Page 52 of His Forsaken Bride

Fen found herself tongue-tied. Oh. “I apologize,” she managed to splutter at last. She remembered Roland’s words, when he was taunting her. Clearly her husband meant to make no clear explanation of his role at Wymer’s court. Ambrose had always liked a sounding-board, and would talk at great length about his duties as an equerry and his struggles and tribulations in the execution of those duties. It seemed Oswald had no such similar use for his help-meet. For some reason, it felt rather like he had slammed a door in her face. She lapsed into awkward silence as she cast about for some subject he would find less unwelcome. Unfortunately, her mind chose this moment precisely to turn blank. She heard one of the trunk lids fall and realized he was dressing now anyway and turned onto her side away from him to give him some privacy.

“Will you join me to break your fast?” he asked a few moments later. “You don’t need to dress,” he added, holding up the scarlet robe as she looked back over her shoulder at him.

“If you want me to,” she answered, and he moved swiftly around to her side of the bed, shaking out the folds of the satin robe and holding it out for her to place her arms in the sleeves. Fen clambered out of the bed, tugging on the shift to make sure she had adequate coverage.

He folded her into the robe from behind, and then stood a moment with his arms wrapped firmly around her. “I do want you to,” he said in a low voice which Fen felt in the region of her stomach. They stood a moment, motionless until the door creaked open again and Meldon peered around it.

“Is all decent within?” he asked caustically. “Only I’ve two men here with the bath.”

“Have them bring it in,” said Oswald coolly as he detached himself. A large wooden tub was rolled into the room. “It will take them several journeys to fill it,” he said. “So, you can eat with me in the meantime.”

Fen followed him into the adjoining room and sat at the table while he ate salted fish and white bread. She did not have much appetite and sat crumbling her bread feeling strangely skittish and shy. “How is your head?” she asked curiously as he took a swig of water.

“My head?”

“You drank two cups of wine last night,” she reminded him.

He seemed to consider this a moment. “It is a little heavy and I can tell I have imbibed.” He shrugged. “Other than that I can feel no ill effects.”

“Good,” she murmured. Then on impulse, she asked: “Does the scar on your back never pain you?”

He paused, a piece of bread to his lips. Then put it in his mouth and chewed without answering her.

“Did you get it during the war?” she plunged on recklessly.

“I don’t speak of it,” he said blankly. “It was a long time ago.”

So, no questions about his work or his past soldiering. She lapsed into silence. Under such circumstances it was hard not to deduce there was only one kind of intimacy Lord Vawdrey wished with her. The thought was strangely depressing.

At the end of the meal he reached across and covered her hand with his. “I will see you this evening,” he said easily. “We had a supper invitation from the Dowager Duchess of Lessing which I accepted.” He paused. “It will be an opportunity to wear one of your new dresses.”

Fen nodded and was relieved when Roland’s door opened and her brother-in-law emerged along with her dog Bors. He checked on the threshold and Oswald withdrew his hand and stood. “Enjoy your bath,” he said and left the room.

Bors danced up to her and she gave him a few pats on his head. “Did Bors sleep in your room last night?” she asked Roland in an effort to distract herself.

He visibly bristled. “How should I know?” he said. “Woke up this morning and there he was.”

Fenella looked at him askance. Once again, her brother-in-law looked a little worse for wear. Perhaps Bors had snuck in with him after he returned from his night’s carousing?

Bors threw a sheepish glance her way and then went and flung himself under Roland’s chair.

“Well! He certainly seems to have taken to you,” remarked Fen.

“Dogs are known to be good judges of character,” Roland boasted.

A series of servants had been trooping in to the bedroom with steaming pails of water. The steady stream seemed to have now come to a halt. Anxious not to let the water go cold, Fen came to her feet. “Excuse me,” she murmured to Roland who was piling food onto his plate. He grunted something as she made her way back to the bedroom and closed the door after her.

“Oh!” she exclaimed on finding Trudy her new maid already employed in sprinkling herbs into the water. “Good morning. I did not see you come in, Trudy.”

“Your pardon milady,” she said dropping into a curtsey. “But you was break-fasting so I didn’t want to intrude.”

“That is quite alright,” Fen replied as she pinned her braids on top of her head out of the way. “Though I would have taken the opportunity to introduce you to my husband.”

Trudy’s eyes widened. “I wouldn’t want to interrupt him and get on the bad side of the master so soon,” she said and anxiously crossed her fingers to superstitiously ward off bad luck.

Fenella who was unbuttoning her robe, looked up in surprise. Meldon never acted in the least scared of Oswald so she was startled by his god-daughter’s words. “Lord Vawdrey is not so easily put out of temper,” she said as she shrugged out of the scarlet robe.

Trudy hurried over to take it off her. “Begging your pardon, but that’s not what I’ve been hearing, milady,” she said enigmatically.