Page 6 of An Ill-Made Match

“No, thank you,” said Eden feeling bewildered. It wasn’t that her cousin wasn’t usually generous with her possessions, for she was. Lenora didn’t have a selfish bone in her body. It was just that she wasn’t usually so persistent when she got an idea in her lovely golden head.

Eden regarded her cousin, feeling troubled. This last month, she had really tried to encourage Lenora in the pursuit of more substance, but it had all come to naught. All of her suggestions for personal improvement had been rejected. Especially when Lenora’s Father, Eden’s uncle had proposed this wretched match with Roland Vawdrey. The whole of the Montmayne household had been overtaken with talk of the betrothal and nothing else. It was all very frustrating to Eden. She felt helpless. Why did Lenora not struggle against this awful fate she saw unfolding for herself? How hard could it be to reform your ways and turn your life around? Finally, Eden had been forced to accept that Lenora was determined on this course of action, and would duly marry the King’s champion. But now she found herself feeling irritated by even Lenora’s attitude toward this!

In Eden’s book, if you have committed to something, then it should be completely. This was the attitude that had made her the best dancer in all of Karadok. It had also made her a fine musician and songstress. She had applied herself to her lessons as if her life depended on it. There were no half-measures for her. So this lackluster attitude of Lenora’s was infuriating. Where was the excitement that a bride-to-be should exhibit? Why didn’t Lenora care to wear her best dress or jewelry? Eden wished now that she had not backed right off about this betrothal. Mayhap her cousin did not wish to marry the boorish Roland Vawdrey after all? And she had offered her no moral support.

“It’s not too late, you know,” she said, dropping down onto a seat opposite Lenora. “If your heart is not in this betrothal… I could speak to my uncle and explain-“

“Oh no,” said Lenora, opening her blue eyes very wide. “This is absolutely the right step. I am convinced of it.”

“Really?” asked Eden skeptically. Then she decided to bring out the one thing she knew Lenora felt strongly about. “What about your prediction from that street hawker in Bonebartle? How does Roland Vawdrey fit in with that?” If Lenora’s composure and placidity had one weak point, it was her devotion to superstition. And cats. “Have you even asked Sir Roland how he feels about cats?” Eden added slyly. “Only I had heard he didn’t care for them.”

Lenora turned very red. “Did you really hear that about the cats?” she whispered. Eden experienced an inner struggle with herself. Reluctantly, she shook her head. Lenora breathed out. “You yourself told me that prediction was a great piece of nonsense,” Lenora said rallying bravely.

“You know I set little store by such things,” Eden replied, lamenting her own honesty.

“And in the last ten years, I have never yet met a knight whose emblem was a weeping heart.”

“So, you’ve given up waiting for him?” Eden asked her. “When you were twelve you vowed you would marry none other.”

“Eleven,” Lenora corrected her, but her eyes were dreamy again and she was stroking the purring Griselda. Eden could tell the opportunity had passed, and she was to be lumbered with Roland Vawdrey for a family member.

With a bitter taste in her mouth, she made her way down to seek out her uncle and find out if there were any particular duties for her that evening. Officially, her grandmother would act as hostess, but Lady Dorothea Montmayne had been sticking to her rooms all day, and had refused to be prized out of them, even for the arrival home of her two granddaughters.

After only one day, Eden was already feeling the strain of being back at Hallam Park. And she hadn’t even seen Lenora’s mother, her aunt Gwenda yet. They had arrived back the previous night to prepare for the betrothal party, but from what Eden could see, Hobson, the steward had everything well under way. The kitchens were well stocked, extra staff had been brought in to serve at the tables and the hall had been scrubbed from top to bottom. She wished her uncle had not insisted on her attendance at all. She had been raised as Lenora’s companion, that much was true, but surely being a bridal attendant at the wedding would suffice, as far as duty went? Did she really need to drink a toast to Lenora’s ill-advised betrothal? Everyone knew she thought Roland Vawdrey was a poor choice of bridegroom, and she really hadn’t wanted to leave the summer court. Several events were coming up that the Queen would be depending on her to organize. Without her there, Queen Armenal would invariably fall back on her new favorite Jane Cecil. Eden pressed her lips together with vexation when she thought of it. She had worked so hard for her position at court!

She found her uncle in the Great Hall, which was being decked out for the feast.

“My mother’s being awkward, Eden,” her uncle fretted, hurrying over to her. “I am depending on you to ensure she behaves herself tonight.”

Eden shot a look at him. No-one could make Lady Dorothea do a thing against her will, as well he knew. “I will do what I can, Uncle,” she assured him.

“Good, good,” he said. “Is my daughter yet dressed? The Vawdrey party will be arriving around sundown.”

“Yes,” said Eden. “She was having her hair arranged when I left her.”

“And my wife?”

Eden grimaced. “I have not yet seen my aunt,” she admitted. “But Paulson said she had taken to her rooms with a headache and did not wish to be disturbed until strictly necessary.” In her youth Aunt Gwenda had been a golden beauty like Lenora. She found it hard to see her daughter the center of attention, even though she thought it her rightful place. It was probably for this reason that she was seldom at court.

“And has my brother Christopher arrived with his demon spawn, your cousin?” Uncle Leofric asked with a shudder.

“I have not seen hide nor hair of Uncle Christopher or Kit,” Eden replied. Kit was her fifteen year old cousin who would inherit Hallam Hall on Sir Leofric’s demise. His Father, Uncle Christopher was Uncle Leo’s younger brother and an insufferably pompous bore. Every chance he got to crow that it was he and not his older brother who had sired a son and heir, he took it. Thankfully Uncle Christopher’s wife was not coming to tonight’s betrothal feast as she had fallen out badly with Lady Dorothea and been banned from Hallam Hall the previous winter.

Her uncle fidgeted. “Is that the gown you’re wearing?” he asked, looking her up and down with a wince. “This is an occasion of joy, child.”

“Is it?” said Eden dryly. She could not imagine what he was about, marrying her beautiful cousin off to Roland Vawdrey. At the very least, she had thought Lenora would marry foreign royalty. What was the point in squandering her beauty on a mere third son?

Her uncle gave her a sharp look and she returned his gaze unflinchingly until he at last, looked away.

“Roland Vawdrey is a fine match,” bleated Sir Leofric. “He has excellent connections and is the King’s own champion.”

“What about when his sword arm fails?” asked Eden. “What then?”

“And why should it fail?” her uncle bridled. “His sire was a fine, strong man, well into his sixties. No-one would dare challenge him! He was a great bear of a man.”

“Does Sir Roland even realize the jewel you are bestowing on him?” Eden asked pointedly. “He is arrogant and proud. To my knowledge he has not sought out my cousin once to woo, or have some private speech with her-”

“And why should he? That is most proper!” blustered Sir Leofric. “Whispering with ladies in corners is not the act of a gentleman, but of a scoundrel! I am shocked, Eden. Shocked at your attitude! You speak to me of pride and arrogance,” he railed. “But you are the one who needs to bend your neck! Since you have been at court this last three years you seem to have grown a good deal too pleased with yourself I think!”