Page 85 of His Forsaken Bride

“I- Sitchmarsh has been on my mind of late,” she confessed. “I am expecting a letter from Orla and-”

“I should probably tell you now,” he said in a bored-sounding voice. “That I have no intention of sending you to Vawdrey Keep in the immediate future. Certainly not before spring or even summer arrives.” He turned his whole body to face her, a challenging look on his face. “Do we need to have some discussion around this subject?” He walked over to the table and poured a goblet of wine.

Fen reeled. Twice her lips formed words she did not manage to utter.

“I am aware,” he continued crisply, “That this flies in the face of what I told you initially some two weeks ago, but frankly I find Vawdrey Keep too far from court to be practical as my country seat.”

Fenella sat up, realizing she had sunk down into the cushions when he walked around the table and approached, handing the wine to her. She took it wordlessly, her gaze searching his face. She could make neither head nor tail of what he was telling her! Something about his expression put her on her guard. It reminded her of after they had visited the King and he had been angry with her. “But you-” she croaked. “You said-”

“Yes, I did,” he answered shortly. “But I am going back on it.”

“M-my brother-”

“Is free to visit you, whenever it pleases you.”

“Here?” squeaked Fen. “At court?”

Oswald shrugged. “There are guest apartments we could engage for his use on a temporary basis, with very little trouble.”

Fen took a distracted sip of wine. “I thought to visit with my friends and neighbors!” she protested faintly.

“You thought wrongly,” he contradicted her, his eyes hard and angry despite the fact his words were so flat and calm.

And suddenly Fen knew. She knew that he was aware that she had encountered Ambrose Thane earlier that day. Oh no. Her mouth went dry. But how? The monks? The falconer? It hardly mattered. Somehow, by hook or by crook, Oswald Vawdrey knew. And he was not happy about it.

She came to her feet and placed the goblet down on the window seat. “I do need to have some speech with you, my lord,” she said. Annoyingly, her voice sounded quivery and guilty. She cleared her throat and squared her shoulders.

“You will call me husband,” he answered tersely. “For that is what I am to you, wife.”

Fen’s feeling of panic mounted.

“Should I leave?” asked Roland uneasily. He looked from one of them to the other. Bors gave a mournful whine and disappeared under Roland’s chair.

Both Fenella and Oswald ignored him.

“I encountered Sir Ambrose Thane earlier today,” she said aloud. “When I was out walking with my friend, Lady Schaeffer.”

Oswald stood so still it was almost uncanny. He was like a statue and just as cold. “Is that so?” he asked silkily. “Do continue.”

Fen felt inclined to do anything but. The fire still blazed in the grate, yet she felt chilled to the bone by her husband’s reaction. Why did he not shout and rail at her? Somehow it felt far worse when he became so distant and icily remote.

“By accident or design?” he barked suddenly making Fen jump in alarm.

“Accident, I assure you!” she blurted. “At least, on my part it was!”

Oswald’s gaze became inscrutable and he gave a chilly nod of his head. “What happened?”

"I went to visit Rowena in the stables,” she started. “That’s my horse,” she added for Roland’s benefit. “On the way back, Hester and I decided to visit the rose garden, and then proceed along the-"

"Skip to the part concerning Thane," Oswald interrupted her.

"She's not giving you a sworn statement under oath," Roland pointed out.

Oswald turned an icy look on his brother and Roland lapsed once more into silence.

"Sir Ambrose approached," hurried Fen, anxious to diffuse the situation. "Just to tell me how much returning my dowry would inconvenience him."

Both brothers appeared to digest this a moment in silence.