His Forsaken Bride (Vawdrey Brothers Book 2)

by Alice Coldbreath

  “The day I received it,” she replied. “I read it of course, but...somehow I did not realize it was a comedy. I was quite concerned, so I asked Hester for her opinion…” Her words died away as another fresh burst of laughter had her turning toward the front of the hall. The heroine was being propped up by Bryce’s character while a leering Lord Mawby looked her over and rubbed his hands together in wicked intent. Fenella gasped. “Somehow, when you read the lines, you don’t imagine the way the actor will deliver them…” she added distractedly.

  Oswald leaned in again. “Look at Entner,” he said, nodding toward the front of the room. Fenella’s gaze focused on the figure in the wings. “I don’t think he realized it was a comedy either,” he added.

  Fen’s eyes went wide and she looked back at Oswald in confusion. “I don’t think I quite understand…” she trailed off hopelessly.

  “Everyone seems to be enjoying it in any event,” he said with a shrug.

  Fenella’s pained gaze fixed on him. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered.

  “Don’t Fen,” he warned her. “We’re entertained remember? Enjoying the spectacle.”

  She nodded, and swallowing, returned her gaze to the front of the hall.

  Oswald glanced over at the royal dais. The King was leaning forward, his gaze fixed on the players in fierce concentration. The Queen, by contrast, was looking directly at him, a half-smile playing about her lips. He had the uncomfortable suspicion she knew exactly what was going on. He would have taken another swig of cider punch, but his hands were still interlaced with this wife’s, so instead he resigned himself to watching the rest of the wretched play.

  By the time the unfortunate Lady Mawby had expired in a heap, a victim of cruel circumstance, the punch had been freely-flowing for over an hour and the crowd was in a rollicking and somewhat boisterous frame of mind.

  “Damned odd end, for a comedy,” said Roland, and it seemed he was not alone in this thought as a few loud boos were heard from the rowdier element of the audience. Oswald watched a shower of apple cores scatter across the actors and a cry of ‘for shame!’ go up. He looked across at Mr Entner who, obviously no stranger to a hostile crowd, had placed his manuscript above his head and was urging the actors to take their bows. In an abrupt change of mood, a loud cheer went up when the actors who played Sir Andrew Vane and Lord Orlando Mawby made their bows. Lady Mawby hastily clambered to his feet and made his bow, clutching his false hair braid which seemed to have become detached from his head during the death scene. Then it was the turn of Price, the put-upon servant of Lord Mawby who received very loud applause from Bryce’s table. The actors then beckoned to Mr Entner who came on and made a largely inaudible speech, although Oswald thought he could make out a hurried thanks to his patroness. He glanced at Fenella who had clearly not heard a word of it and was wearing her fixed smile again. With a sigh, he held out his hand to her and drew her to feet. Everyone clapped for Fenella who looked extremely bewildered and clung to his hand as if it was a matter of life or death. “Take a curtsey,” he murmured to her and she did, earning even more thunderous applause.

  “It seems it was quite a success!” she quavered looking shaken, before sinking thankfully back onto the bench.

  “Except for the rotten ending,” put in Roland. “That really let it down.”

  “Yes, Entner may find he has to re-write that ending before he tours the provinces,” said Oswald thoughtfully.

  “It was the resourcefulness of the actors that made it a success,” said Linnet. “If it had not been for their delivery, the lines they spoke were really rather dull.”

  “I’m just glad it’s over,” said Mason. “How soon can we leave?”

  Oswald was looking round. People were starting to file out of the Great Hall, but no-one seemed to be in a particular hurry. “It will probably take a while. Did you wish to have some particular speech with Mr Entner?” he asked Fenella, who blanched.

  “No,” she said hollowly.

  “Not even to forbid him from touring with it?” frowned Mason.

  “I rather think the stable door is now bolted,” said Oswald. “Banning it would only see it gain more infamy. And who would regulate such a ban? No,” he said shaking his head. “It is far better to just brazen it out.”

  “The King’s leaving,” said Mason in an aside. “That should get everyone moving.”

  Indeed, there did seem to be something of an exodus in the King’s wake, and it was not long before they were able to follow suit. Fenella took his arm when he offered it and they made their way out of the hall, with many people slapping him on the back or congratulating them on the evening’s entertainment. Fen’s smile was definitely forced by this point, though she was clearly giving it her best attempt. When they reached their rooms, Fen hovered a moment by their door. It was plain she wanted to say something, but knew not how or what. “Husband-” she started, but he cut her off.

  “Go to bed, Fenella.”

  She swallowed. “Aye husband,” she said quietly and shut the door behind her.

  “Early start on the morrow for you two,” said Linnet looking at her husband and Oswald. “You’ll be leaving at first light for the encampment, is that not so?”

  “Aye,” Mason agreed.

  “Roland’s coming too, in his official position as King’s champion,” said Oswald.

  Roland had not accompanied them back to their rooms, but stayed out drinking with his friends.

  “No doubt he’ll return soon,” said Linnet, ever the optimist.

  Mason grunted. “Young fool,” he said. “It’s on him, if he spends the ride sick as a dog.”

  “We’ll retire, I think?” said Linnet looking to her husband.

  “I’ll join you in a minute, love,” said Mason, his gaze fixed on Oswald.

  Linnet bade them a good evening and slipped away to their bedchamber.

  “You sleeping elsewhere, again?” Mason asked him abruptly.

  Oswald eyebrows rose, “No,” he replied shortly. Though to be honest, he had not been sure until that moment.

  “Good,” said his brother and turned on his heel to follow his wife.

  When he entered his bedchamber, the candles on Fen’s side had all been snuffed out and she lay quiet and still, facing the wall. Oswald undressed and washed and then joined her under the covers, blowing out his candles. He lay on his back for a moment, staring at the ceiling, and then in a swift motion, he rolled onto his side and dragged her body against his. They both lay silent in the dark room. After a while he felt her relax into sleep, and only then, could he join her in oblivion.

  **

  Fen woke before it was light and lay a moment in confusion, before realizing what had woken her. Oswald had left their bed and was moving quietly around the room. She glanced toward the window and could see it was still dark outside. But of course, he was journeying north to collect the Princess Una today. She lay still, as he silently packed his things for the overnight sojourn. She had gathered the King’s party would be journeying all day and would reach their destination early evening time, where they would set up camp and spend the night. It would be tomorrow morning that Princess Una would join them, and they would then journey back. It seemed an odd exercise to Fenella, but she understood that King Wymer was fond of symbolic gestures and needed to play the victor, despite the fact he was capitulating in having the Blechmarsh princess under his roof. She closed her eyes as she recalled the nightmare that was the previous evening. Against all odds, her husband had returned to their bed, but there had been no words of reconciliation or forgiveness. And other words, awful, hurtful words she had overheard him utter, still echoed in her mind, giving her pain. True, he had not intended for her to hear them, but perhaps that just made them more honest.

  “That’s because I can’t trust her…Her being here is a constant inconvenience I don’t need.”

  Those words had struck a blow she didn’t know if she could recover from. She was inconvenient, not necessa
ry. Worse, she was unwanted. The thought crushed the breath out of her chest and made her pulse race with fear. What would become of her this time? How many times could she be rejected? She remembered the mockery of the play the previous evening and just felt devastated. There had been no compassion for the ridiculous figure of the Lady Mawby. She had been a figure of derision, not pity. It was hard not to take it personally. No-one at court would be remotely surprised, thought Fen, when her husband sent her down to his country estate and she was never heard from again. That must have been what they were all anticipating from the outset. Even she, naïve country wife, had expected it. She could have coped with it then, she thought bleakly. Before Oswald Vawdrey had made her fall in love with him all over again, and then just as easily withdrawn his affections. Would he wipe her from his memory as effectively this time as he seemed to do the first, she wondered? A tear trickled from under one eyelid, but she dared not wipe it away lest he saw the movement and realized she was awake. She couldn’t speak to him yet. Not while her emotions were raw and exposed. She needed time to pull herself together, to prepare herself for his rejection after the solstice was over. She heard the trunk shut, and her husband straighten up. It seemed for a moment that she felt his gaze sweep over her, and then the door shut quietly behind him and he was gone. Fen rolled on to her stomach and hid her face in her pillow. She knew that sleep would not come now, while her senses felt lacerated. But if she lay very still, maybe she could hold herself together in one piece and not fall completely apart.

  It was three hours later that Fen set out to meet Mathilde Martindale to start on their tapestry. Despite the fact she knew they would never complete it now, she thought it best to see as much of the good friends she had made, before she left forever. There had been a light snowfall in the night and it was chilly walking along the flagstone corridors. Fen walked along the Lower Gallery wondering where her friend had got to and pulling her woolen shawl tighter about her. Bors shuffled along at her heels as her escort. She was just wishing she had brought her gloves when a page darted out from the shadows holding a folded paper. He stopped before her expectantly.

  “Please milady, are you the Countess of Vawdrey?”

  “I am,” said Fen, in surprise. And not just at possessing such a grand title. “Did Lady Martindale send you?”

  He looked around furtively. “Yes,” he whispered, and to her immense surprise, winked at her.

  Bors barged past her to take a look at the newcomer, and the boy backed off nervously.

  “You’re quite safe,” Fen assured him. “He’s very friendly.” He patted Bors’ head as Fen reached into her alms purse to fetch him a coin for his troubles. “I take it Mathilde is not coming to meet me,” she said, as she handed it over.

  He pressed his lips firmly together and nodded his head, slipping the coin into his tunic. “Though, begging your pardon, she’d rather you didn’t say a word until she writes to you that she’s safely reached her destination.”

  Even more bewildered, Fen watched the boy leave and sat down on a cold window seat to open the folded note.

  My dearest friend, Mathilde had written in her angelic round handwriting. Though we have been friends for only a relatively short period of time, our acquaintanceship is one I will always treasure, come what may. You were a refreshing breath of air, and I a stagnating pond, dank and stale. Never has my own inertia been more apparent to me than when contrasted with you, bright and fearless Fenella. You have opened mine eyes and dazzled me with the possibilities of a life fully-lived. With your example before me, I mean to seize hold, and run with my own lot in the world. I hope you will not be ashamed of me, when my flight comes to light. I hope that in your heart, you will still call me friend. With the greatest love and affection. Mathilde.

  Fen read the letter through thrice, in stupefaction. Then she burst into tears. Bors jumped up, his two front paws on the bench to check on her. She wrapped her arms around his neck and sat a moment, her heart thudding. Her friend had gone, she knew not where, and she dared not raise the alarm for fear of compromising her. What had the page said? Mathilde did not want her to speak a word until she had reached whence she was fleeing? Then she would not. Wild horses could not drag it from her. She only wished that her involvement would not drag Oswald into further scandal, for Lady Doverdale was a powerful woman at court. She was sure to be furious that her daughter had escaped the sphere of her influence. With a feeling of impending doom, Fen crept her way back through the palace, avoiding the more popular walk-ways and keeping to the shadows. Her mind was racing as she picked over her last meeting with Mathilde three days ago. Had there been clues then, that something of this nature might happen? She remembered Mathilde’s strange manner, the way she had been so determined to lay out every last detail for their tapestry panel with full instruction. Now she realized why. Because Mathilde had known she would not be around to complete it with Fenella. Then there had been the way she had said ‘Do not forget’ when they had parted. Fen covered her mouth with her hand. Do not forget me, she had meant. Then there had been that distracted air that Mathilde had worn the whole morning. Because she had been planning on flight. But how on earth had she managed to do it? wondered Fen. She knew of no full-grown lady that was watched as closely as Mathilde. Indeed, her Nurse dogged her every move as if she was still a child. It beggared belief that she could have fled and avoided detection. When Fen reached the Vawdrey quarters, she was not surprised to find a servant and a guard awaiting her. Her heart dropped to her ankle boots.

  Linnet was stood conversing with them and turned to look at her with a pale, concerned face. “Fenella, something terrible has happened.”

  Fen swallowed. “What?” she asked as Bors padded past her and flopped down in front of the fireplace.

  “I’m afraid that Lady Martindale has disappeared. The Queen has sent for you. If you will only wait for me to dress, then I will accompany you of course…”

  “There is no need,” she told her sister-in-law hurriedly. “I have no information, so I won’t be overlong. Pray do not concern yourself on my behalf. I am most happy to accompany these gentlemen to see the Queen.”

  Linnet looked for a moment as though she would argue, but then seemed to reconsider. “Perhaps, if you have no knowledge…” she said uncertainly.

  “I won’t be long,” Fen assured her, and looked to the attendants.

  “This way my lady,” said the servant and she followed him along the corridor. To her surprise, they did not lead her toward the Solar, but instead to the Queen’s private apartments. Of course, she recalled dimly. The King was away, and the Queen would no doubt take the opportunity to do things her own way.

  The Queen’s suite of rooms was much more welcoming than the King’s, thought Fenella remembering the rather oppressively grand rooms the King occupied. These were much lighter, with green curtains, decorative tapestry hangings and a merry fire burning in the opulent stone fireplace. The Queen clearly liked pretty things and surrounded herself with them. Fen was ushered into a sitting area and seeing Lady Doverdale glowering by the window, steeled herself for an ordeal. To her surprise, she saw the other lady in attendance was Lady Jane Cecil who was sat on a low stool by the fire, ostensibly reading from a book of sermons.

  “Ah, Fenella,” the Queen said by way of greeting. “Come and take a seat here with me. We find ourselves in something of a predicament this morning. You have no doubt heard?” She gestured to a seat opposite her and Fen sat in it, glancing to the right where Lady Doverdale stood, an ominous dark cloud over her brow.

  “When I returned to my rooms just now, Linnet told me that Mathilde is temporarily missing.” She squared her shoulders. “Tell me, has she been found?” It would not be from her that they would discover that her friend had fled the palace.

  The Queen’s eyes glinted with something that could have been amusement. “Nay, she has not,” she said solemnly.

  “Do you mean to imply that you know nothing of my child’s
disappearance?” demanded Lady Doverdale. “I might add, that I find that very hard to believe.” She took two impulsive steps toward Fen. “You are the only new influence that has made itself known within her small circle of acquaintance. I had hoped it would improve her,” she said bitterly. “But now I discover the folly of such thoughts. You madam, are becoming infamous among these corridors, your name synonymous with every-”

  “That is enough, I think, my dear Berengaria,” the Queen interrupted her gently but firmly.

  Lady Doverdale took two deep heaving breaths and returned to the window. The hand that covered her mouth trembled.

  It was curious, thought Fen. Two days ago, she would have been a stammering mess at such accusations. Lady Doverdale’s harsh words would have reduced her to a gibbering wreck. But such were the nature of the events in her life lately, that this simply paled in comparison. She eyed Lady Doverdale impassively and then turned back to the Queen. “I can only repeat that I know nothing of Lady Martindale’s disappearance,” she said coolly, and marveled at her own self-possession. Truth to tell, she felt numb to her very soul. Her calm had been pricked by very real fears for her friend’s well-being, but otherwise, Lady Doverdale’s suffering left her untouched. She did not believe it originated from an impulse to protect, but rather to assert ruthless control over her daughter. Fen folded her hands in her lap and waited.

  “I see,” said the Queen pleasantly. “And might I ask, when did you last see the Lady Martindale?”

  Fen cast her mind back. “Some three days ago,” she said. “Mathilde sat with me while I had a portrait sitting. We arranged to meet again this morn. But when I turned up at the allotted meeting place...”

  The Queen spread her hands. “Alas, no Mathilde,” she finished for her. Fenella nodded. “But you did expect to see her there, no?”