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Fenella almost bumped into the back of the clerk who had stopped abruptly in front of a studded wooden door flanked with suits of armor. The servant cast a censorious look over his shoulder at her and then knocked softly on the door. The voice that commanded “Come in,” did not sound familiar, but after all it had been years, she reminded herself as she was ushered into a room which looked like a vast library with a ceiling painted like a celestial sky and great wooden bookcases that reached up as though scaling the heavens. She did not have chance to dwell on these for long as her eyes were drawn to a large desk placed in the center of the room, before a tall arched window. Seated behind this desk, imposingly dressed all in black was the man she had once thought she would marry. Oswald Vawdrey. He smiled a wintry smile and just like that, Fenella felt as gauche and foolish as she had at fifteen when she’d last seen his handsome face. Her cheeks flooded with color and her feet came to a halt. Why, oh why had she thought this wretched stratagem would be a way out of her current woe? How fervently she wished she’d never thought of it! He was even more beautiful than she remembered and it almost hurt her eyes to look at him. Gilbert had come to stand beside her and stood as dumb as a block of wood, so she was forced to speak. “My Lord Vawdrey,” she said loudly hoping to rouse her brother from his stupor. A sidelong look showed her Gilbert’s eyes were glassy and he looked a little queasy. She tugged at the back of his tunic and sank into a curtsey she hoped was deep enough for an earl. Without ever meeting one before she was not really sure. Gilbert stumbled into a bow beside her and at last Oswald Vawdrey stood up unhurriedly and gave a very slight bow. She had forgotten just how tall the Vawdrey males were.

“Bryce,” he said addressing the cleric behind them. “You will fetch us some refreshment.”

The door closed with a discreet click and it dawned on Fenella that Oswald Vawdrey might not even remember her! There was no acknowledgement in his gaze which was impassive and quite calm. He smiled an easy smile. “Please come and sit,” he said gesturing to the wide cushioned seats that lined the room. Fenella started at once to retrieve one for herself. She dragged it across the floorboards and plunked it down heavily next to the one Gilbert had lugged over from the opposite side. They both sat down and she looked up to see an irritated look cross Oswald’s face. She had no sooner noticed it, then he blinked and it was gone. She wondered if she’d fetched the wrong chair, but to her untrained eye they all looked identical with their clawed feet and tasseled cushions. Maybe she had imagined his displeasure? Without looking down he opened his desk drawer and drew out a piece of paper that she did not recognize, held it aloft a moment and then placed it on his desk, all without glancing at it. “Lady Fenella,” he said looking straight at her, “Please accept my apologies for this morning’s proceedings. It was highly irregular and I’m afraid must have been very distressing for you.”

Fenella sat up ramrod straight. “Lady Thane,” she corrected him through dry lips.

He regarded her steadily, without saying one word. There was faint pity in their green depths.

Oh gods, thought Fenella. No, no. It can’t have already happened. I can’t surely be too late. She gripped the arms of her chair. “Is it possible –” She faltered. “That my husband has already approached the King?” Her voice sounded high and thin and wholly unlike her own.

“He was one of the supplicants at this morning’s audience with the King, yes,” he answered steadily. “I have here the official record of the King’s judgements,” he said glancing at the piece of paper he had retrieved. “Sir Thane’s case included.”

Fenella stood up so fast her chair over-turned.

“Fenella!” It was her brother Gilbert who spoke, but she turned her back to him and walked across the room to the window. She had no idea of the view, for she stared sightlessly out of the glass pane a moment, desperately striving for the composure to turn back around. Trying to will the hot tears that welled up and spilled down her cheeks to disappear. Instead she brushed them from her face and took a deep breath. “If only I could have some private word with Ambrose,” she said unsteadily. “Remind him of what we have been to one another. I feel sure that he would reconsider...” Lord Vawdrey did not answer her, so she turned around to face him resolutely. “You are a very important man at court, these days. Is that not so, my lord?” Her voice was husky with tears but she knew it carried to where Oswald Vawdrey sat watching her with his uncanny stillness. He looked surprised by her change of tack.

Fenella ignored him and drew the thick roll of yellow parchment from her cloak. “Perhaps this might persuade you to intercede on my behalf, my lord,” she said, once more approaching the desk and placing it on the shining wooden surface where it rolled slightly to the left and then sat looking innocuous a moment. Fenella held her breath and swayed slightly on her feet. She felt slightly horrified that she had been forced to produce her trump card at all.

“What is it?” asked Oswald Vawdrey after a moment’s pause.

“Perhaps you should look at it,” she said boldly raising her chin.

“Perhaps you should sit down,” he replied dryly. “Before you drop.” He shot a look of disgust at Gilbert before advancing around the desk and setting her overturned chair to rights. “Here,” he said and caught hold of her upper arm in a surprisingly firm grip, before guiding her back to her seat. “Sit.”

Fenella dropped into the seat and promptly burst into tears.

“Fenella!” remonstrated Gilbert. “What the hells do you think you’re-?” he broke off his words abruptly, though Fenella could not say why, as her hands were covering her face. She heard the door open discreetly behind them.

“Ah, here is Bryce now with our refreshment,” said Oswald in an easy tone. “If you could just set it down on the desk here and pour a cup for Lady Fenella who is over-tired from her journey.”

Fenella drew a shaky breath and lowered her hands to find Oswald Vawdrey holding an immaculately white linen handkerchief in her face. She took it and dabbed her cheeks. What she really wanted to do was heartily blow her nose, but she didn’t dare on such fine linen. His disapproving assistant passed her a cup of something that smelled like spiced wine. She took it with a murmur of thanks and moistened her lips with it.

“My lord-” started Bryce.

“You can leave us now, Bryce,” Oswald interrupted him. “I will let you know when I need you.”

“Yes, my lord.” Bryce backed out of the room with surprising grace for a portly man and closed the door behind him.

Oswald sighed and made his way back around to his own side of the desk. “Help yourself,” he said addressing her brother. “I don’t believe I caught your name.”

Gilbert looked dumbfounded.

“His name is Bernard, my lord” quavered Fenella lowering the handkerchief. “It seems you do not remember us, but we were your neighbors growing up. The Bernards of Sitchmarsh Hall?”

Oswald’s Vawdrey’s eyes flickered a moment and then narrowed. “Bernard? As in Sir Jeoffrey Bernard?”

“My Father died five years ago,” said Fenella quietly.

“We were sorry to hear of your own loss. A grand man, Baron Vawdrey,” put in Gilbert, making an effort.

Oswald reached for the scroll without comment. Fenella watched his eyes dart to the seals and signatures at the bottom of the document as soon as he had unfurled it. His gaze snapped to meet hers a moment before returning to the top of the document.

Fenella took a hurried sip of the spiced wine, her color rising. She ignored Gilbert’s quizzical look for she had not told him of the document, and stared into the depths of her cup as the silence stretched out.

“You realize what this is, of course?” asked Oswald’s voice, startling her. She wasn’t sure how long he had pored over the document, but it had certainly been several moments since any of them had stirred.

“Betrothal papers,” she answered automatically. “Drawn up between your father and mine, and agreed one Solstice Eve fourteen years ago.”