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Oswald winced. This was unfortunately true if he did not think of a more lasting solution.

“I suppose,” said Caterby hesitantly. “There’s no question of her direct involvement...?”

“None whatsoever,” answered Oswald swiftly, crushing their hopes of justified retribution. He would not have them absolving themselves of any guilt, if they pronounced a death sentence on the poor woman. “Una Blechmarsh is quite innocent.”

The other privy council members shifted uncomfortably in their seats. Frankly, her innocence was nothing but a damned inconvenience to them, one and all.

“Is all well with you, Vawdrey?” asked Lord Schaeffer at the close of the meeting. His bushy eyebrows wagged. “You work too hard, my boy. Over-taxing that famous brain of yours.”

Oswald glanced at him. “How long have you been married, Schaeffer?” he asked suddenly.

Lord Schaeffer peered at him closely. “Some thirty years or thereabouts,” he answered vaguely. “Why do you ask?”

“No particular reason,” Oswald fobbed him off. Schaeffer bored on for a while longer about approaching the King with some petition. Oswald nodded and made murmuring noises in the pauses, and then at the earliest opportunity excused himself to return to some urgent work. He could feel Schaeffer’s eyes on his back as he left the room, but was soon re-absorbed in this issue with his wife before he’d even reached the end of the long gallery. It boiled down to this: if Fenella was to be around any longer than a month, then he would need to address his own growing attraction to her. Which could well be a problem, considering the fact she was still traumatized from her abandonment by her previous husband. He had no proof, but he suspected it was him that kept throwing out the bolster between them as they slept. He seemed to gravitate toward her in his sleep, when his iron self-control also slumbered. He’d suffered a shock seeing her in that court dress the night before. Truth to tell, he didn’t think he’d entirely recovered from it the whole evening. It had made him churlish and surly toward her when he should have been conciliatory. Of course, he hadn’t known that bitch Colleen Thane had stolen her necklace at the time, but even so. He was starting to find it a strain to always be around her when there were so many limits in place regarding their intimacy. In that dress, he had been confronted with the fact that his wife’s looks were likely to be pleasing to more than just himself. In truth, he did not feel as secure of her as he would like before exposing her to all and sundry. Had he made a mistake in his strategy, by giving her time to adjust to him as a husband? He had reached his office by this time and let himself in before sitting at his desk and unlocking his drawer. He placed the draft trade agreement on the desk before him and stared down at the title page as he debated the corner he had backed himself into regarding his marriage. The thought niggled away in a corner of his mind, telling him he’d erred somewhere along the line. But he was damned if he could see where! He dropped back in his seat and groaned. Maybe, just maybe he was over-complicating things? After all, Fenella was a straight-forward country girl. Her father and brother were nothing more than country squires. Buying her ruby necklaces and taking her to royal banquets was bound to unnerve her. Perhaps he should just take her to Vawdrey Keep and dump her there and be done with it? Without her lying in his bed beside him each night, he could return to some semblance of normality in his day-to-day life. While it was curious that she had wrought this effect on him, it was perhaps not unexpected considering how hard he had been working lately and how little time he had spent in the company of women. He had been under a great deal of pressure. While the war in the north had ceased some four years ago, the unrest in the kingdom had rumbled on and the peace had been maintained with the northern barons only with intense mediation and work behind the scenes. A lot of this work had been his responsibility and he had pursued it ceaselessly ever since. Indeed, his meteoric rise to prominence at court had been based on this work. His family, even the King had often urged him to take a break from the heavy workload, but he been like a man possessed. Even after the King had honored him with his earldom he had refused to take a break from court life. He frowned. Clearly it had taken a toll on his self-control. He could not remember the last time he had entertained a woman. Certainly, it was before he had joined the King’s privy council. Since then he had lived like a monk. And before that…even as a soldier he had been particular in his tastes. Not for him a roll in the hay with a willing country wench, or the dubious charms of some camp follower. He was simply more fastidious than most men. He even prided himself on the fact. And yet, here he was…coveting the leavings of an obscure nobody like Ambrose Thane. It was inconceivable. Doubtless it was overwork, he told himself sensibly. Once Fenella had fallen into line as his wife, all would fall back into its rightful place. The problem was…He just wasn’t sure where a wife’s rightful place was.

Oswald was late returning to their rooms to supper that evening. He sat distractedly while Fenella chattered away about her walk with Lady Schaeffer’s and that good lady’s advice to her about how a respectable woman spends her time at the royal court.

“Lady Schaeffer explained she is the patroness of many artists,” Fenella explained with a faint air of puzzlement. “She encourages them in their endeavors and they often dedicate their works to her.”

Oswald nodded as he pushed a pie crust around his plate. “That is quite usual practice,” he agreed. “You could easily espouse some artist, if you so wished.”

Fenella’s eyes widened. “I would hardly know how,” she confessed.

Oswald’s mouth twisted. “As a high-born lady, it usually involves throwing the odd purse of money their way.” As soon as he’d said it, he wished he hadn’t. Why was he always showing his cynical side to the very person he should hide it from the most? With any other female he would trot out some flattering phrase, without even a second thought. He put down his knife. “Forgive me, that was ill considered and rude,” he said. “I am sure Lady Schaeffer takes her duties as a patron of the arts very seriously.”

Fen was looking at him in some concern. Hesitantly, she reached across to touch his hand. To his embarrassment, he jumped at her touch. “You’re tired my lord,” she said softly. “You must have had a very busy day, I think?”

He stared at her abstractedly.

“Please do not think you need to stand on ceremony around me, husband,” she said sweetly serious. “You should be able to speak your thoughts, without having to censor or filter them first for my consumption.”

Her warm voice affected him oddly, in the strangest of places. Gods, she was pretty, he thought, in the flickering candle-light. What the hell had he been thinking, considering her plain? His eyes searched her face. “Do you mean that?” he asked. Even to his own ears his voice sounded unnaturally husky. He took a hurried swig of water.

“Of course, after all, I am your wife,” she answered with only a trace of self-consciousness.

Then he remembered Ambrose Thane’s whining, self-pitying letters. Of course, Fenella was used to crotchety, unreasonable husbands.

“What is it, my lord?” she asked in alarm and Oswald realized he was glowering.

He passed a hand over his face. “Tis nothing, nothing,” he replied gruffly.

“I hope you are not coming down with aught,” she said worriedly. “Only your voice does sound a little hoarse this evening.” She bit her lip and fiddled with her napkin. “I hope you would not think me sadly fussing, if I suggested an early night?” she ventured.

Oswald sat silently a moment. “Fenella-” he started, but found he could not continue any further.

She cocked her head to one side. “Perhaps I should ask Meldon for a posset? With honey, sage and thyme for a sore throat?”

Oswald didn’t have the heart to tell her that nothing afflicted him, except her. “How did the meeting go with Meldon’s god-daughter?” he asked instead, ruthlessly shoving down his ignoble impulses.

Fenella cleared her throat. “I told her she could start on the morrow,” she confessed. “Her husband has lately lost his business, through no fault of his own,” she added hurriedly. “And poor Trudy needs the extra income for their family.”

Oswald eyed her wearily. “Did she seem capable at least?”

Fenella avoided his eye. “I am sure she will soon pick up the skills needed.”

“So, she has no experience,” he deduced.

Fen fidgeted in her seat. “She’s a very lively, bright sort of person and given the opportunity I am sure she will do well.”