Page 43 of His Forsaken Bride

“Who?” Oswald looked completely bewildered for the first time since she'd met him. He straightened up and held his hand out to her to pull her to her feet.

“Meldon has recommended his god-daughter for my maid,”" she explained as she took his hand. He pulled her upright. “She is married to a cooper and lives in Aphrany.”

Oswald shook his head slightly. “Someone actually chose Meldon to watch over their child's well-being?” he said. “It almost beggars belief.”

“Apparently she is thirty or thereabouts and a good capable girl who has held several positions through her life,” rattled off Fenella efficiently. “Shall I look to engage her?” She paused before adding reasonably: “The fact is, if we tried to introduce another maid to your household, Meldon would be sure to take umbrage.”

“You may have something there,” agreed Oswald with a grimace. “We can only hope she is not related to him by blood.”

Fen tried to imagine a female version of Meldon and failed. She shook herself. “I said I would give her a trial, so I will tell Meldon you are in agreement.”

“For your sake, I hope she is satisfactory,” he said, then paused. “Was there anything else? In the letter?”

Fen looked down at the page of handwriting she still held in her hand. “Orla says she has not yet heard from her brother, but expects to daily. She hopes I am well, and is sure the servants are slacking off as she does not know the plan for preserving the autumn fruits.”

She looked back to Oswald. “Orla does not take much interest in the running of the Thurrold,” she explained. “She and Cook do not get along either.” Instantly, she felt foolish for confiding as such in Lord Vawdrey. Doubtless he would have little interest in anything so trivial.

“I see,” he said not looking unduly disgusted, nor overly interested either. “I expect Miss Thane will receive the letter you wrote her any day now, which will explain the change in your circumstances.”

Fen's expression brightened. “That is true,” she agreed.

“I will see if I can procure you a cloak,” said Oswald. “Perhaps, if it is sufficiently grand, you could get away with wearing that dress,” he pointed at her very best blue houppelande gown. “Underneath it for your walk. I make no promises however.”

Fen clasped her hands together. “That would be wonderful,” she breathed. He was heading toward the bedroom door, no doubt to break his fast. For some reason, the sight of him walking away emboldened her to add: “Will you ask Lady Sumner for the loan of a cloak?”

He paused and looked back over his shoulder with a faint frown. “Is there any reason I should not?”

“No,” she admitted, twisting her hands. She wasn't even sure why she'd asked. Suddenly it had seemed imperative to know. “It is just, to inconvenience her twice in as many days…” her words trailed off.

“I'm sure she has a chest stuffed full of cloaks,” replied Oswald.

“You must be very good friends,” she added lamely.

“I thought I told you last night, that she was an acquaintance at best.”

“Oh yes, so you did,” she said brightly.

“Put on a robe Fenella and join me next door for breakfast,” Oswald said firmly and left the room.

**

Oswald arrived in his study some half hour later, feeling decidedly out of sorts. He dashed off a request to Lady Anne Sumner for the loan of a cloak and sent Bryce to deliver it. His assistant gave him a very old-fashioned look when he saw the name on the note.

“Yes Bryce, you have some comment to make?” asked Oswald testily.

Bryce sucked in his cheeks. “It's not my place to say, sir.”

“Bryce, you are aware are you not, that Lady Anne Sumner is in my employ.”

Bryce bridled. “I am aware of it, my lord,” he conceded.

Oswald laid down his pen. “Yet you seem to act as though, the fact I am now a married man means I can no longer have a correspondence with my employee?”

Bryce sniffed and Oswald regarded him with exasperation. “Just deliver the note, Bryce.” And consider yourself fortunate I do not have the time presently to devote to finding you a replacement! he thought grimly. He could almost forgive Edwards, his predecessor for his act of near-treason, but he would never forgive him for saddling him with Bryce in his stead!

Bryce shut the door behind him and Oswald sat in thought a moment before making a sudden decision. Pulling out the chain from his tunic that he wore around his neck, he selected a key and unlocked one of the drawers in his desk, retrieving a bundle of letters which had been laboriously copied from Fenella's correspondence during the journey his two agents had taken back from Sitchmarsh. Swiftly untying the string they were bound up with, he smoothed out the pages. Then he picked up the one on the top dated two years ago, settled back in his seat and began to read.

It was about an hour later that a knock at the door interrupted him and Lady Anne Sumner slipped through it carrying a burgundy cloak over her arm, trimmed with grey fur. She held it up by way of welcome and then draped it over the back of one of his seats.