His Forsaken Bride (Vawdrey Brothers Book 2) Page 13

  “Aye. I’m not saying she’s anything special,” he said shaking his head.

  Fenella blinked. “I’m sure you’re fond of her,” she said uncertainly. He snorted.

  “Was it her mother or her father you are close to?”

  He bridled. “Neither!” he snapped. “They’m both dead!”

  “I see,” said Fenella, who did not see remotely why he was telling her this. Instead she turned back to her task and started filling up the bottom shelf. She could tell he had not moved away and was still stood watching her. Still, she took her time arranging things to her satisfaction before turning back to him.

  He was stood watching her critically. “You shouldn’t be grubbing about on your knees. She could do that for you.”

  Light dawned. Meldon wanted to secure a lady’s maid position for his god-daughter. She hoped the girl’s attitude was better than his, but in truth, it could scarcely be any worse.

  “Shall I bring her by then?” he asked impatiently.

  Fenella rose from her knees to shut the cupboard door and then turned to face him. “Very well,” she said coolly. “But you should be aware Meldon, that I have run my own household for eight years. I have standards I will expect. Has she acted as lady’s maid before?”

  He looked taken aback. “She’s been all sorts. Aphrany born and bred,” he prevaricated. “But she’s been working in a cooper’s shop since she took up with that useless lump of a husband of hers.” By the curl of his lip she could tell he did not approve of the fact.

  “Well, the fact she’s a city girl could be useful to me,” she conceded. “What is her name?”

  “Trudy.”

  “Her age?”

  “Thirty-five or thereabouts,” said Meldon reluctantly. He scratched his chin.

  Hardly a girl then, thought Fenella. “Has she any children?”

  “Aye, but they’m apprenticed out now and not suckling babes.”

  “By all means, bring her by,” Fenella agreed with a nod. “I would be happy to meet her.”

  Meldon shut his mouth tightly and nodded.

  “And could you possibly find me some writing ink and parchment?” she asked. “I would like to write a letter to my sister-in-law.”

  He stalked off and Fen placed the heavy ruby and emerald necklace and the diamond belt on the bed neatly. She had glanced around but could see no strong-box in the bedroom. Perhaps Lord Vawdrey kept it under the bed or under a loose floorboard. She hardly felt she had the right to go poking around his room in search of it, so instead she placed both the necklace and the belt into an empty drawer and went back to the outer room, taking a seat at the table next to the fire where Bors was dozing. How on earth was one supposed to fill one’s time as a courtier anyway? She couldn’t even walk her dog when she had no decent clothes to wear! And she had not even been to check on her horse since she had left her in the palace stables. Hopefully poor Rowena was being adequately cared for. With a frown, she wondered if she should try and venture out. Her cloak would cover the scarlet robe. But where was her cloak? With a start, she realized she had not seen it since that disastrous meeting in Oswald Vawdrey’s study. It was probably being cleaned along with her dress, she surmised hopefully. They had been quite muddy from the road after all. Her thoughts were interrupted as a tray was set down in front of her with a rattle. On it lay a metal pen with two different nibs, a sheaf of parchment and a bottle of black ink.

  “Thank you Meldon,” she said picking up the pen at once and inspecting the state of the nibs. To her relief they were in good order and she would not have to scratch over the page, blotting ink as she went. Immediately she set about composing a missive to Orla which proved most difficult to write and took her the best part of an hour. She scratched her temple and scrunched her nose as she tried to find a delicate way to tell her sister of eight years that far from halting her divorce, she had instead found that she was legally wed to a completely different man! Orla would be scandalized, and who could blame her, thought Fen dolefully. She then apologized for any worry her sister-in-law might have experienced on Bors’ disappearance and assured her he was safely with his mistress at court. Then she wrote out a paragraph with instructions to forward her personal possessions and clothes to her brother’s house and finished with a postscript hoping that Turvey the household steward was well and Langdon the cook. Their relationships with Orla were strained to say the least and Fen wondered how long things would continue amicably there, without her to smooth any ruffled feathers. She thought longingly of Thurrold where everything was familiar and ordered. In truth, she had always loved it far more than Sitchmarsh Hall, her girlhood home. All she could remember of Vawdrey Keep was a tall stone fortress with a draughty great hall and a booming-voiced master. He was gone now of course, and from everything her new husband had told her, she would be free to make it her home without any involvement from him. It was five years since he had even been there by all accounts. What a strange set-up, she reflected as she heard a door open and Roland Vawdrey stomp through wearing a chain mail shirt and hood over his head. He spared her a scornful glance before wrenching open the main door, exiting through it and then slamming it behind him. She sighed, drew another piece of paper across the table and started a letter to her brother Gil, this time assuring him that she was fine and asking him to take care of any of her things that Orla would be sending his way. She didn’t like to have them sent straight to Vawdrey Keep as it seemed presumptuous somehow. Besides, they would be neighbors soon and it would be easy enough to have her possessions fetched over in a cart.

  Lord Vawdrey was carrying something when he arrived back at their rooms. “We are attending a banquet tonight,” he announced and dropped a parcel onto one of the chairs.

  “But I have nothing to wear,” blurted Fen in alarm.

  He gestured toward the parcel. “You can wear this,” he said.

  “You had my dress cleaned already?” said Fen with relief as she made for it. “Is my cloak in there too?” It was a very big parcel.

  “No,” admitted Oswald after a pause. “An acquaintance sent this for you to borrow.”

  Fen lowered the parcel with surprise. “But how do they know what will fit me?”

  Oswald shrugged. “It will probably need some alteration,” he said. “She is sending along her maid presently to attend you.”

  His acquaintance was a woman, she thought with a jolt, but he had walked straight past her and was pouring himself some water. “Roland has gone out, dressed in armor,” she told him.

  “Has he?” He could not have sounded less interested if he had tried.

  There was a knock on the door and Oswald walked to it. He opened it and admitted an efficient looking young woman with hair so blonde it was almost white. It was braided and pinned very neatly around her head. She bobbed a curtsey and headed straight for Fenella.

  “You got it then?” she said nodding at the parcel. “Shall we take a look how it fits?”

  Fen surmised this was the maid of the acquaintance and nodded. “By all means. Follow me,” she said and headed for the bedroom with the maid following closely behind her.

  “It is very kind of you to come and aid me. What is your name?” asked Fen as she started undoing her buttons.

  “Jenny,” the other tossed over her shoulder as she attacked the string securing the parcel. “I’m Lady Sumner’s personal maid.”

  “Lady Sumner,” repeated Fenella. She did not know the name. “I believe she is an acquaintance of my husband’s.”

  Jenny nodded. “You’ll meet my lady tonight,” she said unbundling an under-gown of cream and gold brocade. “She can’t wait to clap eyes on you,” she added, turning and shaking out a silken under dress. “Though she pretended to yawn when she told me, like it was the greatest bore.” Jenny snorted. “But you can’t fool a maid you’ve had for ten years,” she sniffed. “Be she ever so clever.”

  “Is she very clever then, your mistress?” asked Fenella.

  �
�That’s her reputation, milady,” Jenny compressed her lips. “But it’s all book learning!” she scoffed. “She’s never turned a distaff, nor a meat-spit her entire life. Not with them white hands!”

  “I see,” said Fen, stepping out of the red robe. She shivered in her shift. Jenny cast an appraising eye over her. “Well you’ve much more flesh on you than my mistress, I can see that for nothing. I shall have to let out the seams.”

  Fen blinked. Well that was plain speaking! “I hope it will not mar the gown,” she said. “Could I help?”

  Jenny shook her head. “It’ll be quicker if I work alone,” she said crossing to sit on one of the high back chairs. “Why don’t you unpack the rest of it,” she said around a mouthful of pins. “I’ll get started right away.”

  Fen crossed to the bed and picked up a luxurious over-dress of rich brown velvet. The low neckline was studded with pearls and colored stones. “It’s very beautiful,” she gasped. “This must be your mistresses’ best gown.”

  Jenny snorted. “Not her,” she scoffed. “She’s got about ten of those and rest assured she gave you the one that becomes her the least. She’s never even worn that one,” added Jenny. “Probably planned to wear it when she’s in mourning for his lordship.”

  Fen was startled. “She is anticipating a bereavement?” Poor woman.

  “She’s been anticipating it since she married him,” said Jenny pertly. “My Lord Sumner is eighty-five years of age.”

  “Oh, I see,” said Fen, who saw nothing of the kind. She badly wanted to ask how old Lady Sumner was, but knew she should not encourage the maid so kindly sent to help her, to gossip about her own mistress.

  “She’s thirty-five,” said Jenny, giving her a sideways glance. “In case you’re wondering.”

  “A fifty-year age gap,” exclaimed Fen before she could stop herself.

  Jenny smirked. “Indeed. And it suits my lady greatly, to be left to her own devices.” Her needle flashed as it went in and out of the shimmering fabric.

  “I see,” murmured Fen as she shook out the folds from the heavy fabric. “Have they been married for many years?”

  “Ten years,” shrugged Jenny.

  “Only ten?” Fen had thought that perhaps Lady Sumner had been married to him as a very young bride when he was in his late fifties or early sixties perhaps.

  The fabric rustled as Jenny turned it over to expose another seam and then snipped at it with a small pair of silver scissors from her belt. “Let us have a look and see if this will suffice,” she said standing up.

  Fen crossed the room and held out her arms as the maid slipped the brocade dress over her head and then yanked it firmly over her shoulders and chest where it was already a tight fit despite not yet being laced to close.

  “I don’t think this will fit,” said Fen doubtfully as Jenny pulled and pushed at her shift out of sight and then manipulated the stiff fabric to slide down her body.

  “Nonsense,” huffed Jenny. “We just need to- if you’ll pardon me, my lady,” she shoved Fen’s breast’s upwards where they strained against the low neckline. “There!” she said triumphantly. “Now, let me fasten the side-lacings whilst we can. If you’ll just support your bosoms while I move around to the side, milady.”

  “Er… like this?” Fen said making a shelf out of her arm. She looked down at the two scoops of her milky white flesh and blanched. “I don’t think-” Jenny cut off her words with a tight pull of the side laces. “That’s a little tight!” she exclaimed in alarm.

  Jenny patted her reassuringly. “I knows what I’m about, milady,” she said. “Never fear!” She stepped to the other side and started on the fastenings there too.

  “Don’t forget I have to be able to sit down in comfort and even eat a morsel or two,” said Fen uneasily.

  Jenny yanked on the lacings. “None of them fine ladies are ever sitting comfortably,” she said wisely. “You just has to relax your face like you are. Then the men believe it, fools that they are.” She nodded then straightened up and spanned her hands around Fen’s admittedly, much smaller waist. “You see?”

  “Ye-s,” admitted Fenella. She kept catching sight of her elevated bosom. It was distracting. She could only hope that the over-dress would somehow make her look more decent. She bit her lip.

  As if reading her thoughts, Jenny crossed to the bed to pick up the brown velvet. She returned and slipped it over Fen’s head and tugged it down over the cream and gold gown. Then she moved to the back and started lacing that too. Glancing down, any hope that Fenella had for concealment was dashed. The over-gown was tight fitted to the waist. Its jewel-encrusted neckline was even lower than that of the scanty under-gown. It seemed to start from her armpits and its placement was just about level to her nipples. A strip of the cream and gold brocade could be seen just above it, skimming the top of her swelling breasts. The most substantial part of the ensemble were the voluminous sleeves which were fitted to the elbow and then extended down almost to the floor so the sleeves of the shimmering under-gown could be seen. Jenny stood back and surveyed her a moment, before kneeling at her feet and taking more pins from her mouth to start artfully arranging and pinning the over-dress so that it revealed the brocade gown underneath. Fen had to admit that the maid knew what she was doing. She had no idea that glass-beaded pins could be put to such use. It hardly seemed respectable! She wondered fleetingly, if Lady Sumner could be some kind of courtesan, but then reminded herself she was a respectably married lady. Jenny took her time over the arrangements of her skirts. She straightened up several times to survey the results of her labors, even crossing the room to check on Fenella’s appearance from a greater distance. Finally, with a nod, she seemed to be happy with the results. She gestured toward the looking glass. “Very nice,” she pronounced. “Take a look for yourself.”

  Fen crossed the room and barely recognized the sophisticated and alluring woman before her in the mirror. She gulped. “But what about-?” she glanced down at her straining bosom. “I can’t be expected to go out in public like this, surely?”

  Jenny looked back at her in shock. “Of course not milady. Your chests are quite naked.”

  Fenella’s shoulders slumped in relief. “So, what do we use to cover them?”

  “Your jewels, of course,” said Jenny simply.

  Fen blinked. “My jewels,” she repeated dazedly.

  “You do have some, I take it? You being a countess by rights,” retorted Jenny with a frown.

  Fen tottered toward the chest of drawers and withdrew her long diamond girdle belt and the ruby and emerald gold necklace. She turned back to Jenny who gasped with delight.

  “I should say you do,” she said admiringly as she took the belt in her hands and wrapped it about Fenella’s waist, fastening it so the front hung down. “I’ve never seen one so fine,” she marveled.

  “It was a wedding present from - my – from Lord Vawdrey,” said Fen. She blushed faintly. It seemed so wrong to refer to Oswald Vawdrey by any term of familiarity.

  “Well, he must hold you in a very high regard, and no mistake,” the maid replied. She turned back for the necklace and then fastened that about Fen’s neck. Fenella flinched at the contact of her soft skin with the cold metal and jewels. Jenny twitched the central emerald so that it was placed directly in the center of her décolletage. The dangling tear-drop pearl hung down in the valley between her breasts. If anything, the jewelry seemed to accentuate her near-naked top half.

  “Perfect,” said Jenny who clearly had no such reservations. “Now, what are we doing with my lady’s hair?” she asked.

  Jenny re-dressed Fenella’s hair and arranged it so her thick dark braids looped around her velvet hair band before being caught up at the back in her new gold hair-net. The result looked vastly sophisticated to Fenella who had blinked at her reflection feeling quite dazzled. She had never looked so well, she thought dazedly. Not even in her first flush of youth, nor on her wedding day. She turned her head again to look at the elabor
ate arrangement of glossy brown hair.

  “Very nice,” pronounced Jenny again and plunked her hands on her hips. She gave a crack of laughter. “She’ll regret sending you that outfit,” she said ushering Fen out of the bedroom. “You see if she don’t!”

  Lord Vawdrey was rising from his chair, no doubt to go and change his own clothes. On spotting her, he paused and straightened up. His eyes narrowed and he stood very still, just looking at her. Fen stood hopefully and clasped her hands. Would he think she finally looked like a sophisticated countess? She felt breathless, waiting for his verdict. Although, to be fair, that could just have been the tight lacing. Roland gave a low whistle and she turned her head, not having realized her brother-in-law was now sat at the table. “Not wholly contemptible,” he said with a shrug and they all turned to look at him with annoyance.

  Jenny giggled. “I’ll see myself out,” she said skipping toward the door.

  “Thank you Jenny,” Fen called after her. When she turned back, the bedroom door was slamming shut behind Lord Vawdrey. Fen felt her shoulders droop in disappointment. Perhaps her transformation was not worthy of comment after all.

  “If you’re hoping to set Oswald ablaze with ardor, you’re wasting your efforts,” said Roland dryly. Fen felt herself blush at his indelicacy. He gave a smirk. “I see you don’t deny it.”

  “Why should I?” Fen asked coolly. She could see Roland Vawdrey was baiting her. After all, she had not been raised with a brother of her own for nothing. She crossed the room to the window seat and carefully sat herself down. A quick glance down reassured her that nothing had slipped out of its confines.

  Roland had lent back in his chair. “He’s got ice-water in his veins instead of red blood,” he elaborated. “Women just aren’t his passion.”

  “I see,” said Fen politely. “That doubtless, is his work.”

  “You know nothing about him,” he carried on contemptuously. “You’re still that little girl trailing after him, pretending to wear his ring.”