His Forsaken Bride (Vawdrey Brothers Book 2) Read online

  Bryce looked startled. “But my lord!” he protested before lowering his voice to a loud whisper. “It would hardly seem decent with – with – his first wife in such close proximity!”

  “I fail to see your point.”

  “What if she should wander into the antechamber? Why, it adjoins the gallery above-”

  “I am aware of the fact.”

  “But what if she were to venture out?”

  “Oh, she will venture, Bryce. And you’re going to make sure of it.”

  “I am?”

  “When I leave her alone presently, I want you to open the door leading out into the gallery. That should give her a very good view of the wedding party.”

  Bryce’s face froze.

  “You disapprove Bryce?” sighed Oswald.

  “It’s not my place to approve or disapprove, my lord,” said Bryce stiffly.

  “My dear Bryce, you look the picture of outraged virtue. Do you think me unduly cruel?”

  Bryce folded his lips, his double chin giving a slight wobble. He made no reply.

  “To let her continue in false hope would be far crueler,” pointed out Oswald gently. “I’m afraid Lady Fenella must realize her current position. Sir Ambrose Thane is lost to her. Forever.”

  “It’s a wicked world, my lord,” said Bryce.

  Oswald looked pained. “You are not in the seminary now Bryce,” he pointed out. “You would do well to become a little more worldly.” He paused heavily while Bryce chewed this over. “I want you to tell Thane’s man that the use of the room is offered ‘by a well-wisher at court’ who wishes to remain anonymous until they are re-acquainted. Do you think you can manage that?”

  Bryce fidgeted in his seat. “Yes, my lord,” he said unhappily.

  “If not, I can send another but I’d rather keep this between us.” Edwards would have leapt at the chance of a little intrigue, thought Oswald bitterly. He really was going to have to do something about Bryce! “Off you go!”

  “Now my lord?” asked Bryce, glancing at the window.

  “Yes, for it will take him time to arrange for the refreshment and entertainment,” Oswald pointed out, sounding exasperated.

  “Very well, my lord.”

  Oswald waited a moment until his assistant had reluctantly left the room and then, and only then, he reached into his tunic extracting the paperwork and unfurled it. Reaching across the desk he took up Bryce’s pen, dipped it in the ink and added his own signature next to his father’s. He blotted it and waited a moment for it to dry and then re-folded it and slipped it back into his doublet. Then he rose with a satisfied nod and headed for his office.

  **

  Fen had never felt so wretchedly miserable in her entire life. She huddled in the chair by the fire, fighting back her tears and listening to her brother complain about having to take her back into his household.

  “I had thought to take a wife by the end of the year,” he said in an injured voice. “Fat chance of that now, with a woman with her feet under my table already,” he grouched. “Sarah Yondy wouldn’t even touch me, with a spinster sister nearing thirty years as a dependent.”

  “I’m twenty-six,” she murmured tiredly, though in truth she felt eighty. All her bones were beginning to stiffen and ache from the ride and the rain. She felt both hot and cold at the same time. Mayhap she’d caught a chill? A chill that would develop into a full-blown inflammation of the lungs and carry her off by morning in a high fever, she thought. Then Ambrose would be a murderer and then he’d be sorry! Looking down she found the limp, damp rag she was twisting in her fingers was Lord Vawdrey’s once-pristine handkerchief. It looked as abused as she felt. Lifting it up she gave her nose a good, hard blow. To her embarrassment, when she looked up Lord Vawdrey was back in the room with his eyes on her. She wasn’t even sure how long he’d been gone.

  “You must forgive me, my lord," she said haltingly. "I can scarce believe that after eight years of marriage I am to be cast off in such a fashion..." she stifled a sob. "It's...it's too callous!" She looked up at him fiercely. "Could you do such a thing to a wife who has always been loyal and true?"

  "I'm scarcely in a position to say," he replied shortly. “For almost half the years I’ve been married, my wife has been living with another man.” She gasped and fell back at that. “Forgive me for my bluntness,” he added smoothly. “It seems to me that now we are aware of the legal status of our union, we should set about setting things to right immediately.”

  Her brother cleared his throat and made a noise of agreement. “He’s right, Fen,” he said shaking his head. “Need to face up to it, girl. Ye’ve to face two divorces in as many days. Good thing our Mother’s not around to see these goings-on. But I suppose, the fault’s not really yours.”

  “Of course, I’ll sign whatever paperwork you deem fit, my lord,” she said dully.

  “And – ah – perhaps you may see your way clear to –” her brother coughed.

  “Gilbert!” Fenella sat up in her chair in embarrassed horror. “You must not-!”

  “He said himself we were due some reparation!” said her brother belligerently.

  “There is no need for either of you to be concerned for Fenella’s future,” cut in Oswald.

  “I suppose I’ll take you back to Sitchmarsh Hall with me directly,” grumbled her brother. “To keep house for me.”

  Fenella opened her mouth to reply, but again Oswald forestalled her.

  “That is quite out of the question I’m afraid,” he said firmly. Both of them turned to look at him in surprise. He looked Fenella square in the eye. “I will expect my wife to take her rightful place at my side.”

  Fen stared at this imposing stranger a moment and found words failed her. “My lord,” she began in her most dignified voice. “You must realize that is impossible…”

  “Why must I?” he asked advancing into the room and, to her alarm, drawing a chair up next to hers.

  “You mean, you actually want to take Fen to wife?” asked Gilbert incredulously.

  He was ignored as Lord Vawdrey reached for her hand, and took it in his.

  “Now Fenella,” he said in a calm, even voice. “There’s really no need for you to lose your head over this.”

  “But-”

  “You're getting yourself all tied up in knots over nothing,” he said calmly and placed a hand firmly on her knee anchoring her to the seat when she would have jumped up. “This is an arrangement that will work to our mutual advantage,” he carried on, and smiled at her. It should have been a reassuring smile, she realized quivering with alarm. But she didn't find it remotely reassuring. Here, in such close quarters she could see Oswald Vawdrey, up close and personal. Those cold, glittering eyes above the amiable smile. The hard muscle under his fitted doublet. Her every nerve and instinct was screeching that he meant danger and was not to be trusted. He stroked a thumb absently over her knee and she almost shot off the chair in alarm. “Shhh, I promise you won't regret our bargain,” he carried on in even tones which started to soothe her almost in spite of herself.

  “Bargain?” she asked hoarsely. “I made no bargain. That was just our fathers, they-”

  “No, no,” he tutted. “The marriage bargain is between you and I, Fenella. You are my wife-” he broke off when she gave a murmur of distress. “Yes, that is settled now, you must resign yourself to the fact.”

  He sounded, she thought, almost apologetic, but not quite. It was the oddest thing.

  “But we needn't let the marriage inconvenience us in any way,” he carried on matter-of-factly. “I have my position here at court to maintain which takes a good deal of my time and energy. You have your –” he broke off for a moment lost for words. “What is it you like to do?” Fenella opened and closed her mouth. He waited patiently. For the life of her, she could think of nothing. Her mind had gone a perfect blank. When no answer was forthcoming he carried on. “Your brother tells me you kept house for Thane very competently. Now you can do so for me. The
re will be little material change.” Little change? He must have seen the expression on her face, for he started up again at once. “You find that hard to believe? But it is true, I am very rarely to be found at Vawdrey Keep. It must be some...four or five years since I last went home.”

  Fenella stared at that. Four or five years?

  He smiled wryly at her surprise. “You see? I will hardly be under-foot, disturbing your daily routine. You will only be a few miles from your childhood home. How many brides have that self-same luxury? Your friends and neighbors will all remain the same. Your brother will be close at hand and after all, Gilbert may marry one day,” he said mildly. “With your own household, your position as head of it will be secure.”

  That was true enough. As an unmarried spinster dependent on her brother, her position was just as precarious as that of a divorced wife. She swallowed. Her head was reeling. Every word he uttered made sense. But how could she be contemplating such a thing? She fixed a look of pained intensity on her face. “But what about my things?”

  “Things?”

  She frowned. “My clothes. My...my books. My lute.” She had come to a halt.

  Oswald smiled at such a trivial concern. “It is my place to furnish your needs now,” he pointed out.

  “My father bought my lute.”

  “I am sure Gilbert can have it sent over to Vawdrey Keep to wait for you there,” he pointed out mildly.

  She colored up at his tone. “Oh...of course. Tis only...”

  “Yes?” he spoke a little sharper than he had heretofore, making her jump.

  “I-I've considered Ambrose Thane to be my legally wedded husband for eight years, my lord,” she started awkwardly. “It will take me some time-,” Her face was turning crimson under his close regard. “To consider another man in that role...” Her words trailed off miserably. “To transfer my affections and loyalty so quickly...”

  He gave a brief wave of his hand. “That will all happen in due course, I am sure.”

  “It will?” Her eyes fixed on him in pained regard.

  He shrugged. “People re-marry all the time Fenella.”

  “Yes, but usually because they have been widowed. And your position is so much more elevated than Ambrose’s was...” her words tapered off desperately. “Will you not have many other requirements of your countess? Acting as hostess, to all the dignitaries you need to entertain? I don’t know the social etiquette around so many noble-folk. I would not know where to even start!”

  “Fenella,” he said again taking her hand in his. “You are my wife and I will explain to the King that we are in truth, married.”

  “I never intended for this to happen, my lord,” she said wretchedly, staring down at their hands. “This must be a great inconvenience to you.” She blinked rapidly in an effort to dissipate any gathering tears.

  Oswald Vawdrey looked momentarily taken aback. “I see I shall have to be frank with you,” he said, taking her both her hands in his now. He pressed down lightly on her fingers. “It really isn’t inconvenient, you know. In fact, quite the opposite. There are reasons why it will be expedient for me to be married at this point in time.”

  She held her breath, wondering what on earth could make it convenient for him to have a wife in existence.

  “It's complicated,” he said seeing the question in her eyes. “Court life is fraught with difficulties and political pitfalls.”

  “I see,” she said when nothing else was forthcoming. Of course, she saw no such thing. Then a sudden thought struck her. “Are you engaged to another lady presently?” she blurted, then bit her lip.

  "Certainly not," he answered shortly. “I haven't been engaged to anyone for years.” Well, that was something in any event. Without even taking his eyes off her, he said in a louder, carrying voice. “I wonder if I could ask you to wait outside for us a moment, Gilbert. We will be with you shortly.”

  To her surprise she heard Gil’s footfalls heading away from them and the sound of the door, but when she tried to turn her head to see, Oswald Vawdrey's hand flew to her jaw, keeping her face turned toward him. “Are you persuaded Fenella?” he asked quietly. “I assure you I will not be a demanding husband. You have nothing to fear from me on that score.”

  Fenella sat immobile, surprised as much by his touch as the startling words. So, he was offering her a marriage in name only! She experienced a moment of light-headed relief and gulped, lowered her eyes and nodded.

  “I'll need words to strike the bargain,” he said gently.

  “Aye, my lord,” she said huskily and could have sworn his green eyes gleamed.

  “There's my good girl.” He raised one of her hands and kissed it lightly on the back of her fingers. And, for a moment, she could almost have imagined herself to be a foolish twelve year old again, for her head swam and she felt quite giddy.

  The rest of the afternoon passed in a numbed blur of heartache and mortification. Lord Vawdrey and Gilbert had spent the best part of an hour pouring over the marital document and discussing the terms and conditions that needed to be fulfilled. Then the men had partaken of a meal of roast meats and ale. She’d not been able to eat more than a mouthful, though she’d made a great play with the napkin and sipping on her watered-down wine. The color in her cheeks ebbed and flowed as she thought of all the neighbors back home and what they’d say when Ambrose returned with a completely different wife in tow. And what would the servants think when she never returned? Her throat ached, though whether with unshed tears or the beginning of a sore throat she could not say. At some point, she raised from her stupor to clutch Oswald’s sleeve and tell him about her dog.

  “My dear, that is no problem. We can simply have him sent to Vawdrey Keep. There’s a whole pack of dogs there he can join,” said Oswald easily.

  “Send him to a strange house? Full of strangers?” she croaked. “No, no. I need him with me!” Her fingers tightened on his sleeve as she stared at him intently trying to make him understand. For some reason, she felt like she was trying to run through fog. Her brain felt dull and stupid.

  “No need to cry over a dog, Fen,” said Gilbert looking embarrassed. “Send him over to me at Sitchmarsh Hall if you don’t trust Ambrose to look after the beast.”

  “I shall never trust Ambrose again,” she said. “And I want my dog with me.”

  “There, there, poor thing’s overwrought,” said her brother with an uneasy laugh. “She’s not usually so hysterical, my lord.” He assured Lord Vawdrey.

  Fen ignored him. “Bors can join me?” she asked. “Here?”

  Lord Vawdrey gently removed her hand from his sleeve. “If those are your terms,” he said. “Then, of course.”

  She sighed with relief and settled back into the chair. She felt so tired. Her eyelids felt like they were burning.

  “She’s about done in,” remarked Gilbert.

  “It’s hardly surprising,” replied Oswald Vawdrey. “I shall ring for Bryce to fetch her a blanket.”

  Fen must have dropped off, for the next thing she knew she felt a warm wool covering being draped around her shoulders. “Shhh, go back to sleep,” murmured Lord Vawdrey. She managed to focus her eyes on him for a second. How strange, she thought. I really don’t know what to make of this man. And then she followed his advice and fell into a deep sleep.

  **

  Fenella woke with a start in the dark room. She gasped, clutching at the arms of the chair as she strove to remember just where she was. Then it all came flooding back to her. She blinked as her eyes accustomed themselves to the unfamiliar shadows of Lord Vawdrey’s study crowding in on her. He’d forgotten her and left her alone. Again. How ironic that the betrayal of her husband had sent her running into the company of the very first man who’d ever scorned her all those years ago! Her long-forgotten fiancée, Oswald Vawdrey. Just how much humiliation did the fates intend to heap on her this day, she wondered bitterly? And how cruel that Oswald Vawdrey was even more powerful and handsome at thirty-three than he’d e
ver been at nineteen. And she’d thought him the most glamorous and beautiful thing she’d ever seen in those days. She glanced around uneasily. Where was he? And where was Gilbert? She slumped in her chair and rubbed her tired, gritty eyes. It had been a good day and a half ride to Aphrany. Now the initial rush of anger and fear that had sent her thither had worn off, she felt exhausted. Her joints ached, but whether ‘twas from the long ride or falling asleep in such an upright chair, she wasn’t sure. Probably both. She wondered what her sister-in-law Orla was up to back at Thurrold and if she was helping the alewife to soak the barley grain in the buttery, like she would be if she were home. Somehow she doubted it. Langdon always said Orla was more of a hindrance than a help and made things twice as complicated as need be!

  A burst of laughter and applause startled Fenella, making her turn in the chair to look back over her shoulder. A shaft of light was coming through the doorway at the far side of the room. Someone had left it open. She hesitated, wondering what she should do. She could hardly stay here, cringing in the dark, waiting for a man who had probably forgotten her very existence. Then again, she could hardly go prying and poking where she wasn’t wanted. She sat frozen in indecision until she thought she heard a voice she recognized, making her turn her head sharply. Surely that was Ambrose! She rose from her seat and crossed the floor seeking out the familiar voice among the general babble of conversation. When she reached the door, she peered around it nervously, but found the room empty. Then she realized her mistake. It wasn’t a room at all, but a long gallery lined with paintings and lit sconces. The sound of people was coming from the chamber below which the gallery overlooked. Full of trepidation, she crept toward the balcony, holding her breath. Suddenly, there below her was a large reception room full of people. She blinked at all the rich colors and sounds of celebration; The vivid velvets; flashing jewels and uproarious laughter. Like a nightmare, Fenella’s feet felt rooted to the floor as she struggled to comprehend what she was seeing. The merry gathering was drinking a toast with goblets upraised. They cheered and Fenella’s gaze swept along the hubbub with a sense of impending dread until she found them. The subject of the toast. The happy couple, stood before the large stone fireplace with beaming faces and arms entwined. Fenella’s eyes widened so far she thought her eyes might pop out. There was her husband Ambrose, who she hadn’t seen for two years, gazing fondly across into the pretty face of her replacement. He didn’t look much different, for all his affections had changed! Still a neat, tidy figure of middling height, his brown moustache tidily trimmed. He wore a feather-trimmed cap she’d never seen before and a burgundy tunic studded with pearls. The Ambrose she remembered had been frugal with his money and had certainly not worn adornments such as pearls on his clothing. Still, today was his wedding day, she reminded herself with faint horror as she backed away from the parapet with shaky steps until she bumped her back against the gallery wall. Then she sank down until she was sat on her heels, clasping her knees. Tears streaked down her face. Ambrose was remarried. And so, to all intents and purposes, was she.