheltered like Linnet. The countryside is her natural habitat. It’s here that she’s a fish out of water.”

  “That may be so,” admitted Mason. “But it’s not just the worry. You’ll want to hear her voice. Know what she’s been up to. Remind her that she’s yours.”

  “Again, that’s you Mason. You’re the possessive one, not me.”

  Mason gave a snort. “Really?” He regarded Oswald beneath his dark brows. “You watch her like a hawk, you know.”

  Oswald smiled thinly. “That’s because I can’t trust her,” he said, ignoring the clamoring of his own conscience at such a statement. “Her being here is a constant inconvenience I don’t need. Once she’s gone, I’ll be able to concentrate on my work.”

  “We’ll see brother, we will see,” replied Mason aggravatingly. “For the cleverest man I’ve ever met, you’ve got the strangest idea of how marriage works.”

  “Few marriages are like your own, Mason,” pointed out Oswald.

  “You mean loving?” asked his brother directly, surprising him.

  Oswald found himself at a complete loss for words.

  “You could have that with her,” said Mason slowly. “I don’t understand why you wouldn’t want that for yourself.”

  Oswald opened his mouth then closed it again. “We’re made differently,” he said. “Our natures. Yours and mine.”

  “I’m starting to suspect, not that differently.”

  Oswald could not have been more surprised if Mason had broken into song. Since they had been small boys all anyone had ever done was point out their differences. Their father more than anyone.

  His brother regarded him impassively. “I suppose you know what you’re about,” he said doubtfully. “I know you’re a damn sight cleverer than me.”

  Oswald wondered about that briefly. Then he nodded. “I’ve just come to collect a few things,” he said briefly. “I’m not sleeping here tonight.”

  His brother gave him a hard stare. “Whatever she did, I hope she deserves this treatment,” he said quietly. “Because if not…”

  A floorboard nearby creaked and Oswald shot a glance toward his bedroom, but all seemed as it should be. He rose from his seat without allowing his brother to finish his statement. “I’ll see you on the morrow,” he said dismissively and headed to his
bedchamber. Mason made no response and Oswald eased his way through the door into the shadowy room. For a moment, he thought Fenella lay rather too still. Her position had altered from earlier, and her face was turned into the pillow, so he could not make out her sleeping expression. He moved stealthily around the room, collecting what he needed and then let himself out. Mason’s cup lay abandoned next to his in the room next door. His brother had already gone to join Linnet.

  **

  Dawn broke and Oswald resigned himself to the fact he would not get a wink more sleep. It seemed almost as though he had tossed and turned for the last four hours straight. He had only been married a little over three months, he told himself savagely as he threw back the covers. It made no earthly sense that he would feel unable to sleep in a bed without her! And yet, for some reason, he had continued to reach for her in the night, his instinct not falling in line with his stony reasoning.

  He passed a long drawn-out day, meeting with various dignitaries to arrange Friday’s events. He delegated what he could, but due to the sensitive nature of the situation, had to make sure he kept a close eye on proceedings. By lunchtime he had sent several of his agents ahead to check out the lay of the land and to ensure all was as it should be at Mendip Hall, where the princess was under lock and key. He had men of course, in the area already who were sending regular updates, but it was better to be safe than sorry. After all, the King would be in attendance. He did not return to the Vawdrey chambers until well after six o’clock to wash and dress for the evening’s entertainment in the Great Hall. Fenella was already in the bedroom, sat in a very formal gown of dark green with gold embroidery at the sleeves. She wore her rubies and emeralds at her throat and her diamond girdle at her hips. Trudy was dressing her hair in a high arrangement of loops and braids. They both fell silent as he entered the room, though Fenella greeted him in a subdued voice. He answered in kind, and neither of them met the other’s gaze. As soon as Trudy had pinned her veil in place, Fenella stood up and walked into the adjoining room. Her maid followed her, leaving him to finish washing and dressing on his own. He took his time. After all, there was precious little for them to say to each other. He meant to avoid spending time with his wife as much as possible until after the midwinter festival when he could send her safely on her way. After all, he had to wean himself off her company at some point and these three days would be ample opportunity to achieve that bachelor state of mind he had held for so long. Or so he told himself.

  By the time he’d donned his doublet and followed his wife out, he found Mason, Roland, Linnet and Fenella all waiting for him. At his appearance, Linnet slipped an arm through Fen’s and whisked her out of the door into the corridor and he fell in step behind them, with his brothers on either side of him.

  “I hate theatricals,” murmured Roland mutinously. “Damned if I can see why I should have to sit through this one.”

  “Well take heart,” said Oswald. “There’s an unflattering portrayal of me in the second and third acts, so you’ll derive pleasure from that if nothing else.”

  Roland perked up. “The devil you say?”

  “Have you read it?” asked Mason.

  “No.”

  Mason grimaced. “Lady Schaeffer returned it this morning, so I attempted to wade through it, but…”

  “Hester Schaeffer?” broke in Oswald, startled.

  “Yes.”

  “What the hells was she doing with it?”

  Mason’s eyebrows rose. “By all accounts, Fenella wanted her opinion as she is no judge of plays.”

  Oswald frowned at him, as his brain scrambled over this nugget of information.

  “What?” asked his brother.

  Oswald shook his head. “It is of no matter,” he said, staring at the figure of his wife as Linnet chattered brightly and Fen nodded her head. She looked pale but resolute. As they turned the corner to approach the Great Hall, Oswald stepped up level to the ladies, and took Fen’s arm. “We had better go in together,” he muttered. Fen made no verbal response, just rested her hand on his arm without comment. Linnet fell back to take Mason’s side and Roland yawned loudly.

  When they entered the hall, Fen gasped, and Oswald realized it was the Midwinter decorations that had caught her eye. They must have gone up that very day for every corner was now decked with great swathes of ivy, mistletoe and laurel. Candles flickered from among the boughs and bowls of glistening fruit. Fen’s head spun round as she took in the Solstice finery and Oswald found himself glad that she was distracted by it, for at their entrance everyone had turned to look at them and the murmuring swelled very loud indeed. Oswald scanned the room and found to his surprise, both the King and Queen in attendance on the dais. He bowed in their direction and Fen curtseyed as he led her toward their usual places at the top table. She looked flushed, her lips parted as her gaze fell on the central table arrangements which were great bowls of steaming cider punch with ladles decorated with ribbons. He remembered a happier time, - their visit to the inn in Aphrany when they had drunk such a drink from a lover’s cup. Fenella really loved the Solstice festivities, he remembered, but there was a shadow across her face now that hadn’t been there on that first occasion. He had to fight the urge to take her hand or try to comfort her. It was a bizarre reaction to her perfidy, and one that annoyed him. Instead he focused on who else was in attendance in the packed throng. Everyone it seemed. The walls were lined with pages who had decided to attend, whether their masters required them or not. He recognized Cuthbert’s golden head from a gaggle of teenage squires who were huddled in one corner, heckling the servers who brought out more bowls of punch and silver goblets. He counted pretty much every member of the privy council on the top three tables.

  “Will you take a drink?” Roland was doing the honors, and sloshing the punch into the cups, passing them round their table. He thought Fenella would decline, but she nodded at the last minute and cupped the steaming brew in her hands. She bestowed a tremulous smile on Roland, which made Oswald’s vision flicker.

  Mason nudged him. “Relax,” he muttered. “She’s doing a better job of masking her feelings than you are!”

  Oswald reined himself in, but was under no illusion that he was doing himself credit. His sister-in-law was eyeing him with concern, but she turned away and clapped with the others when a paean was struck up at the front of the hall and a silence swept over the room. Everyone craned their necks to see the players who were entering. Oswald’s eye was drawn to a diminutive figure who wrung her hands and cast herself on her knees before a short actor wearing violently-yellow hose. Laughter rippled through the room at the visual reference to Sir Ambrose Thane, who had worn some very similar during his recent sojourn at court. The actor playing him directed a knowing look around the audience and puffed out his chest, strutting around making very pompous boasts about his successes abroad, and with women. His ‘wife’, clearly a smooth-faced male, rocked and cringed on his knees to hear such cruel words from ‘her’ spouse. Oswald’s eyes darted to Fenella, but she looked as stunned as he.

  “You didn’t tell me it was funny,” said Roland accusingly. “I thought it was going to be one of those dull morality plays!” He poured himself another goblet of punch and settled back to enjoy the performance. The longer the scene continued, the more the audience laughed. The oafish husband bragged and swaggered. His lady wife cringed and swooned at her misfortune. Everyone laughed heartily, and Oswald allowed his attention to wander from the players to the other people stood around at the front of the hall. His gaze fell on a harassed-looking man of middle-age who was watching proceedings with a bewildered air. He kept consulting the manuscript in his hands, nodding and then gazing at the chortling audience in astonishment. Mr Entner, thought Oswald. It must be him. He glanced at Fenella to confirm this, but her own gaze was riveted to the stage in a sort of fascinated horror. The actors froze at the end of the act and the hall erupted into applause. The servers had barely had a chance to replenish all the punch bowls, be
fore the music started up at the front, warning everyone the second act was about to start. This one started dynamically, with a tall striking actor walking on, dressed entirely in black and looking rather ominous. This was greeted rapturously by the audience who were torn between gaping at Oswald’s reaction, and watching the play unfold before them. Such was the volume of noise from people’s murmurings that Oswald couldn’t actually hear the plan that the cold-hearted villain was outlining to the audience. He frowned. Suddenly another character entered. A portly looking fellow who was carrying a long list and looking rather tormented. He seemed to be pleading with the sinister male – a Lord Orlando Mawby - not to pursue some disastrous stratagem, but the other would not listen to him.

  Roland gave a loud crack of laughter. “It’s you and Bryce!”

  Oswald’s head swiveled around to look at the lower table where his assistant usually sat with other scribes. Bryce’s eyes stood out on stalks. He watched as a couple of his fellows slapped Bryce on the back, his assistant turning rather pink. Oswald turned back to find that his doppelganger was reeling off a dastardly list of reasons why he should marry the virtuous Lady Vyella. Primarily, it seemed by marriage he would gain some sort of smoke-screen, behind which to hide his nefarious activities. Meanwhile the unfortunate lady was prostrate with grief at her abandonment. Oswald reached across and poured himself a cup of punch, which he had initially declined. He found himself relaxing, despite himself. Fenella studiously avoided his gaze. Her color was high, and she had a fixed smile on her lips that looked rather painful to maintain.

  “Who wrote this tripe?” Mason growled in his ear.

  “Don’t think you’ll have heard of him,” he replied dryly and reached across the table impulsively for Fenella’s hands. She stared a moment before placing her hands in his. They felt like ice and Oswald frowned, before interlacing their fingers. He squeezed lightly, and she shot a look of agonized confusion his way which made him feel an utter heel. He leaned forward. “When did you consult Lady Schaeffer about the play?” he asked in a murmur. She craned forward to catch his words.