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“Well, it is unfortunate you feel that way Meldon, as that is precisely what I expect you to do,” answered Oswald crisply. “You are to admit no visitors.”
“Where you going to be?” demanded his manservant belligerent as ever.
Oswald turned to him with a frown. “I will be in my study in the main wing, as usual.”
The door shut carefully behind him. Somehow, Fen had the oddest notion that he would rather have slammed it.
“Well that didn’t last long,” sniffed Meldon. “The rosy glow worn off already?”
Fenella burst into noisy tears.
“Now, now,” rasped Meldon hastily. “None of that, my girl!
Fenella rose shakily from her chair. “Do not trouble to light the fire in here,” she said mustering her dignity with effort. “I’m feeling unwell and will return to bed for an hour or so.”
“Humph!” she heard him mutter under his breath, along with something about fine ladies lying a-bed all hours. Ignoring this, she dragged her heavy body back into Lord Vawdrey’s bedchamber and, after struggling a moment with her lacings, gave up and crawled under the covers fully-clothed. She felt so cold that the idea of stripping down to her shift was abhorrent anyway. She felt like she’d never get warm again. Wrapping her arms about herself she lay shivering under the bed-clothes and prayed for the oblivion of sleep where nothing hurt, including words, and her poor over-taxed emotions could have some respite.
**
Oswald scored through another line of script before casting down his pen down in frustration. He could not concentrate. Every time he tried to get down to work, he kept remembering Fenella Bernard with tears silently rolling down her face. He had no idea why it was bothering him so much, except he didn’t usually let his own manners slip like that. Normally they were firmly in place, disguising every emotion to the onlooker. Oswald knew full well that he was often callous, unsympathetic, even ruthless when occasion demanded. But he scrupulously said the appropriate thing out loud, and wore the corresponding expression. He was first and foremost a politician. Wearing a mask was second nature to him. Why then, had he just marched his day-old bride through the palace and thrown her into rooms like it was a dungeon cell? He groaned and massaged his eyelids with his finger and thumb. He had acted like a complete ogre of a husband. And he really had no idea why! It just wasn’t like him to react like that. His scheme had been going so well. Wymer had been well and truly thwarted. The King had conceded he was defeated by Oswald’s trump card, Fenella. He had even accepted the intimation that in a moment of weakness, the marriage had been consummated! And then… what? He frowned trying to remember exactly where it had all gone awry. Fenella had balked at the idea of being paraded before the court and more specifically, her recently wedded husband, Thane and his replacement bride. And why wouldn’t she? He asked himself uneasily. It was too soon. He had rushed her into wearing his colors when he should have been insinuating himself into her life by degrees as a person who could be trusted and relied on. He had acted like – what? Hardly a jealous husband. He shied away from such a ridiculous idea. He could barely remember the little Bernard girl his father had betrothed him to all those years ago.
Unbidden, a fully-fledged vision of his past assailed him called up from some dark recess in his mind. A vision of Lady Fenella Thane. Nay, not Thane then, but Bernard. Lady Fenella Bernard. She was much younger and wearing a dark green velvet dress with a small necklet of pearls. He held her unwavering attention as he made polite conversation over a meal. Not just any meal, but a feast; the Winter Solstice. And finally, he remembered clearly his very first betrothed. He had all but forgotten. After all, he had only been nineteen and slightly embarrassed to have such a young betrothed on his arm. He had long become immune to his father’s jibes and insults, knowing full well that he was his least favorite son. In truth, at nineteen he wore this as a badge of honor. He considered his father to be a boorish lout. Still, appearing in front of a packed great hall, with a child for his future wife had not been something he had been looking forward to. She had been a plain, solemn little thing, afraid of his father and shy. But she had taken her place by his side and when Baron Vawdrey had asked, mockingly in his great booming voice, if she did not count herself fortunate to have such a fine peacock of a boy for her future husband she had answered him with a loud, unflinching ‘yes, very’ that had rung from the rafters. The guests had guffawed, and his father had roared with laughter. But under the table, a little hand had slipped into his and Oswald had realized that Fenella Bernard was his indomitable ally. He swore now, as the years rolled back and he became aware of how badly he had failed her.
“Bryce!” he shouted and heard a chair scrape back against the floorboards in the next room. He waited as he heard his assistant’s feet pad across the floor and then the door creak open. “My lord?”
“I’ve just realized that I may have neglected to inform you of my marriage.”
Bryce blinked. “My lord?”
“Fenella Thane that was, is now Fenella, Countess Vawdrey.”
Bryce rocked back on his heels. “But when-?”
“Twelve years ago,” said Oswald briefly. “Her marriage to Thane was not legal.”
Bryce’s jaw dropped.
“So, now you are caught up,” he said breezily. “I need you to engage my tailor. Have him attend Lady Vawdrey at his earliest convenience.”
Bryce gulped. “I do not believe Signor Pezzini usually attends to ladies.”
“He will, if the purse is fat enough,” replied Oswald. “She needs a full array of clothes. I also need you to make enquiries about new shoes and,” he waved a hand. “Trinkets?” he looked questioningly at Bryce.
“Err… female adornments?” Bryce suggested watching Oswald’s rotating hand. “Erm… hair pins, belts, cauls, gloves and the like?”
Oswald nodded looking relieved. “Yes, yes all of the attendant paraphernalia…What else?”
Bryce tapped his chin. “A harp?” he guessed desperately.
Oswald looked undecided. “I believe she said she plays a lute.”
“A horse?” suggested Bryce. “Perhaps a hawk?”
“She has a hound already,” said Oswald dismissively. “And a horse. Her brother left it stabled here.”
“Needles and silken threads?”
“I seem to recall – perhaps tapestry?” hazarded Oswald. “Or at any rate, as a girl she was fond of it, I believe.” The memory was hazy, but there. Twelve year-old Fenella had spoken of tapestry, and her eyes had shone. It was strange how vivid the flashes of memory were when they returned to him. His memory did not usually play hide and seek with him.
“Books?” hazarded Bryce. “Devotional books, prayer books?”
“Poetry is more fashionable for ladies at court, Bryce,” Oswald corrected him.
Bryce looked disapproving and folded his lips.
Oswald’s eyebrows rose. “Moralizing again Bryce? You forget the Queen is fond of poetry. Order Fenella a few volumes of whatever is popular at present.”
“Yes, my lord,” muttered Bryce.
“Bryce, you are forgetting jewelry.”
“You wish to see a jeweler my lord?”
“I do not,” said Oswald firmly. “Just get her two of everything.”
“Everything?” asked Bryce, looking out of his depth.
“Brooches, rings, necklaces, you know the sort of thing.”
Bryce floundered a moment. “Not really my lord,” he admitted.
“Confound it Bryce,” said Oswald without heat. “Have the jeweler attend Lady Vawdrey with some samples of his wares.”
“You have a particular jeweler in mind?”
Oswald shrugged. “Aphrany’s best.”
“Very well, my lord.”
“Have we forgotten anything?”
“Undoubtedly sir.”
“I’m inclined to agree with you,” admitted Oswald. “No matter, at least we’ve made a start. We can remedy any oversights late
r.”
“My lord?” asked Bryce in bewilderment as Oswald locked his drawer and stood up from his chair. “Are you attending the King this afternoon?”
Oswald shook his head. “I’m going back to my quarters,” he said. “I have a new wife to pacify.”
It was a pity, Oswald thought on his way back, that he had no clear vision of how he would actually achieve this. The problem was, that had rushed her. He had not wanted to bother with wooing or any of the other rituals people went through when selecting a spouse. He still didn’t, but he would have to make some concessions. It wouldn’t kill him to take her to a few of the palace entertainments and introduce her around. Also, he admitted to himself with unease, letting the King think she had coerced him into accepting the veracity of their marriage had not been chivalrous of him. He was not sure how he could set about righting that wrong. After all, he had only instigated their marriage as a means to an end, but that did not mean he should be inconsiderate of her feelings. The King no doubt, would be vocal with his displeasure and others would pick up the tale which could be humiliating for Fenella. He frowned over this a moment, before deciding the best way to counter the court gossip would simply be for them to show themselves abroad as an amicable wedded couple. After all, reflected Oswald, how hard could that be? People married all the time. Many stupider men than he managed to maintain functioning marriages.
Thane was an insignificant, mediocre little man. The fact he had inspired such strong feeling in Fenella was a good thing, he told himself. It was a sign that she was worth cultivating. In time, with encouragement she would transfer her loyalty to him and then all would be well. He just had to ease her over this rough patch while she adjusted to the changes in her life. His steps felt lighter once he’d decided on his course of action and he entered his rooms feeling positive. It was an unwelcome surprise to find the fire unlit and the living quarters empty despite his earlier orders. Meldon was nowhere to be seen, and neither was Fenella. He walked straight through to his bedchamber and was surprised to find his wife a huddled lump in the bed.
“Fenella?” He walked around to her side of the bed and flipped back the blanket to find her hot and shivering and fully clothed beneath the covers. “Fenella?” He pressed the back of his hand to her cheek and found her hot and feverish. She whimpered at his touch and tried to turn away. “What was that?” he asked, catching a hoarse whisper.
“Cold,” she repeated, pulling the covers tighter around her.
“Nay, you’re burning with fever,” he corrected her. “We need to get you undressed.”
“No please,” she wept.
“Fenella,” he said reasonably as he stripped back the blankets, rolled her onto her side and started unlacing her dress. “You’ve no doubt caught a chill on that long ride yesterday and then sitting on draughty floorboards last night. It’s hardly to be wondered at.”
Her eyelids kept drifting shut as he maneuvered her around until he could pull the wool dress up over her head, leaving her in her thin shift. “I’m so cold,” she mumbled. Her eyes had a dull, glazed look. He wasn’t entirely sure she recognized him. “I’ll get the fire lit in here for you,” he said, lying her back down on the mattress. She caught his hand and held it tight. “Please don’t leave me,” she said looking right at him.
Oswald paused. Her hand clutched his convulsively. “Very well,” he said. “I won’t.” Gently withdrawing his hand, he dumped the yellow wool dress onto the floor and then after a moment’s hesitation, dragged a chair from against the wall next to the bed. “I’ll just fetch some wood for the fire,” he told her, disappearing into the adjoining room where he raided the larger fireplace which was stacked up with chopped wood. He cursed Meldon under his breath, as he lay and lit the fire in the bedchamber. Clearly the old rogue had gone off on his errands after all, despite his express orders to stay in attendance of his mistress. Once the fire was burning merrily, he returned to her side and poured her a fresh cup of water from the jug. “Fenella, you should drink this.”
Her eyes snapped open to look at him. Suddenly, she lurched forward, trying to scramble out of the bed. “I’m going to be unwell,” she gasped.
Catching her meaning, he reached behind him for the basin off the dresser and held it in front of her as she retched and clutched at the bowl until she vomited.
Oswald held the basin steady with one hand and stroked her back with the other. “Shhh, all will be well. You’ll feel better presently,” he murmured as she shivered and apologized. “Is that the last of it, do you think?”
“I think so,” she rasped. “I’m so sorry.”
“Drink the water.”
She took a hurried sip.
“Rinse your mouth out and spit.”
She followed his orders, seeming lucid for the first time since he’d returned.
“Now get back in the bed,” he told her as he carried the bowl to the door.
“Are you leaving?” she asked sounding panicked.
“No, I’ll return presently.” He was surprised to catch a look of relief in her eye at his response. Meldon was just coming through the door as he emerged from the bedroom. “Ah here you are, at last. I have something for you here.” He placed the basin of vomit on the table. “You can fetch more firewood and fresh water for your mistress.”
“Who’s been a-sick?” asked Meldon in surprise.
Oswald directed a withering glance at him and disappeared back into the bedroom.
Fenella was peering over the edge of the bed sheets with anxious eyes. “I do apologize-” she started but he cut her off.
“No need for an apology, Fenella. You’re unwell.” He approached the bed and laid a hand across her forehead. “You’re still over-warm. How do you feel?”
“A lot better actually, now I’ve been sick,” she said. “But my head aches and my throat is sore.”
“Lie back in the bed,” he said, taking a seat in the chair.
Her eyes widened. “You’re really going to stay?” Her gaze skittered away from his as she bit her lip. “It wasn’t reasonable of me to ask.”
“Wasn’t it?” he asked wryly. “I think I was the unreasonable one this morning. Will you allow me to apologize?” he asked quietly.
Her fingers twisted in the bed-sheets. “You’ve been nothing but kind, my lord,” she said in a choked voice.
“I wish that were true,” he said gravely. “But I’m afraid I was not kind outside the King’s chamber.”
Her eyes filled with tears but she blinked them away. “There was much truth to your words, my lord,” she whispered, then closed them. “I hope I will not let you down.”
“Sleep now, Fenella,” he said and watched as she shifted onto her side and settled in to sleep. He watched for a long time, even after she had drifted off into fitful sleep, her cheeks bright red and her brow furrowed with discomfort. When she woke two hours later and vomited again, he was on hand to attend her and force her to drink a full cup of water. This time her temperature did not rocket back up and she slept sounder.
Meldon poked his head around the door at one point with a clean linen shift for Fenella. “Master Roland’s asking for you. What am I to tell him?”
“Tell him I’m newlywed and otherwise occupied,” said Oswald, who now had his stockinged feet up on the bed and his doublet unbuttoned. “I’ll see him at supper.”
“Oh aye,” muttered Meldon sourly, as he scooped up the wool dress and shut the door behind him.
Oswald picked up a sheaf of papers he had retrieved from the chest of drawers and started reading through them, glancing over periodically, at the sleeping occupant of his bed. When he was three quarters through, he glanced up and found Fenella silently watching him from the bed. “How are you feeling?” he asked, glancing at the candles on the dresser. They were nine-hour candles and around three-quarter burned through.
“Much better,” she answered him in a slightly scratchy voice. “Have I slept the entire day through?”
“Yes. Can I get you anything?”
“I feel sweaty and horrible,” she admitted. “Would it be possible for me to wash?”
“Of course,” he rose from the chair. “I’ll send for hot water.”
“My lord?”
“Yes?”
“Thank you for staying with me.” She held his gaze.
He paused. “I’m your ally Fenella. I want you to know that. I’m on your side. Your problems are my problems. We’re in this together.”
She swallowed and nodded as he lightly touched her head. After two palace maids carried the buckets of hot water into the bedchamber, he left her to wash and change into the clean linen shift. When he re-entered the maids had changed the bedsheets so everything was fresh and Fenella was sat combing out her wet hair in front of the fire. Oswald crossed to the chest where he kept his surcoats and tunics and extracted a dressing robe for her. “We don’t want you catching cold,” he said passing it to her. “Put it on and fasten it up to your chin.”
“Such beautiful silk,” she marveled, stroking the peacock blue fabric. “And so finely embroidered around the sleeves.” Her fingers traced the golden thread. “Are all your dressing robes so…colorful?”
Oswald who was in the act of removing his doublet, paused at her curious tone. “I only have three,” he prevaricated.
“I’ve seen the scarlet one and now the peacock blue. What color is the third?”
He looked back over his shoulder at her. “You disapprove?”
“Not at all!” she assured him hurriedly. “They’re beautiful.”
Instead of answering her, he walked back to the dark wooden chest and extracted a jade green silk robe.
“Oh, that’s lovely.”
“I’m glad you like them,” he said shrugging it on over his shirt. “As the same tailor will be addressing the matter of your wardrobe shortly.”
“Mine? But surely I can send for my clothes from Thurrold.”
“You will need court clothes, Fenella,” he pointed out. “Not country clothes.” He sat on the edge of the bed, removed his ring and a discreet chain from round his neck with several objects suspended on it.