Page 21 of Wed By Proxy

Temur could not have looked more astonished if he had fallen off his horse. “No, m’lord,” he agreed. “And that’s putting it mildly.”

Guy shot a sidelong glance at him. He didn’t want to sound too interested in how Temur was negotiating married life. After all, his own situation was not the same at all. This imposter wasn’t his wife, despite what she said. She couldn’t be. Aloud he said, “How long were you courting Lettys?”

If anything, Temur looked even more alarmed by this turn in the conversation. “Some three months, my lord.”

“Three months? That’s not long.” Guy frowned.

“Couldn’t see the point in putting it off.” Temur shrugged. “I wanted her, she wanted me. What was there to delay about?”

What indeed? Guy thought back fleetingly to his own broken betrothal. He and Julia Kerslake had been promised for over five years. It had all counted for naught in the end. For most of that time, he had been embroiled in the war. They had spent precious little time getting to know one another. Sometimes he thought he had never really known her at all. Perhaps, after all, there was something to be said for short betrothals.

“My lord?”

Guy gave a start. “What is it?” Had Temur been speaking?

Temur pointed up at the sign of the shoe, speckled with snow. “We’re here.”

XI

Mathilde had been excited on her third morning at the lodge, to hear a knock on the door. He’s come! She thought, bounding out of her seat. At last! But she was only halfway down the stairs when she heard Prudence’s waspish accents drifting up to her.

“What now? And don’t go traipsing those wet boots through on my nice clean floor!”

She’d never dare take such a tone with her master, Mathilde thought, her shoulders drooping. It must be more supplies. Her steps slowed in her descent. Over the past two days they had received a bewildering amount of items for their store cupboards: cereals; vegetables; dried herbs and spices. She had thought this was a temporary arrangement for her to be living separately to her husband, but perhaps Lord Martindale intended it for the longer term? It was rather a lowering thought.

She watched from the bottom step as two burly men rolled a large barrel before them through to the pantry and guessed it must be ale. Leaning against the bannister, she swallowed down her disappointment. It seemed her husband did not share her keenness to grow acquainted. Abruptly, Mathilde sank down onto the step. She pulled her woolen mantle tighter about her and propped her chin on her hands, her elbows resting on her knees. Maybe she was just destined to be always alone. The thought had no sooner formed in her mind, than she dismissed it as contemptible self-pity. Lord Martindale had a vast estate to run. She was just one of many people he had to deal with, she told herself roundly. This attitude of melancholy would do her no good. Perhaps she had been too long cooped up against the cold weather?

Her eye strayed to the wintry scene outside the window. It wasn’t actually snowing at this instant. Should she go for a walk? Perhaps Robin would join her. She mustered a smile for the delivery men who were both goggling at her over their shoulders, as they disappeared out of the door. She cast a quick glance over herself to make sure nothing was amiss. What had caught their attention so? Not finding anything, she stood up from the step, and went in search of Robin.

“The young master’s outside, milady,” Prudence said, and folded her lips. She was up to her elbows in flour and seemed to be making some sort of pie. Mathilde beat a hasty retreat before she could incur Prudence’s displeasure. Drawing on her cloak and boots, she too ventured out of doors.

Robin was crouched down over the hen house this morning and appeared to be collecting eggs. Mathilde waited, as he gingerly picked them out of the straw.

“Three out of five,” Robin said, looking up to find her watching him. “That’s not bad.”

“It’s very good,” Mathilde agreed, though she knew nothing about keeping hens.

“What do you say to us getting a cow?” Robin asked, stepping over the fencing.

“A cow?”

“For milk and cheeses.” Robin nodded toward a structure at the bottom of the garden. “It looks like they might have had one here before.”

He held out the eggs for her inspection. “Very nice,” said Mathilde approvingly. “Are not the horses we rode here being stabled in there presently?”

“Aye,” agreed Robin, “but there’s easily room for a cow. Or possibly,” he added, screwing up his nose, “a goat.”

“Perhaps you should ask Prudence, as she would be the one expected to milk it?” Mathilde suggested.

Robin pulled a face. “I can already tell you what Miss Curds and Whey would say.”

Mathilde laughed. “She might surprise you.”

He snorted. “I very much doubt it.”

“What do you say, to our going for an exploratory walk this morning?”

Robin’s gloomy aspect brightened. “I’ll just take these into the kitchen,” he said. “And we can set forth at once.”