Page 10 of An Ill-Made Match

She drew in a sharp breath. “Are you saying you don’t remember either?” she asked shakily.

He narrowed his eyes at her before returning to the water jug and picking up the cup he'd poured out. Walking over to her side, he sat heavily on the bed beside her, holding it out.

Eden released the edge of the sheet she was white-knuckling to take it, and then took a deep draught. Her hand trembled as she drained the glass. He took it from her and set it down.

“Did we...?” he let his gaze travel over her shrouded form.

“Do not speak of such things,” she begged. “How could this have happened?”

Roland’s brain felt like muddled fog, interspersed with pin pricks of pain. It hurt to try to think. He also had a raging thirst. Fetching the jug of water, he returned to the bed, filling both their cups again. “I don’t remember a damn thing,” he admitted, rubbing his temple. He stole a sideways glance her way. Eden was sipping rapidly at her water, a pained expression on her face. Her hand was shaking so badly, she was sloshing water onto the bedsheet which wrapped around her.

“I remember… playing my harp, and speaking afterward to my cousin,” she said, sounding bewildered. “She handed me her wine to drink, as she didn’t like it. I don’t remember much else.” The last part was nothing more than a whisper.

“Do you remember me at the feast?” Roland asked. A thought had pierced through the mist for a moment, but then just as quickly disappeared.

“I remember you talking loudly through our performance,” said Eden with a hint of resentment. “I thought I should give you a piece of my mind.”

“Looks like you gave me a piece of something else,” he said.

Eden sat up. “Are you being crude?” she asked uncertainly, clearly unfamiliar with the vulgarity.

He ignored her, glancing around the room. “This is my room, Eden,” he said and noticed her start when he spoke her first name. “Which means you accompanied me back to my bedchamber.” She clutched her cup so tightly, he reached across and prized it from her death grip. “Ring any bells?” he asked.

She turned bright red. “No,” she said in a strangled voice, but looked suddenly guilty as hell.

“What?” he asked. If she remembered being underneath him, and he did not… Well, it hardly seemed fair, that’s all.

“I think – I think I remember you kissing me,” she said staring past his left shoulder.

Suddenly, Roland felt parched again. He poured more water. “And?” he asked huskily.

She gave her head a quick shake. “Maybe… holding me,” she added quietly. “Unclothed.”

Roland spat out his mouthful of water. “Well,” he said. “That’s that, then,” and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

Eden’s scarlet face gazed back at him with horror. “Yes,” she said helplessly. “That’s that.”

There was a discreet knock on the door, and Roland crossed the room. It was Oswald.

"I believe we have now come to a suitable agreement," said Oswald from the doorway. “The priest will be here within the hour.”

Roland heard a groan, but wasn’t sure if he’d uttered it, or Eden.

Oswald smiled urbanely. “You’re welcome,” he said.

**

Eden spoke her vows through lips that felt numb. She was in the midst of a nightmare, a living nightmare. She simply could not believe that this was happening to her. The past two years she had worked so hard at her advancement at court. She had practiced her harp until her fingers bled. Read so many books her eyes felt strained. Sat so many hours attending the Queen that her back ached. And all for naught! She had trampled her own carefully earned reputation and honor into the dust! And for what? One or two overly-strong goblets of wine and a mad impulse to find out what came after Roland Vawdrey’s kisses? She shuddered at the thought, glancing at his handsome profile. For in the secrecy of her own heart, she had been curious. Far too many times her errant thoughts had returned to that midwinter kiss. Her cheeks burned at the recollection of her foolishness. In the privacy of her own bed, she had let her fingers trace her mouth and remembered the sensation of his firm, well-shaped lips on hers. Stupid girl! Well, she was certainly paying the price now. She would have cried, if her pride did not force her to hold her head up high. Here she was, a once righteous and virtuous maiden of impeccable repute, now completely besmirched. How her rivals at court would delight in her disgrace! She thought fleetingly of the Queen’s newest favorite, Lady Jane Cecil. Jane’s star would certainly ascend now, without Eden there to check her progress. Eden’s stomach lurched. And what would Queen Armenal say, when she heard that the attendant she always relied on, had behaved so ignominiously? Stealing her own cousin’s bridegroom? The thought of it made her feel sick. How could she have behaved so wickedly?

There could be only one explanation, and the thought of it made Eden so horrified she felt faint. She had always been an uneasy sleeper, tossing and turning, mumbling snatches of conversation in her sleep. From a young age, her cousin and the servants, anyone who prized their uninterrupted sleep had refused to share sleeping quarters with her. There had been periods during her life, when in times of trouble or anxiety, she had been a prolific sleep-walker. After her parents died, and she was first brought to live with her aunt and uncle. When she had first entered into womanhood. Many a night she had woken in the middle of the Great Hall, surrounded by pitch black. And once she had even awoken up to her knees in the dark water of the ornamental lake on the south lawn. She asked herself now, candidly, could she have slept-walked herself into Roland Vawdrey’s chamber? The thought made her stomach lurch alarmingly. But she had not done it for the whole three years she had been at court! Not once! But, whispered a voice in her head, she was now back at Hallam Hall. The scene of all her previous somnambulant forays. She would of course, have known full well which bedchamber he’d been put in, the best guest chamber. She could walk herself there now blind-folded. But even in her sleep, she asked herself, how could she have behaved so improperly? Had her slumbering conscience been unable to prevent her from acting immorally? What if her sleeping self had wondered what came after Roland Vawdrey’s kisses? Unbidden, the images had flashed into her mind’s eye when Roland Vawdrey had asked her if she remembered anything of the night before. Lying in his arms. Feeling his warm body against hers. So, it must be true. She had acted with wicked abandonment. She felt herself sway slightly, and hurriedly corrected her stance. And what of Lenora? What would her cousin think of her? They had been raised together from childhood. Eden thought of her as a sister. Would Lenora hate her now?

Her tumultuous thoughts were rudely interrupted, when Roland Vawdrey reached across and took her hand in his. She almost jumped out of her own skin. Before she could snatch it back, she realized he was merely following the priest’s instruction, so she lowered her accusatory gaze. Luckily, her hands and feet were afflicted with a strange case of pins and needles, so she couldn’t really feel his large hand engulfing hers. Still, she could scarcely believe she was even now being bound in matrimony to the greatest boor in all Karadok! Roland Vawdrey was the opposite of every virtue she admired in a man. He was a swaggering, uncouth brute! If he hadn’t been steaming drunk, he would never have given her a second glance! Eden knew only too well how highly Roland prized physical beauty, to the detriment of all other accomplishments. She knew too, that he thought her a stuck-up prude with too much book-learning. She’d heard him say as much to his group of laughing cronies. She swallowed, grateful that he’d had no humiliating recollection of her from the night before. Please gods, let that continue! She made a vow to herself that he had any flashbacks, she would vehemently deny there was any truth to them! Grudgingly, she had to admit to herself that Roland had behaved rather well about the whole business, all things considered. He hadn’t even tried to worm out of his way out of his obligation to marry her. No recriminations or accusations had fallen from his lips. Other than pointing out she had been in his chamber, he’d not tried to allot any blame for their shocking predicament. She darted a glance at his blank face, but his eyes were half-closed and he looked pretty grim. She hurriedly looked away. They both were so far from the ideal couple on their wedding day, that it was painful. She glanced down at the wet patch on her hem, which smelled like spilled wine. She had quickly dressed in her gown from the night before. Other than the wet hem, it seemed none the worse for wear, despite the fall from grace its owner had suffered. She had scrubbed it vigorously, but that was one of the many virtues of wearing black. It never showed any stains. She had to dress and braid her own hair, as her uncle did not send Hannah to attend her. She had been ushered straight from the room of her disgrace, to the chapel adjoining Hallam Hall. The ceremony was rushed through with none in attendance save her Uncle Leofric, and Roland’s brothers, the Duke of Cadwallader and Earl Vawdrey. Eden wondered with a pang if her grandmother or Lenora had been told of her downfall yet. She’d bet Uncle Christopher would be complaining bitterly to anyone who would listen. At least he had not been allowed to attend, so that was one saving grace.

As soon as the priest pronounced them married and stepped back, Eden swiveled smartly on her heel and started back up the aisle alone, her head held high. She did not wait to see what Roland intended to do, but was instead was intent on her escape. In the vestibule she heard a footfall behind her, and thought for one horrible moment that her bridegroom was pursuing her, but when she glanced over her shoulder, she found it was only her Uncle Leofric and halted.

“Where do you think you’re off to, young lady?” he puffed.

“My room,” said Eden.