Page 93 of His Forsaken Bride

Bryce’s gaze flickered. “I opined that I thought it would provide some measure toward returning your equanimity,” he answered serenely.

“My good Bryce,” said Oswald dryly. “You are finally starting to speak like a politician.”

Bryce looked modestly gratified. “I believe you are right, my lord. For the King kept addressing me as Price,” he said. “And I did not even correct him, my lord. Not once.”

Oswald could not help but smile at this. “And how would you feel about changing it officially,” he asked. “For the purposes of advancing your career?”

Bryce appeared to consider this a moment. “Alas,” he said. “The only reason my uncle withdrew me from the seminary, was because I am the last of our particular branch to bear the name. I fear I could not change it without risking his wrath.”

It occurred to Oswald that his assistant would never have imparted such personal information even so recently as a month ago. The very clear boundaries they had once operated under had been blurred of late. And even stranger, he was not quite sure he could regret the fact.

“Lady Vawdrey would be very interested to hear this, Bryce,” he admitted.

Bryce made an exclamation and reached into the pouch he wore on his belt. “Which reminds me, these arrived today my lord. From Antony’s of Aphrany.”

He handed over two small wooden boxes. Oswald opened the first and found Fen’s modest gold posy ring had arrived. He checked inside and found their initials. For some reason, his hand flew to the small gold padlock on his chain. ‘Not Forgot’. He had been so sure the locket had been his mother’s, but now it struck him as odd that he could not remember. But why else would he wear such a keepsake? He tucked it back inside his shirt then turned to the second box. Inside it, were the two rings he had privately commissioned from Mr Antony, two thick gold rings with a ruby in the center of each. The rings were decorated with blue enamel. On the smaller ring, there were two silver panthers set on either side of the stone, and on the larger ring the ruby was thronged with two silver bears. This way, when they wore them, they would be wearing each other’s heraldic beast. He stared at them a moment, before snapping the box shut. He handed the first box back to Bryce. “This needs to go back to Antony’s,” he said. “And another inscription added to the inside of the band. The date of my marriage to Fenella, twelve years ago. And the words ‘not forgot’.”

Bryce nodded. “Yes my lord.”

“These are satisfactory,” he said holding up the second box with the matching rings. He glanced back at the annulment papers. “I will read this through at my leisure, but I am confident you have done a thorough job, Bryce. As always.”

His assistant blinked and then flushed faintly. “Yes my lord. Sir Ambrose has twenty-eight days to comply.” He hesitated before adding colorlessly. “My research indicates he will most likely find it necessary to withdraw from court and retire from public life.”

Oswald considered this a moment before replying quietly. “That would be satisfactory also.” Which was the bloody understatement of the century as far as he was concerned!

He made his way back to their rooms with a lighter tread, but was not pleased when he could hear loud voices as soon as he turned down the corridor. What now? As he got closer to the door he recognized Meldon’s belligerent tones and someone else.

“I tell you, I was given strict orders to bring this here stuff to these quarters,” the stranger was insisting.

“His lordship didn’t tell me nothing about it!” Meldon ranted. “And I’ve not got the time to be unpacking all this paraphernalia!”

Oswald swung the door open in some trepidation and found the entryway blocked up with two large chests and an even larger object swathed in hessian sacking. “What is all this?” he asked, stepping over one of the chests. “And where is my wife?”

“Her ladyship ain’t returned from a-getting her portrait painted,” Meldon told him with a sniff. “She’s been at it all day.”

“All day?” echoed Oswald. “Her plans were to sit only during the morning.”

“Aye, so she was, but when you cancelled the tournament plans on her, she decided she may as well devote another five hours to it,” said Meldon. “Lady Schaeffer sat with her this morning, and then that Lady Martindale what wouldn’t say boo to a goose, she sat with her all afternoon planning out their next tapestry.”

“Well, that’s what this is!” said the stranger, tipping back his hat to scratch his head. “A portrait from storage at Vawdrey Keep and some old tapestries. Knowles, the steward, he said you sent him word that you wanted ‘em, my lord…”

“Ah yes,” said Oswald, his frown clearing. “So I did. But I will admit, I did not think Knowles had much hope of finding them.” He crossed the room, extracted a sword from a wall rack and returned to cut the strings swaddling the sacking. He wrestled a moment with the hessian before it fell away to reveal a rather murky portrait of a young lady in a dark green dress, staring out with an expression of the utmost seriousness. Oswald took three steps back to take a more critical look at it.

“Well, that’s the mistress, and no mistake,” said Meldon. “Though I don’t ever remember seeing that picture at the old Keep.”

“It was in storage, Knowles, said,” supplied the stranger helpfully. “Under a pile of old furnishings.”

Oswald held up a hand for silence as he continued to peruse the portrait. He could see why Meldon recognized her, but in his opinion, the artist had not possessed either the talent or the quality materials to do Fenella true justice. The shining amber eyes looked a mere light brown, and her glowing, creamy skin, just looked pale and rather flat on the canvas. He had got the heart-shape of her face right and the eyebrows, but he had not captured the charm or the wit that made up the whole. He guessed she looked about fifteen years or thereabouts, and certainly the dog, Bors who sat on her lap, was a mere pup. He was just about to glance away and ask them to open the trunk, when he saw it. The pendant suspended on a chain at the front of her bodice. His hand flew to the chain he wore tucked into his tunic. The gold padlock shape was most distinctive, and Oswald’s throat closed a moment. It had been Fenella’s. He had worn her token on his person for more than a decade. Unknowingly. His fingers tightened around the locket.

Meldon cleared his throat. “M’lord?”

Oswald’s startled gaze flew to his. “Yes?”

Meldon shifted on his feet uncomfortably, “You looked like you was having a turn.”

“I’m fine,” Oswald waved a hand, and walked rather unsteadily to lean against the table. How could he have forgotten such a thing? He never forgot things! Even the finer details. His head was reeling.

“Shall I open the trunk m’lord?” asked the newcomer.