Page 72 of Wed By Proxy

Helga looked pleasantly surprised by his words. “Well, well,” she murmured. “Almost, you impress me.” He scowled at her. “Think of it this way. Your foundations were mostly sound, but one tower was built on a cliff edge that would erode in time. Seeing this, you dismantled this tower and rebuilt it on firmer ground.” Guy considered this a moment. “Does that sound any more palatable?”

He gave a short nod and cleared his throat. “Aye. I’ll consider it that way.”

“Excellent.” She shot him a sidelong glance. “Shall I tell you the fate I told your father would befall you?”

He was startled, but did not hesitate. “Tell me.”

“That you would fall deeply in love with your own wife, a southerner. And that if you managed to earn her love in return, all would be well at Acton March.”

Guy flushed. “That was it?”

“It was.”

Tancred gave another croak. Helga gave a wintry smile. “Oh, you will, will you?” With a deft movement of her hand she tossed an oatcake up into air. It was caught in a large black beak and consumed with ruthless efficiency. “I accept your apology,” Helga added coolly.

Guy wasn’t sure if she was talking to him or the bird.

XXX

“Come in,” Mathilde called out listlessly, in answer to the light tap on the door. She already knew it wasn’t Guy from the lightness of the rap.

She was sat bundled up on the window seat, a woolen mantle over her shift, and her hair in a messy mop of curls. She had washed, but hadn’t bothered to so much as drag a comb through her hair. She would have to use his if she did, she thought, looking around the large bedroom in a desultory fashion. And she didn’t want to touch anything of Guy’s. It was curious to think she would have been so happy to have been set up in his rooms only three days ago. A blonde head peered around the door. This must be Temur’s wife, she surmised. She was young and fair and carrying a bundle of clothes in her arms.

“Good morning, my lady,” Lettys said, gazing about her in open curiosity. She shut the door behind her. “I have some of your clothes here brought over from the lodge.”

Mathilde eyed the scarlet dress on the top of the pile with disfavor. Prudie must have repaired it. She certainly wasn’t wearing that! Seducing Guy was the last thing she wanted to do.

“My green wool gown will do very well,” she answered with obvious disinterest.

“Begging your pardon, my lady, but his lordship has had that given away.”

“Given away?” Mathilde was momentarily startled out of her apathy. It was the only warm dress she possessed. Certainly, the only one that covered her charms adequately.

“A woolen dress is not fit for a marchioness,” Lettys informed her firmly.

“Well, he seemed to think it appropriate, when he gave it to me,” Mathilde answered tartly, before she could stop herself. Lettys’s eyes widened.

“It little matters,” she continued quickly. “As I have no inclination to venture below stairs.”

She turned her face away from Lettys’ curious gaze. The young woman shrugged and placed the pile of clothes down at the foot of the bed, opening and closing drawers, tidying her things away. Mathilde fought down a wave of annoyance at the way her own wishes were being so ignored.

“Where is Prudence?” she asked pointedly.

“She’s returned to the lodge,” Lettys informed her cheerfully.

Mathilde sat up in her seat. “Returned to the lodge? Without me?”

“Which one does your ladyship wish to wear today?” asked Lettys brightly. She held up the scarlet or her sapphire gown.

“When did she return?” Mathilde persisted. “I did not give her leave to return.”

Lettys nibbled her bottom lip ruminatively. “If I tell you, will you oblige me by picking a gown?” she cajoled, before adding hurriedly, “Your Ladyship.”

“It little signifies,” Mathilde sighed. “And please stop calling me my lady, I am not accustomed to such considerations. Call me Mathilde.”

Lettys looked gratified. “I’m by way of a cousin of yours through marriage,” she said eagerly. “I’m called Lettys. I believe you know my man, Temur? Temur is a second cousin of His Lordship’s. On his mother’s side.”

“I’m pleased to meet you, Lettys,” Mathilde found herself murmuring, unable to ignore societal politeness. After all, it was not this young woman’s fault that Acton March was the last place on earth that she wanted to be right now, and its master the very last person she wanted to see. Seeing Lettys take up the scarlet dress in the face of her silence on the matter, Mathilde was forced to speak up. “Not that one,” she said apologetically. “It has … associations. I’ll wear the sapphire blue.”