Page 3 of An Ill-Made Match

Eden looked at her cousin critically. “Of course you do,” she argued. “That’s an absurd thing to say, Lenora.”

Her cousin shook her head. “No, it’s the truth,” she said calmly. I have nothing to offer as a friend. It’s because my growth was stunted.”

Eden’s jaw dropped. “Whatever do you mean?” she demanded. “We’re – we’re the same height for heaven’s sake!”

“Not my physical growth,” Lenora corrected her. “It’s like that wise woman told me that time outside Hallam Abbey. Don’t you remember?”

Eden suppressed a snort. In her opinion, Lenora set far too much store in what fortune-tellers told her. She always had. “Was that the one who said there was a curse on your pretty face?” she asked sarcastically, as she eyed the crowd. They were starting to disperse now and filter out of the stands.

Lenora flinched. “Yes,” she said hollowly. “That was her.”

“Well, I hardly think-“

“She said you and I were two branches of an old and venerated tree. Though my branch was higher up with superior views, your branch was flourishing and putting forth leaves, while my branch was stunted and withered and bore no buds.”

Eden rolled her eyes. “Lenora-”

“Don’t you see?” said Lenora again, lighting up with unaccustomed enthusiasm. “I’ve thought it through, and she was right! All anyone ever told me as a child was how beautiful I was and how well I would marry – at least a duke or an earl, if not a prince!”

“Well, yes,” agreed Eden. “But I don’t see-”

“There you have it,” said Lenora, sitting back in her seat. “That kind of talk stunted me,” she shrugged her shoulders. “All that was ever expected of me was to sit and look pretty. While you were devouring books and your studies, I stagnated. It stunted me. I never… grew, as I should. At the end of the day, I’m only half-made.”

Eden stared at her cousin. Where had this come from? She had never heard Lenora speak in such a way. “I – but, if that’s the way you feel then there’s still time Lenora,” she tried to reason with her. “There are still books to read and dancing masters and music lessons and-”

“No,” her cousin said simply. “No, there isn’t. The opportunity is quite gone. My father expects me to marry before my twenty-first birthday. He would be appalled if I told him I wanted to engage tutors and to study at this late stage. Beside,” she said hopelessly. “My mind is quite formed, and it is just a sad blank. I have no conversation. I have only this,” she pointed to her face. “The wise woman was quite right about that. Only, now I think we must have mis-remembered her words. I don’t think she said there was a curse on my pretty face. I think said that my pretty face was the curse.”

Eden tried and failed to hide her concern. She had never dreamed that Lenora had such thoughts, or, if she was truthful, that she was even capable of thinking such things. Lenora was, well… not a deep thinker. She mostly seemed to daydream her days away and seemed happiest of all left in peace with her cat or with old decrepit suitors that posed no threat. That she could have been having such thoughts, was disturbing to Eden. She struggled to think of what to say.

“Do not fret yourself, cousin,” Lenora told her, placing a hand on her sleeve. “I did not mean to pose this as a thorny knot for you to unravel. There is nothing to be done about it now. I must simply tread this path that has been laid out before me. I must,” she said. “Marry well and soon.”

**

It was some three hours later that Roland, accompanied by his squire, returned to the Vawdrey quarters in the summer palace. He booted the door open and dropped his arms inside the door with a large clatter. Cuthbert started gathering up the various pieces of his armor and making a pile of it. They were both surprised when they noticed a quiet, tall figure sat at the table examining the pile of trophies and cups stacked there.

“Oswald!” exclaimed Roland, straightening up. “Didn’t see you there.”

“This place,” said his older brother turning with a frown. “Is starting to resemble a miser’s cave.”

Roland snorted and flung his latest acquisition onto the pile. “I haven’t got around to getting this lot melted down yet,” he said airily. “Besides, you and Mason haven’t stayed here in months.”

“So you and Cuthbert have been letting the place go to merry ruin!” Oswald tutted. “It’s frightening what the lack of a civilizing influence can do.”

Cuthbert grinned, but Roland scowled, throwing himself down into a chair opposite him.

Oswald picked up the latest gold trophy. “You won then?” he said, examining the prize.

“Who else?” asked Roland arrogantly.

Oswald tipped his head. “I had heard, that some of the northern barons had lately entered the lists. And were not to be taken lightly.”

“What of it?”

“Sir Garman Orde’s the best of them,” piped up Cuthbert, settling himself down on a footstool with a polishing cloth. “He’s beaten Roland twice this year so far.”

“And how many times have I beaten him?” asked Roland belligerently.

“Twice,” answered Cuthbert serenely.