Page 88 of Wed By Proxy

“No, she did not,” he said ruefully. “She discussed that with you, did she?” He shot her a swift, appraising look. “I wish I had managed to inspire her confidences to a similar degree. I made rather a mess of that whole episode, I’m afraid.”

Suddenly, it hit Mathilde with clarity, why his manner seemed so strange. He was speaking to her as if she was an equal, she realized. She didn’t think a courtier had ever done that to her before. Except for Fenella, of course.

“I’m not sure what it is about wives that can send a man into a perfect frenzy of idiocy,” he continued with a sigh. “But I acted like the greatest fool on earth. Mercifully, Fenella is the best of all women and has forgiven me.”

“And everything is well between you now?” pressed Mathilde a trifle anxiously. Fenella was the sweetest and kindest person Mathilde had ever met, and Lord Vawdrey … was not.

He smiled, and Mathilde blinked. She didn’t think she’d ever seen Oswald Vawdrey smile quite like that before. Suddenly, he looked a good deal more approachable.

“Oh yes,” he said with a satisfied assurance that spoke volumes. “And I mean to spend the rest of my days making sure it remains that way.”

Mathilde released a relieved breath. “So, what will you do about the play?” she asked curiously.

Her dear friend Fenella had become a patroness to a playwright with disastrous consequences. He had decided to capitalize on her notoriety by releasing a play about her disastrous first marriage, divorce and subsequent remarriage to Lord Vawdrey, under the thin guise of a tragedy.

Lord Vawdrey waved a negligent hand. “It is dealt with already. I met with the playwright, a Mr Enderbury — perhaps you know him?” Mathilde demurred. She was not a patroness of the arts, having a lively horror of speaking to artists and practically anyone of consequence at court. “A most enterprising fellow,” he continued smoothly. “I persuaded him that extensive rewrites were in order. My assistant Brice has uncovered a heretofore unsuspected talent for literature and helped in the redrafting. It is now ready to tour the provinces with a revised title and ending. The Most Tragical History of a Woman Most Foully Betrayed has now become The Husband Tamer: A Play in Three Acts.

Mathilde’s mouth dropped open. “The H-husband Tamer?” she stammered.

Oswald’s smile grew. “Yes. It is no longer a tragedy, but a farce. When it was originally performed in the Great Hall at Aphrany, everyone was most underwhelmed by Mr Enderbury’s ending. Now, instead of perishing a tragic martyr, The Lady Mawby ends the play triumphantly leading her adoring spouse, the Lord Orlando, about by the nose.”

Mathilde gasped. Lady Vyella Mawby was a thinly disguised caricature of Fenella, and Lord Orlando of Oswald himself. “And you don’t mind it ending that way?” she asked tentatively.

He shrugged. “Not at all. My self-esteem is quite healthy I assure you. Fenella was more horrified than I, but then, she has no notion that it was changed at my instigation.” A smile spread over his face. “Naturally I enjoyed her indignation on my behalf. She has been most solicitous to ensure my feelings aren’t hurt by this new turn of events and has forsworn playwrights altogether.”

Mathilde’s expression wavered. “You will not tell her it is at your instigation?”

Oswald’s eyebrows rose. “Good gods no! She would insist that it was rewritten again, with me as a shining beacon of virtue. It is much better this way,” he said with calm assurance. “I predict Enderbury has a great hit on his hands. No doubt it will be touring for a good few years and finance his prodigious offspring.”

Mathilde considered this a moment. “I do hope it comes to the north,” she said wistfully, and Oswald leaned back in his seat and laughed.

“You mean to remain then?” he asked, leaning across and refilling her goblet.

Mathilde gave a start. “Of course,” she said with a frown. “Really, I need to return home forthwith. My husband will doubtless be most concerned if I am not awaiting his return.”

Oswald looked unconvinced. “I don’t think that’s going to work,” he said regretfully. “You see, I am in possession of some facts that you are not.”

“What facts?” asked Mathilde in alarm, lowering the goblet she had been raising to her lips.

He looked apologetic. “The queen and your mother are also put up here at Woodcote House.”

Mathilde’s heart thudded. “My mother?” she repeated in startled accents. Oh no. “Why is the queen this far north?”

“To see you,” he said frankly. “You do not seem to realize the stir you have caused at court, my dear Lady Martindale. The whole place is in uproar over it.”

Conversation was stalled while the table was cleared and they returned to the seats set in front of the fire, Lord Vawdrey settling back in his with a sigh.

“I feel I must apologize,” he said. “You see, I did not realize how perilously close to the edge, Tristan Kerslake had grown, playing his dangerous game. The letter he sent alarmed me greatly. Thankfully it reached me, although I was already en route.”

“You were already coming North before you received his letter?” Mathilde asked.

“Yes, or I would not have been in time,” he said. “Though, in truth, you were forced to save yourself in the end. I simply helped pick up the pieces.”

“But why,” Mathilde persisted. “Why were you already headed North?”

He was silent a moment. “I’m not sure if you have been in communication with anyone at court recently?” Mathilde almost folded her arms. Oswald Vawdrey seemed to ask more questions than he answered. He gave a small smile, as if aware of her thoughts. “You see, it had finally been confirmed that this was where you had flown to.”

“Oh.” She digested this a moment in silence. “So, when you spoke of ‘delivering me up’ to ‘a concerned party’ you meant…” Her words trailed off in dismay. “To my mother.”