Page 76 of Wed By Proxy

Feeling she must respond at this point to avoid outright rudeness, Mathilde murmured “I see.” He inclined his head. It was at that point she realized she recognized him, though not from a tournament. “I feel sure I too have seen you before, sir,” she said. “Is your friend a courtier?”

“You flatter me,” he smiled. “Alas, he does not move in such exalted quarters, and is naught but a wealthy merchant’s son. He pointed you out to me at a public event. A tournament, in fact.”

No, that wasn’t right, thought Mathilde, not that she was particularly interested. She remembered him from court, she was almost sure of it. And for some reason, she did associate him with a courtier, and a famous one. In a flash it came to her.

“Lord Oswald Vawdrey,” she said aloud and saw him stiffen. “It was Vawdrey I saw you with. I was with his countess at the royal palace at Aphrany, and you were emerging from his office.”

His face, she noticed impassively, was flushed. “I assure you, madam, you are quite mistaken,” he answered, and though he still smiled, it looked rather brittle and unreal.

She shrugged again, and at this point Lettys reappeared with her basket. Tristan Kerslake murmured his apologies and retreated, and Mathilde was left once more in silence.

At suppertime, she was escorted to the Great Hall which was brightly lit with candles and manned by many servants who seemed to line every wall, despite the fact that only five places were laid at table. She was led with great pomp to the seat at Guy’s immediate right. Temur was waiting at his left and Lettys went to join her husband there.

“We are just family this evening,” Guy said. “May I present my steward to you, Mathilde? This is Firmin, who served my father before me.”

The older man presented her with a very low bow and then drew back her chair for her. She murmured something and sat down. Firmin took his seat to her right and everyone was seated as the first course was served.

Mathilde was glad to find she felt pleasantly numb and quite divorced from proceedings as she sipped her vegetable soup out of convention more than hunger. She made no effort to join in the conversation that struck up as the fish course was served and soon, when she did not respond to any lures, they began talking of business and the estate and Mathilde was able to sit in utter silence.

Again, she was reminded of her previous life as the timorous Lady Martindale at court. Then, whole conversations would be carried on around her without her being expected to participate. Perhaps it would not be that surprising, she mused, if I were to slip back into that previous role of mine? After all, it had not been so very long ago. Perhaps she could not escape her fate as the meek and unassuming Lady Tilda.

“Mathilde?” With a start, she found she was being addressed by her frowning husband. She raised her eyebrows at him eloquently. “Do you have no opinion to put forth on the subject?” he asked challengingly.

She opened her mouth to explain she had not been listening, but for some reason other words entirely tumbled out. “It is no concern of mine,” she said coolly instead.

A spark kindled in his gaze. He sat back in his seat regarding her. “No concern of yours? What an amenable wife you shall be,” he mocked.

“Aye, but not to you,” she answered crisply. “For presently I shall return to court and request the king finds me a fourth husband who may be more suited to me.”

“Don’t!” he said sharply, but it was the note of pain in his voice that halted her. She lapsed into silence, acutely aware of the startled eyes of the other diners riveted on them.

“How long?” Guy rumbled, not even attempting to speak quietly. She did not answer. “How long are you going to punish me?” he asked hoarsely. “I make no complaint, you understand. I just need to know my suffering will be finite.”

“How about four years?” Mathilde heard herself ask in a clear concise voice. “How does that sound? The amount of time I waited in vain for you to send for me.” You could have heard a pin drop in the Great Hall.

Guy did not answer a moment, then he cleared his throat. “That sounds fair,” he said at last and not one more word was spoken between any of them for the remainder of the meal.

As she climbed the stairs for bed, Mathilde realized with shock and a certain amount of grim satisfaction that Lady Tilda had left for good. There would be no sinking back into her previous life. What, then, would become of her? The future stretched out before her, strange and unknowable.

Should she should seek out an audience with Old Helga for guidance, she wondered? She felt a strange reluctance to, after the painful interview a few nights previously. Her memory was hazy as to when the old woman had left them that night. She had definitely been leading their way through the woods as they had set out for the manor house. But when Mathilde had mounted the steps to the main door, she did not remember Helga being present.

She would not send for Helga, she resolved, as she brushed her hair before bed. Indeed, she had the strangest feeling that no messenger would even find her cottage unless Helga wished it to be so.

She was washing before bed when she noticed the large carved wooden box that had been placed at her bedside. Lifting off the lid, she found it full of precious jewels. She recognized the rubies set in enameled swans immediately. Only the brooch was conspicuous in its absence. Quietly, Mathilde replaced the lid and climbed into bed.

XXXIII

The next morning followed almost precisely the pattern of the previous morning, except that Lettys suggested they went for a walk in the gardens instead of retiring immediately to the blue sitting room. Mathilde acquiesced, and they had not walked farther than the kitchen gardens when Temur headed them off from the direction of the stables, and Lettys excused herself with an apologetic look and hurried over to meet him.

Mathilde waited a moment, but when they looked deep in conversation, she decided instead to have a walk about the large herb and vegetable beds. Most of the snow had now melted and only the odd patch remained, though it was still very cold out. She could identify fennel, cabbage, leeks and radishes but not much else. She had not spent much time in the country, after all.

She wandered up and down the narrow paths in between the plots and was just wondering idly which were lentils and which were peas, when a quiet voice wished her a good morning, and she looked up eagerly in hopes it might be Robin. To her surprise, she found it was Tristan Kerslake smiling his urbane smile. She blinked at his turquoise doublet and matching cape and wished him a good morning in return, hoping she hid her disappointment that he was not her young friend.

“You are looking rather better this morning, my lady, if I may make so bold,” he ventured, casting a quick appraising look at her face. “You have a good deal more color in your cheeks and a sparkle in your eyes.”

“Probably the fresh air,” Mathilde responded.

Pieces were falling into place in her mind, and she realized now that he must be the brother of Guy’s first love. Why had she not properly registered that before, she wondered? Perhaps because she had flinched from all thoughts that had pained her.