Page 66 of Wed By Proxy

“I didn’t know she was his wife!” Waldon protested. “No one knows!”

Helga nodded sagely. “He has been careful to keep it so.”

Mathilde covered her trembling mouth with her hand. “He woos another?” she asked of Helga in a low, urgent voice.

“If you do not believe me,” Helga replied calmly. “Then there is the evidence of your own eyes.”

Mathilde started up immediately from her chair.

“My lady!” Prudie exclaimed in alarm. “Wait! You cannot mean to go there!”

But Mathilde had already rounded the table and was heading with determination for the door.

XXVII

Guy looked up wearily from his plate. The venison and wild boar dishes were being cleared away now and the musicians were striking up another tune. It seemed there was to be a musical interval between each course. He leaned to one side and signaled for Firmin, who stood on the sidelines overseeing the servers.

His steward darted forward “Aye, Guy?”

“How many courses are we serving?”

“Seven,” replied Firmin proudly.

“A feast fit for a king!” drawled Tristan Kerslake, draining his goblet.

Firmin signaled for Jankin, who was holding a pitcher of wine. He snapped his fingers and gestured to Guy and Tristan.

“Not for me,” said Guy absently. His own wine goblet was untouched.

“You do not drink?” Firmin asked in surprise. “This wine was laid down by your father and is of the finest vintage.”

“I am sure,” Guy replied. “But as host I would rather keep a clear head and remember my duties.”

Firmin frowned, but luckily the Countess of Strethneal was asking a question about the centerpiece of peacock feathers so he was distracted. Guy did not know if he could withstand the temptation to steal away to the lodge after the banquet was done. His head ached from the buzz of conversation and the whining strings of the musicians jarred on him this evening. He drank some ale and leaned back in his seat, frowning at the view of all the neighboring lords and ladies it afforded him.

The atmosphere was not joyous or even pleasant to his mind, but that might have been down to the fact that Firmin had seated Julia at the other end of the table in the hostess’s place. Of course, Guy had deliberately left all decisions regarding the banquet to his steward, but this choice was one that bothered him unduly. He knew not why for in two hours’ time, the business would be over and done with. That did not stop him from frowning every time his eye fell on Julia in her golden gown and diadem, lording it over everyone like a queen.

It did not help that at her bodice she wore a Martindale ruby which he had been fool enough to give to her as a betrothal gift in his youth. He had almost forgotten he had broken up the set to give it away. It had hardly seemed to matter at the time, but her wearing it now made him acutely uncomfortable. The ruby was set in the heraldic beast of the Martindales, a large white enameled swan with its wings extended and a gold collar about its neck. It certainly drew the eye, and no doubt all of his neighbors would be aware of who must have given it to her. They could hardly fail to do so, when a huge portrait of his grandmother hung in this very hall, dominating the north wall. The old dowager marchioness was depicted resplendent in the full set of necklace, tiara, bracelet and brooch.

Guy told himself he was a fool to feel so discomforted that Julia flaunted the brooch now. It was not as though he ever intended for his wife to get her greedy hands on it. Why, then, did he feel almost ashamed whenever he saw anyone’s eyes dwell on it now? It was not as though he was saving it for anyone. Unless, a small voice whispered in his ear, he managed to secure that divorce from the present marchioness, then wed where his own choice lay. Immediately a vision of Mathilde rose up before his eyes.

He glanced up at his haughty grandmother and tried to imagine Mathilde dressed in a formal court gown, plastered in so many jewels. He smiled to himself briefly, though it soon faded. How would he answer, if she saw the portrait and asked where the missing brooch was? He shifted uneasily in his seat.

He was imagining problems now, where none existed! It wasn’t like him to be so fanciful. Then he gave a start, straightening in his chair. Emerging from the shadows, as if he had conjured her from thin air by the power of his thoughts alone, came Mathilde. He stared, surely his mind was playing tricks on him. But no, other heads were turning now. The musicians faltered, their fingers stalling over their instruments. Guy found himself unable to catch his breath. He felt frozen to his seat as he saw her cross the room, like a sleepwalker, the expression in her eyes wounded. The room fell deadly silent, and almost as if on cue, the conversation died on everyone’s lips. People gasped audibly at the appearance of this stricken-looking stranger.

Mathilde’s gaze went from him to Julia, and then he watched in horror as they dwelt on the portrait and then back to Julia. Her cheeks flushed hot with color. She walked up the long table in her simple wool dress, past all the guests in their fine silks and velvets and finally arrived in front of him, coming to a halt. He swallowed and tried to fight down the irrational guilt that engulfed him.

Julia Allworthy’s voice rang out authoritatively across the whispers. “Mistress, you forget yourself!” she said in a loud, stern voice. “Your kind are not welcome here at Acton March!”

Guy started, the harsh words shocking him out of his stupor, but even as he opened his mouth to refute them, Mathilde’s expression altered to anger.

“Sweetheart,” he said hoarsely, and at his word, she stiffened, drew back her hand and delivered a stinging slap across his face. It rang out so loud that it silenced all the muttering.

“How dare you…” she uttered in a low, trembling voice. He reached for her hand. It had to smart from delivering that blow, but she snatched it back before he could massage her little palm. “You faithless man!” She pronounced the word as if it hurt her throat to speak it.

He stared at her, his own face fast draining of color. “Faithless?” Never that. Her breast rose and fell with emotion. “Mathilde…”

Her servant, Prudence emerged from the crowd. “Come away, milady. Come away from this wretched place!” she urged, grabbing for her arm. Mathilde turned toward her, almost blindly, allowing her maid to lead her stumbling away. Someone else detached themselves from the crowd and took her other arm. Guy thought for a moment it was Waldon.