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‘Because we intend to live at Lacelby. Constance misses her home.’
‘Ah, Lacelby.’ Alan’s expression softened. ‘I’ve been there a few times myself over the years. It’s a beautiful place and the estate is doing well. You’ll find that not much has changed since you left.’
‘I’m glad to hear it.’ Constance’s face beamed with enthusiasm. ‘I can’t wait to get back. I have so many ideas.’
‘Then you must tell me about them during dinner.’ Alan smiled. ‘If you’ll do me the honour of sitting beside me, that is?’
‘I’d be glad to.’
Matthew gritted his teeth, ignoring his brother’s triumphant expression as he led Constance towards the table. Apparently apologising would have to wait, especially since Alan seemed determined to come between him and his wife. Now the only seat left at the high table was the one at the far end beside Lady Adelaide. Just when he thought his day couldn’t get any worse.
He trudged towards it, wishing he hadn’t bothered returning to the keep at all. He wasn’t even particularly hungry and now it seemed he was destined to spend the meal in silence. The rest of the hall was a thrum of noise and activity, but his new stepmother seemed oblivious to everything. Not that he was in the mood for conversation either, but she made him uneasy. She didn’t as much as turn her head as he sat down, staring blankly at the tablecloth instead, her expression so empty that it made his stomach twist with foreboding. He recognised that expression. It was the way Blanche had looked once, too. Empty and hopeless and utterly devoid of emotion, as if something inside her had died.
He looked down, focusing his attention on the tablecloth as well. As usual at Wintercott, when it came to comfort, no expense had been spared. The table looked fit for a king, or the friend of a king anyway, bedecked with plates and cups and even a salt cellar of silver rather than wood.
‘I heard there was some excitement earlier.’
His father’s voice, coming from the other side of Adelaide, made him tense again, though he did his best to keep his voice even.
‘How so?’
‘Up on the roof.’ His father’s smile was positively reptilian. ‘From what I’ve heard, there was quite a commotion.’
‘Oh, I wouldn’t call it that.’ To Matthew’s surprise, it was Constance who answered. She was sitting on his father’s other side and he hadn’t thought she’d been listening.
‘Really?’ His father’s eyes narrowed with a look of irritation.
‘No. I was simply taking a look around, saw Matthew in the bailey and waved for him to come and join me so he did. I wouldn’t have thought that was a commotion.’
‘I heard he ran up to the roof like a man with hunting dogs on his heels.’
‘I suppose so, but I thought it was very romantic.’ She looked past his father, straight into Matthew’s eyes with an expression of such innocence that he almost believed it himself. Unfortunately, romantic was the last word he would have used to describe his earlier behaviour, but since she was offering to help...
‘I was just delighted to see you were awake.’ He inclined his head, playing along. ‘I’m only sorry I had so much to do today. I’ll show you around properly tomorrow.’
‘I’d like that.’ She turned her gaze back to his father. ‘Wintercott is such a breathtaking place. Alan has told me a few things about it, but I’d love to learn more.’
His father grunted, though as usual when it came to Wintercott, he was unable to resist taking the bait, launching into a detailed description of his recent building projects.
Matthew sat back in his chair, looking at his wife with a new sense of regard. She’d rescued him. After the way he’d treated her earlier, he hadn’t deserved it, but she’d done so anyway. He’d have to thank her later. When he’d finished apologising, that was.
It wasn’t long before servants appeared bearing platters of honeyed chicken with almonds, mutton and spiced beef, capons and bread, an even greater feast than he’d expected. According to Walter, the bulk of the harvest had been collected before the bad weather had arrived, but the continued rain meant that some tenants were still struggling. It would have been better to be cautious with food in case the winter proved to be a long one, but restraint had never been his father’s style.
‘May I offer you something to eat?’ He turned to face the silent woman beside him. As far as he could tell, she hadn’t yet lifted her eyes from the tablecloth, though now she gave a small nod, allowing him to place a few slivers of chicken on to her trencher before lifting a hand to show it was enough. The mutton, capons and beef she waved away entirely, accepting only a small piece of bread. It was barely enough to feed a bird, he thought critically, taking a more generous helping for his own trencher, but then Lady Adelaide was a lot like a bird overall, dainty and frail-looking like a wren or a sparrow.
He stole another glance along the table towards Constance. Dainty and frail weren’t words that could ever be used to describe her, not that he was complaining. He was glad to see that she’d regained her appetite again today, too. Alan had piled her trencher so high it looked in danger of toppling over, although he noticed she didn’t make any objection. Just as she hadn’t objected to his brother’s company either, he thought with a twinge of something that felt alarmingly like jealousy... As he watched, she lifted a piece of meat to her lips and then licked her fingers. The sight made every nerve in his body stand to full and almost painful attention.
‘How does it feel to be home?’
He was so busy staring at Constance that it was a few moments before he realised his stepmother was talking to him. Even her voice was bird-like, high-pitched like a chirrup, and so quiet that if she hadn’t been looking straight at him then he might have thought he’d imagined it.
‘It’s strange,’ he answered hesitantly. Now that she was looking straight at him, he had the uncanny feeling she would somehow know if he was lying. There was a peculiarly watchful quality about her, as if she saw much while saying little. ‘It’s not easy coming home after so long.’
‘Alan’s pleased to see you.’
‘Is he?’ He wasn’t sure which surprised him more, the words themselves or the fact that she was still talking to him.
‘Yes.’ Her voice quietened even further, forcing him to lean closer. ‘It might not seem like it, but I know that he is. When your father told us you were coming home, there was such a look on his face...’ Something that was almost a smile swept across her features and then faded again. ‘He’s been back and forth to the gatehouse so often this past week, looking for you. I know that you plan on leaving again soon, but he’ll be hurt if you do. You should talk to him.’
