His Forsaken Bride (Vawdrey Brothers Book 2) Read online

  “Well,” said Trudy making herself comfortable. “As you know, that woman what calls herself Lady Thane now, was flaunting your jewels at the royal feast...”

  “My mother’s pearls,” corrected Fen.

  “Was they?” Trudy did not seem a bit interested in that detail. “And then afterward, you sent your new husband to fetch them back for you…”

  “Well…not quite, but never mind. Do continue.”

  “Well, the Thane’s manservant, Poulson, was attending his master when Earl Vawdrey reached their rooms. He said they heard Lord Vawdrey hammering on Thane’s door so loud that Lady Thane’s mother was a-feared they would surely all be murdered in their beds! Sir Ambrose, he roared at Poulson to answer before the door caved in, though he cowered behind his own blanket like the veriest cur!”

  Fen winced, but Trudy barely seemed to notice. “Poulson said he opened the door and found a cold-eyed devil stood there waiting for him, and he made the sign of protection when he heard how smooth he talked, all the while his eyes was blazing blue murder.”

  Fen sat up. She had herself noticed how Oswald’s eyes so often gave away a completely different mood to the one set by his vocal tone. “Then what happened?” she prompted her maid.

  “Poulson said he had no choice but to fetch his master out forthwith. Lord Vawdrey told him he will drag him from his bed himself if he did not come. And Poulson said he believed him, milady! And Sir Ambrose came, though he grumbled and moaned and Poulson said he was right ashamed of him! A poor, bandy-legged sight he looked miss, by all accounts. You have something that belongs to my wife, says Lord Vawdrey. And Sir Ambrose, he started to protest, but the Earl, he reached across and knocked his night cap right off his head. ‘Next time, says he, It’ll be your head from your shoulders, you faithless piece of-’” Trudy broke off with a cough. “Your pardon, milady,” she said hastily.

  Fen’s eyes were almost out of her head. “Go on,” she gasped.

  “Well,” said Trudy, seeing she had given no offense. “Sir Ambrose, he runs off and fetches the jewelry box, and Poulson said as he heard Lady Thane set up a caterwauling in the bedroom. ‘Shut your mouth, woman!’ He yells at her, and brings it out, muttering that it’s all a misunderstanding. Poulson said he surely lied, for his face was as red as a beet.”

  Fen grasped the arms of her chair. “And what did Lord Vawdrey-?”

  “Poulson said he looked at him so cold, he was surprised his master didn’t contract frost-bite on the spot. He snatched the box and leant in close – like this,” Gertrude’s face hovered close to Fen’s. “‘If you ever show your hand again, where my wife is concerned’,” said he. “‘Then you will regret it. You and yours’,” Trudy nodded in satisfaction. “And Poulson, he said as he believed him about that too!”

  Fen collapsed back into the water. She was trembling. “Of course,” she said pulling herself together. “Gossip always exaggerates a tale…”

  “Oh no, miss,” Trudy interrupted her. “I had that straight from Poulson himself.”

  That was a blow to her theory, but after a moment Fen rallied. “Y-es, but mayhap, in the re-telling it has grown a little more dramatic each time?” She looked at Trudy hopefully but the maid looked unconvinced. She sniffed. “If you say so, milady.” She passed the washcloth and soap to Fen. “Do you want to finish up? You’re all turning to goose-flesh.”

  Fen hurriedly washed under her arms and between her legs. Trudy had gone to fetch a much larger white cloth for drying and she held this open now as Fen climbed dripping out of the tub.

  “Which dress will you be a-wearing of today, milady?” she asked.

  Fen thought of the parcel which had arrived from signor Pezzini the previous day. The green and gold gown she had so admired would do very well for the supper Oswald was taking her to that evening. The other was a cream dress with a black and gold pattern. She forced herself to try and focus on getting dressed, instead of the extraordinary scene that Trudy had just described to her, between her past and present husband. Walking over to a trunk, she flung it open and nearly lost the sheet she was wrapped in.

  Trudy hurried over to help her. “This one?” she asked.

  “Yes, that’s the one.” Fen wondered if it was too fine to wear to wear to a gathering of ladies, but truth be told, she had nothing else now that Oswald had as good as forbidden her to wear her old dresses. And he had been right in his previous advice. On their walk the day before, Lady Schaeffer had been wearing a gorgeous particolored kirtle of red and blue with a fur-lined mantle. Fen had been glad of the borrowed finery of Lady Sumner’s cloak or she would have suffered by comparison indeed. It was certainly a lot easier getting ready with Trudy assisting her and she was in her shift and gown in next to no time.

  “It looks very well, milady,” Trudy told her admiringly. “Though you need a belt…”

  “I had a new one delivered yestere’en,” she said. “Tis in the second drawer down. The red leather belt.”

  Trudy flew across the room. “This one with the silver badges?” she asked lifting it out.

  “That is the one.”

  “What manner of creatures be these?” squinted Trudy looking at the heraldic devices that had been added by the smith as she walked back across.

  “They are bears for me, and panthers for my husband,” explained Fen, as her maid fastened the belt low to sit on the flare of her hips.

  Trudy nodded. “And what will we do with your hair?” she asked.

  Fen turned to look over her shoulder at the dizzying array of headwear she had purchased from the Watkynses.

  “There’s a black and gold damask coif that would match,” suggested Trudy.

  “Perfect,” said Fenella thankfully. “You’ve been really helpful Trudy. Are you sure you have not been a lady’s maid before?”

  “Well milady, I did once serve a rich merchant’s wife for six months before she was fetched off with a fever. And uncle’s been coaching me so I don’t disgrace myself.”

  Fenella digested this as Trudy brushed and dressed her hair. She deftly braided her thick brown hair and then twisted and pinned the tresses into place before adding the coif last of all, so it sat very high on her head. Fen turned her head to the looking-glass. Her reflection was a surprise to her every time these days. “Thank you Trudy, it looks very well.” She had never worn a coif before, but to her own eyes she looked very sophisticated indeed.

  Trudy turned back to the drawers with a satisfied smile on her face and selected dark green hose and yellow garters for her mistress. “Which shoes, milady?” she asked.

  “The round toed ones I think with the green leather.”

  “And jewels?”

  Fen paused, reaching for her turquoise ring.

  “Might I make a suggestion, milady?” asked Trudy. Fen looked up. “I think…the pearls, don’t you?”

  Fen gave a startled laugh. “Yes,” she said, thinking it over a moment. “I believe you are right. The pearls.” The two women smiled at each other.

  **

  “How well you look!” exclaimed Hester Schaeffer when they met in the long gallery. “Is that a new gown? How I admire the matching coif!”

  “It is,” said Fen gratefully. She touched her headwear lightly, checking it was secure. “I have a new maid that dressed my hair.”

  “How wonderful,” enthused her new friend looping arms with her as they carried on their way. “You must hold on to her. It is so hard to find anyone decent these days. I pay mine a small fortune, but you see I had to double what Lady Reed paid her to entice her away.” She sighed. “Andrew would say it served me right for poaching her from another’s service. Husbands can be so tiresome, can they not?”

  Fenella smiled. “I suppose they can.”

  “We’re going down the next two staircases to the lower salon,” Hester instructed as they descended a flight of steps.

  “Will there be many ladies attending this morning?”

  “About fifteen or thereabouts
,” Hester replied airily.

  “And will I meet Lady Eden Montmayne?”

  “Of a surety, my dear. Of a surety. She will in all likelihood be deputizing for the Queen, who usually only attends when there is a special performance.”

  Fen was glad to hear it. She was in no hurry to see Queen Armenal again anytime soon. They soon reached the lower salon where small groups of ladies were standing around in conversation although there seemed no discernible organization.

  Hester tutted. “We are early, what a bore! She drew Fen over to a quiet corner where they could chat without interruption. “There is no-one senior here to take charge,” she said with irritation as her eyes swept the inhabitants of the room.

  “What about you, Hester?” asked Fen, as her friend was surely senior.

  “Lord no!”

  “Are you not one of the Queen’s ladies in waiting?”

  Hester grimaced. “Dear me, no! I’m far too frivolous. Armenal only wants women who are useful to her, and I refuse to be useful to anyone. Sadly for her, she has still to shed a good number of ninnies the King engaged for her before their marriage.”

  “Yes, she did mention something of that,” Fen remembered the Queen’s words from their meeting.

  “Did she really?” said Hester with surprise. She eyed Fenella oddly. “That sounds ominous.”

  “How so?”

  “Like she might have intentions of asking you to join their ranks.”

  “Oh no, she was very disappointed in me. She said so.”

  “That’s even worse,” said Hester dryly. “It meant she felt she could be frank with you. The Queen only feels that way with people she likes.”

  Fen eyed her friend doubtfully. “I’m sure I made a very bad impression. I was tongue-tied and miserable.”

  Hester perked up. “Not the best combination for endearing yourself to others,” she admitted cheerfully. “Let us hope you’re right, and you got away with it.”

  “Is it so very bad to be an attendant on the Queen?” asked Fenella in surprise. “I thought it was meant to be a position of honor.”

  “That’s what they tell you,” said Hester darkly. “But I am not so easily fooled!” She cast another eye around the room. “There is no-one here yet who is of any import, so I shall not trouble myself to introduce you to any of their number.”

  Nearby a throat cleared and both ladies turned. Stood before them was a stout matron and two blonde haired women, doubtless sisters from their strong similarity of feature, although one was far prettier than the other.

  “My dear Lady Schaeffer,” said the older woman. “Well met. May I introduce to you Jane and Helen Cecil who are the nieces of Sir Phillip Cecil and making their debut at Court.”

  Both girls curtsied.

  “Oh it’s you Lady Morpington,” said Lady Schaeffer smothering a yawn. “How is that son of yours? Still giving you grey hairs?”

  The other lady’s face tightened. “Indeed, poor Rodrey is still suffering from a severe malady of the chest and recovering at our country estate at present.”

  “It is so dull here at court without him,” mourned one of the blonde ladies sorrowfully. “How I miss dear Rodrey.”

  Lady Morpington looked gratified.

  “Indeed?” said Hester sharply. “I understood this was your first visit to Court?” she quizzed the young woman, who colored hotly.

  “You must excuse my sister,” interjected the other, prettier blonde smoothly. “We all grew up together and imagined we would be escorted to our court debut by our friend, who is sorely missed.”

  Hester snorted. “You’re quite the diplomat,” she commented. “Which one are you?”

  “Helen,” she replied composedly, dipping into another curtsey.

  “Well I predict quite the career at court for you, Miss Cecil,” said Hester. Somehow, the way she said it did not sound like a compliment, Fen noticed.

  “Will you not introduce us to your friend, Lady Schaeffer?” asked Helen Cecil boldly.

  Hester’s eyebrows rose before she turned to Fen. “This is the Countess Vawdrey,” she said. “Fenella, these are Helen and Ethel Cecil.”

  “Jane,” corrected the first blonde looking pained.

  “And the Dowager Viscountess of Morpington.”

  There were curtsies all round.

  “I am glad to make your acquaintance,” said Fen, noticing the Cecil girls were staring at her rather hard.

  “Forgive my curiosity, Lady Vawdrey,” simpered Jane Cecil. “But are those the famous Vawdrey pearls you are wearing?”

  “Famous?” echoed Fen. She was sure no-one had ever described her modest string of pearls as such before. “I’m afraid not, these were my mother’s.” She touched them almost as if for luck.

  “You misunderstand,” said Helen in a rather patronizing tone. “My sister meant –”

  “How can they be Vawdrey pearls?” interrupted Hester Schaeffer loudly. “When my friend has just explained they belonged to her mother?”

  There was an awkward pause.

  “Apologies if my young friends offended,” said Lady Morpington with a stiff bow of her head.

  “Not at all,” answered Hester swiftly. “Though you may need more vigilance, in curbing unruly tongues, my dear Lady Morpington.”

  Lady Morpington turned an unbecoming puce, curtseyed and turned away. The Cecil girls followed after her, though they looked reluctant to leave and threw glances over their shoulders as they left.

  “Impudence,” tutted Hester.

  “You do not like Lady Morpington?” ventured Fen.

  “Her son Rodrey, Viscount Morpington is a profligate, though she insists on talking of him as though he were a child,” said Hester scathingly. “And those girls are not much better.” She lowered her voice. “There is talk that the younger will become the King’s next mistress.”

  Fen gasped. “Oh.” Helen Cecil had indeed been very beautiful, but to her eye, the Queen was far more striking.

  “Lady Vawdrey,” said a cool voice, bringing her out of her thoughts.

  Fenella turned and found Lady Anne Sumner stood behind her. “Lady Sumner,” she greeted her with a curtsey. “I am glad to come across you here.”

  The other woman looked cautiously surprised. “Indeed?”

  “Yes, for I wanted very much to thank you for your most generous loan of your gown and cloak. I’m afraid I completely neglected to do so at the feast the other night. Indeed you must have thought it most remiss of me…”

  Lady Sumner brushed these words aside with a wave of a white hand. “Not at all,” she demurred. “I’m aware you have been very busy.”

  “My maid will pack them up to return them forthwith,” Fen hurried to assure her, but Lady Sumner pursed her lips.

  “Nonsense, I hope you will accept the gown at least as a gift. I certainly could never wear it now without suffering by comparison.”

  “Oh, but I couldn’t! It is very fine indeed and the alterations we made were not irreversible,” Fen protested.

  “It would only languish in the bottom of a trunk,” Lady Sumner told her flatly. “No, I insist. You must accept it as a wedding present.”

  Fen paused, unsure how to proceed. Lady Sumner was not exactly bursting with friendliness and yet she insisted on giving her a most costly gift. “You are most kind, Lady Sumner, I hardly know what to say…”

  “Pray do not trouble yourself to speak another word of it,” said Lady Sumner with a barely-there smile. She curtseyed to Lady Schaeffer and then swept past them to join some ladies on the far side of the room.

  Fen looked after her with a puzzled look on her face.

  “Someone’s put her nose out of joint,” boomed a jolly voice making Fen jump. A woman with high coloring joined them. She wore a rusty-red gown which clashed unfortunately with her ruddy coloring and curly brown hair. Fen found herself unable to gauge her age.

  “It is most curious indeed,” agreed Hester Schaeffer who had stood by silently during
the exchange. “I wonder what has ruffled her feathers? She is not usually put so easily out of countenance.”

  The newcomer puffed out her cheeks. “Probably the fact her ancient husband’s still breathing,” she guessed.

  Fen’s jaw dropped. She directed a startled look at her friend.

  “Allow me to introduce the two of you,” said Hester smoothly. “Fenella, Countess Vawdrey, please meet Lady Bess Hartleby.”

  Lady Bess gave a rather masculine curtsey that strangely looked more like a bow. Fenella bobbed a curtsey in return.

  “So you’re the resourceful countess?” asked Bess with great interest. “I must say, you don’t look particularly forceful.” She cast a critical look over Fenella. “But I daresay you probably used your feminine wiles on Vawdrey. I hear men are most susceptible to them.” Fen’s smile froze in place. “Not that I’d know one if I saw one,” rattled on Bess with a hearty laugh. “What d’ye know about playwrights hey? I’ve a fancy to sponsor one.”

  “Er…absolutely nothing, I’m afraid,” admitted Fen, trying to recover herself. She had never met any woman quite like her before.

  “Then you must get one too,” said Bess firmly. “It’s the only way to mask your ignorance.”

  “W-ell, I don’t know,” started Fen doubtfully.

  “But of course you must, Fenella,” Hester interrupted her. “You said yourself that Lord Vawdrey voiced no objection to the notion.”

  “Oh but I’ve spent so much of his money already this week,” she objected with a guilty look.

  “Have you?” asked Lady Bess with interest. “He can probably stand it. After all, he is fabulously wealthy, is he not?” When the other two made no immediate reply, Bess continued. “Stands to reason, he must be. Otherwise he could not afford to build his own palace.”

  “Palace?” echoed Fen faintly. It was the first she’d heard of it.

  “Yes,” murmured Hester, wrinkling her brow. “I did hear Andrew mention it a few times last year. He was rather envious of Vawdrey being able to draw up his own plans. But then he is so very clever, is he not?”

  “Not clever enough to elude the parson’s trap, eh Lady Vawdrey?” joked Bess nudging Fen in the ribs.