Page 32 of His Forsaken Bride

“A very capable and resourceful man to have around,” she said after a moment’s consideration.

Oswald nearly choked on his sip of water.

“Isn’t that right, Bors?” she asked, looking over the arm of her chair. Her dog’s tail beat a steady thump against the floorboards. She turned back to Oswald. “Meldon found Bors a meat bone, so will now be considered a great favorite.” she said and dimpled at him. Dimpled. Oswald lowered his cup and cleared his throat. She reached across and touched his sleeve fleetingly. “I’m so glad you’re remaining here with me this afternoon,” she said quietly. “I’m sure I will adjust,” she added hastily. “But at the moment, I don’t really feel like I’ve found my feet. It’s comforting knowing I have an ally so close at hand,” she said shyly.

Ally? Her choice of words displeased him, until he realized she was echoing his own words back at him. Who the hells called their spouse an ally, anyway? What had he been thinking? He had to school his features to hide his own reaction. It was odd, he realized as he watched her select and eat a piece of cheese. If she had said the same thing to him only two days ago, he would have been encouraged. But for some reason … not today. He had slept in a bed, twice with her since then. He had felt how soft and warm she was against his body and he had seen her naked. Or as good as. Catching the direction of his thoughts, Oswald cleared his throat. He was surprised, quite frankly. Licentiousness had never been one of his vices, but there was something very lush and bountiful about Fenella, reflected. He gave his head a slight shake. Lush and bountiful? When was the last time he'd lain with a woman? It had obviously been too long if he was now panting after this woman who a mere two days ago he'd decided was dumpy and plain and wearing the ugliest wool gown he had ever seen.

“Would you like some more bread, my lord?” she asked, nudging the trencher toward him.

“Thank you, no,” he replied. It was partly her voice, he thought that affected him so strongly. One instant it was breathy and husky and the next it was full-bodied and brimming with emotion. It gave him strange random desires, such as hearing her say his name. Naked. It was damned inconvenient! Why the hell this drab little female had such a siren's voice was beyond him. It didn't match the rest of her in the slightest! He took a good look at the short, full figure, the indeterminate brown hair in a thick braid hanging over one shoulder. The wholly unremarkable brown eyes. There was absolutely nothing for him to be getting hot under the tunic about. Let alone eyeing her like a delectable morsel he wanted to wolf down in one bite! He needed to remember her circumstances and respect them. The poor thing had been in the grip of strong emotion ever since he had met her. She had been buffeted from pillory to whipping post. And quite frankly, if Thane was the pillar, then he was the post. He had selfishly used her for his own ends too. And he needed to remember that she wasn’t some sophisticated courtesan. She was not trying to toy with him, or seduce him with those flashes of pale, smooth flesh or rounded limbs she kept affording him. For god’s sake, he reminded himself irritably, she had even been quite ill! He watched her covertly now as she nibbled on a thin, fried biscuit, with a cautious expression. Seeing her wearing his robe pleased him for some reason he didn’t want to examine too closely. Mind you, anything was an improvement on that muddy gown she’d shown up in, he thought with a twist of his lips. Suddenly, he wanted to see her in a dress that actually became her. Perhaps like a jewel in an ugly setting, she would shine when set more becomingly?

She looked up, no doubt noticing he had fallen silent. “Why don’t you try one of these, my lord?” she asked gesturing to the biscuits. “Their texture is surprisingly pleasant. I think the flavor is anise,” she added thoughtfully.

Oswald took one and bit into the crispy round cracker. “Who are we expecting next?” he asked.

“I hardly know,” she admitted, selecting a grape. “Is it on Bryce’s list?”

Oswald turned the paper over and found she was right. “The hat-maker, followed by the jeweler,” he read out. Bryce had been methodically crossing them off as they arrived. He frowned. “Did Bryce not ask you about any of your pastimes?”

“Oh yes,” Fenella assured him. “He offered to order me a new tapestry loom but they take up so much room and I already have one at Thurrold. I will write to Orla to send to Vawdrey Keep. Orla does not enjoy needlework so I know she will not wish to keep it.”

“But mayhap the new Lady Thane will?” he pointed out as gently as possible.

She blinked at this, but then rallied. “Oh- well if that is the case, I am sure I have an old one at my brother’s house. It is large and a bit antiquated, but should still be fit for purpose,” she told him brightly. “Though it may need a few repairs.”

“I see.” Mostly what he could see was that Fenella was extremely frugal. On reflection, it probably wasn’t Bryce’s fault that she had not loosened his purse-strings that morn. He smiled thinly to himself, mentally making a note to have Bryce order her a new tapestry loom. It was certainly not her brother’s place to supply her needs, now she bore his name. She would need careful handling he thought, to get through the jeweler’s visit. “I’m afraid there are no Vawdrey family jewels to pass on,” he started as she was stacking the empty plates and leftovers back onto Meldon’s tray. “My Father was not the kind of man to buy any of his wives’ baubles.” He could see from the expression on her face, that she had no difficulty believing that of the old baron. “However, as the wife of an earl you will be expected to dress to a certain station.”

Her mouth formed an unspoken ‘oh’ of understanding. Meldon appeared beside her and seized the tray with an indignant look which clearly said ‘that’s my job’.

Fenella sat back in her seat. “Perhaps, if you made a list of the bare minimum required by the rank of countess it might be helpful?” she suggested uncertainly.

“The jeweler will be able to advise us on that,” said Oswald easily. “He is used by many at the palace.”

“I see,” she said biting her lip. “But perhaps if you were to set a sum now-?”

“I do of course, have a sum in mind,” he assured her smoothly.

She waited expectantly, but he refused to be drawn. Looking disappointed, she turned back to finishing her cup of watered wine. Bors barked from under her chair, making her jump and almost simultaneously a knock sounded at the door.

“Come in,” shouted Oswald. The door opened and in came a middle-aged couple carrying a woven basket between them. They set it down and straightened up, bobbing politely.

“Greetings,” said Oswald briskly. “You must be representing Watkyns quality hat-makers?” he said glancing at the paper again.

“Aye m’lord, I’m Arnold Watkyns and this here is my wife.”

“Thank you for coming,” said Fenella.

“You are presenting your wares to my wife, the Countess Vawdrey,” said Oswald gesturing to Fenella.

Mr Watkyns bowed again and then whisked the lid off the basket.

“Does my lady have a clear preference on what head covering she generally wears?” asked Mrs Watkyns as her husband started lifting examples out and draping them across the back of a chair.

“Generally, I wear just a veil and wimple at home,” answered Fenella obligingly. “In general, I prefer to wear a woolen veil in winter as ‘tis much warmer and I tend to wear a practical color such as blue or grey rather than white.”

A stunned silence greeted this pronouncement and Mr Watkyns nearly dropped his armful of finest linens and silks. Belatedly Fenella seemed to realize that they had brought along only the purest whites to show her. “Of course, it is quite different at court,” she said weakly.

“How right you are,” agreed Oswald smoothly. “Perhaps if you could show Lady Vawdrey your finest examples?”