Page 77 of An Ill-Made Match

The Queen arrived at the front of the room and a page stepped forward to help her climb the steps to the dais. Once she had mounted the platform she wasted no time, but approached the front to address the crowds in her commanding voice. “My lords and ladies, gentles all – welcome!” She beamed and scanned the full room with every evidence of approval. “We are here today, as you are all aware, to hear the case for and against the validity of the marriage that took place last month, between Sir Roland Vawdrey and Lady Eden Montmayne. Statements will be given by various witnesses, so that I may determine whether it is null and void or legally binding. I would ask that you keep any noise to a minimum, that we may hear what the various speakers have to say.”

A murmur of assent went up from the crowd, and Eden twisted her hands in her lap. The Queen consulted a piece of paper that was passed up to her by a clerk. “The first witness that shall testify, will be the Lady Dorothea Montmayne.” A loud excited muttering went up as the Queen walked to the back of the dais and elegantly sank into her throne there. Eden’s mouth felt dry as she turned and watched her grandmother walk stiffly down the middle of the room. She wore a dark fawn velvet gown trimmed with white fur and pearls. Her iron grey hair was swept up into an elegant matching coif and she wore a wimple giving her the full matronly effect. Her eyes were hooded, her expression grim. She dipped into a rather old fashioned curtsey which may or may not have been due to the stiffness of her joints. Then she took the seat that was pointed out to her near the front by yet another page, who wore the Argent colors of blue and gold.

“It was you, was it not, Lady Dorothea,” began the Queen in her clear, carrying voice. “Who first approached us regarding the authenticity of this marital union?”

Lady Dorothea inclined her head. “It was,” she assented.

“And why was it, that you felt impelled to appeal to your sovereign for intercession on this matter?”

“I had many pressing concerns,” said her grandmother dryly. “Not the least being the clandestine manner in which the ceremony was performed. I was not present, despite being under the same roof at the time. It was conducted at an ungodly hour, with very few witnesses.” She paused while this was digested. Then added, “I do not believe my niece was consenting.” There was a clamor of noise at this. Eden closed her eyes briefly. “I believe she was coerced,” continued Lady Dorothea calmly. “And to add insult to injury, she was not the intended bride in this agreement between our families. Sir Roland Vawdrey was contracted to another.”

The buzz of whispers that greeted this was very loud indeed. Eden heard her cousin’s name on several tongues, but when she steeled herself to glance in Lenora’s direction, she found her looking as detached and tranquil as ever. Nothing it seemed, could disrupt Lenora’s poise.

“These are serious allegations, indeed Lady Dorothea,” said the Queen soberly. “I count at least three possible impediments.” She looked across at one of the clerks who was making notes with his quill pen. He gave a firm nod of agreement. “Could you oblige us, by elaborating further on why you believe the ceremony was clandestine in nature?”

“Certainly I can,” replied Lady Dorothea magnificently. “My son, Leofric told me the banquet he was hosting was a betrothal feast only. Not,” stressed Lady Dorothea. “A wedding feast. He told me it was for his daughter, Lenora. Why then, the following morning, was my other granddaughter hastily married off in some obscure manner and spirited away without even so much as a farewell to her kinfolk?”

Eden felt her heart race, and had to struggle not to cover her face with her hands. Had her uncle not given his mother any explanation for what had occurred?

“Was no explanation offered to you by Sir Leofric?” the Queen asked, echoing Eden’s unspoken thoughts.

Lady Dorothea’s mouth twisted. “The explanation I was treated to, was inconceivable in every way and an insult to my intelligence, as well as my granddaughter,” she said bitterly.

The Queen paused while the audience made of that what they would. Eden felt the tips of her ears burn. She could quite imagine that there were plenty of rumors abroad after her uncle Christopher had been spreading malicious gossip. She clutched her skirts between nerveless fingers and dared not look toward her uncle.

“Perhaps,” said the Queen loudly. “You could instead explain to us why it is, that you do not believe the Lady Eden would have been a willing participant in such nuptials?”

Suddenly Eden felt glad that Roland was not present for this. She stared at her grandmother in horror, waiting for the words that would fall from those thin lips.

“Indeed I can, when we conversed prior to the betrothal feast, we discussed quite frankly Sir Roland’s unsuitability as a bridegroom.”

Eden stiffened. Oh no. She wracked her brain, trying to remember their conversation. What had she said? She did not think she had been so very insulting about Roland’s fitness for marriage. After all, she had been trying to be diplomatic and not to worry her grandmother.

“When you say ‘we’…?”

“Eden and myself.” Clarified Lady Dorothea.

“And do you remember,” asked the Queen with a gleam in her eye. “What qualities the two of you found particularly lacking in Sir Roland?”

Lady Dorothea pursed her lips. “I do not remember the specifics,” she said. “But I distinctly remember we were of one accord in our wishes. That Lenora should wake up and realize he was not the man for her, before the marriage took place.”

The Queen nodded slowly. “I see,” she said. “But, just because Eden did not think that Sir Roland would make her cousin a good bridegroom, it does not follow that she would rule him out as one for herself.”

“My granddaughter has never admired that manner of man,” said Lady Dorothea grandly. “She has always had refined and artistic tastes,” She looked down her rather long nose and fixed Eden with a gimlet eye. Eden blushed and looked away. “It is unthinkable that she would desire such an ill-made match.”

“I see, thank you Lady Dorothea.” Eden forced herself to watch as her grandmother jerkily rose from the chair and then stalked back to her original seating place. “I think next,” said Queen Armenal, her voice rising above the babble, “that we should talk to the alleged jilted bride, the Lady Lenora.”

This caused a furor among the masses. Eden turned her head and stared with the rest as Lenora rose from her chair a vision of feminine beauty with her pink and white complexion, her cornflower blue eyes and her golden ringleted hair. Many sighs were heard around the chamber as she made her way to the front and curtseyed gracefully to the Queen. She wore a very simple gown of the palest pink, and a wispy veil fluttered about her, concealing nothing. She looked like an angel.

“Fair Lenora,” said the Queen. “Your legendary beauty has not dimmed one whit as a result of such infamous treatment I find.”

“Oh no,” said Lenora opening her eyes very wide. “I have known for months that Sir Roland only had eyes for my cousin. He never wanted to marry me.”

“Nonsense child!” burst out her grandmother, Lady Dorothea angrily from the crowd. “Why you persist in this tale, is beyond me! I have explained this to you many times…” She broke off angrily when she noticed her words were creating quite a stir in the audience with several people craning their heads to look at her.

‘For shame!’ Eden heard one courtier hiss. ‘Trying to browbeat the fair Lenora!’ tutted another. Eden winced, but looking back at her cousin, found her looking utterly unruffled by the interruption. “He never wanted to marry me,” Lenora repeated clearly, and their grandmother turned quite purple with chagrin.

“Thank you, Lenora,” said the Queen brightly. “It is fascinating to see things from a different viewpoint. Then this feast…?” she suggested. “It was not a formal betrothal feast between your two families as everyone thought?”