Page 47 of The Consolation Prize

Armand led her to a two-seated bench and drew her down beside him, his arm sliding about her waist once more. “And now, music,” he said extravagantly. “Will you entertain us, dear sister-in-law, with a song?” Muriel pressed her pale lips together and folded her thin hands in her lap. She was dressed in the fashion of at least a decade ago, with a large pointed wimple and velvet hood that covered her hair completely. Her little face looked quite swamped beneath the huge headdress.

“No?” continued Armand in mock disappointment. “Well then, I suppose we must not be greedy. After all you have been entertaining us with your voice all evening.”

Roger let out a guffaw, which he hastily stifled by pressing the back of his hand to his mouth.

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“Armand,” said his father warningly.

“I could ask Rose to come up and play the harp for our entertainment,” Una suggested. “She is a most obliging girl and—”

“I think not,” said Sir Hugo, cutting across her words coldly.

“Father,” Armand said in the same warning tone his sire had used only moments before. They stared at one another a moment.

“I apologize,” said Sir Hugo stiffly. “I forgot where I was for a moment.” He rose jerkily from his seat. “I think it is high time that we departed. Henry, Roger.” The other two rose and Henry crossed to where his wife sat rigid-backed, to offer her his hand before hauling her out of the chair.

“Thank the gods for small mercies,” Armand murmured, before wishing them a cheery goodnight.

8

“Do you suppose Henry’s wife has a bad back?” Una asked later, as she sat on the edge of the bed and braided her hair.

“What’s that?” Armand lowered his razor and glanced over at her. He had been reflecting on the fact their bedroom fire had not been lit, despite the evening going off cold.

“I just wondered …,” she trailed off. “I suppose they must have heard from someone in the village that you were home.” Suddenly, she gave a suppressed wail and dropped her face into her hands.

“What is it?” he asked with alarm.

“I wish I had not made such a horrible impression on your family!” she said through her fingers. “I was awful!”

Armand gave a soft laugh. “You weren’t anywhere near as bad as they were.” He set down his razor and wiped his face. “How are you feeling now?” he asked, blowing out the candle on the table and approaching the bed.

“A lot better,” she sighed.

“Good.” He pulled back the bed covers and climbed in, eying her back as she tied the ribbon at the end of her braid. Then she swung it over her back and blew out her candle, joining him in the bed.

They were both silent laying side by side, the only sound their breathing, except for some scuffling under the cabinet, which he hoped was her dog and not a rat. “Are you doing your trick to take the edge off a cold bed?” he asked casually.

He heard her turn her head toward him. “Are you cold? I did not think to remind Rose to light the fires,” she said regretfully.

He grunted. “It will be a good thing when that new housekeeper starts. Maybe she can keep her in line.”

Una was silent at this and he found himself going over the evening in his mind’s eye. His father hadn’t changed one bit, still a stiff-rumped, disapproving, old buzzard. The least said about Henry and his ghastly wife, the better, and it seemed Roger had not gone off to his religious seminary after all. He wondered vaguely what his father was planning to do with the feckless idiot now he had no clear path in life.

After dismissing his family from his thoughts, he dwelt instead on his wife, who had unexpectedly been sent into a blind panic at the prospect of unannounced visitors. He didn’t think he’d seen her flurried before. Except, perhaps that morning after their wedding when he’d planned on leaving her at the palace. That had sent her into something of a spin. Still, it hadn’t been a glazed-eyed, pale as a ghost, cold sweat sort of panic. Not even after they had so nearly been murdered in their beds in that second inn.

No, she had been shaken that night, but not sick with dread and fear. He considered this a moment in frowning concentration. He had a strong notion it had been the knocking on the door that had set Una into a panic, and he remembered vividly how she had wept in his arms at that first inn, the night they had spoken of Strethneal. He had known then that Una hadn’t really laid her ghosts to rest from the war but hadn’t wanted to dwell on the matter.

After all, it was no business of his, or so he had reasoned at the time. Now he found himself wondering if there had been a knock at the door when Wymer’s forces had arrested her. He would never ask of course. Forcing a confidence from her might make her believe him willing to take on more than he intended.

Also, he did not mean to reopen any old wounds if he could help it. Una’s scars were not visible, but clearly, they ran deep. If not, they could not make her lose her appetite and send her into a frenzy even now, years later simply by a knock at the door.

In any case, what could he possibly do to lighten her burden? She was obviously used to shouldering it alone and simply putting a brave face on it. For some reason, that thought didn’t sit quite right with him. He reached out for her in the dark and drew her closer to him. “How’s your stomach now?” He placed his palm carefully over the slight swell of her belly. “Still queasy?”

“It’s not turning over anymore,” she assured him.

“You’re not hungry?”