Page 91 of An Ill-Made Match

“Of course,” said Lenora. “And very well you look in them too, instead of dressed like an old crow.”

Eden nudged her and Lenora laughed. “You could have my own things sent along to me now,” Eden suggested.

“I’m afraid those old dresses have been donated to the poor,” said Lenora virtuously. “To atone for your elopement.”

“They have not!”

“Will you tell Roland that he was drugged?” asked Lenora curiously.

“I’m not sure,” sighed Eden. “It would only cause disruption between him and his brother. Poor Fenella would not like that. Besides, he really doesn’t hold it against me that he thinks I tricked him. If anything, he sort of admires it.”

“I don’t understand how you can’t tell him,” frowned Lenora. “Are you in love with him? I already know he is with you.”

Eden pressed her lips together a moment. “We quarreled before the summons arrived from the Queen,” she admitted. “It could not have come at a worse time.”

“What did you quarrel about?”

Eden sighed. “It won’t make much sense if I even try to explain. You see, there’s this knight called Sir Renlowe…”

Lenora listened with her chin resting on her palm. “You’re right, it doesn’t make any sense to me,” she admitted. “But I’ve no brains to speak of.”

“I also told him he should not kiss me so much,” said Eden awkwardly, and turned bright red.

Lenora’s eyebrows rose. “I hate it when they try to do that,” she admitted, and Eden remembered what their grandmother had said about Lenora’s dislike of ardent suitors.

“I don’t,” she confided. “At least, not when it’s Roland. I just said that because… I don’t know. I wanted him to reassure me that I wasn’t just a warm body to him. Does that make sense?”

“A warm body?” Lenora repeated blankly.

Eden lowered her voice. “I know that he likes the… intimacy of the marriage bed,” she said wishing she did not sound so prim. “But I don’t know if it makes any difference that it’s me …” she trailed off miserably. “I’m not expressing myself very well.”

“Oh dear,” said Lenora. “Poor Roland.” Eden gave her a startled look. “Did you not read my letter?” Lenora chided her. “He’s been longing for you for months. The looks he was casting at you, even someone as disinclined for love as I, could read them quite plainly.” She looked at Eden in surprise. “You read all that poetry, cousin. Can you really not tell?”

Eden puffed out a breath. “I’ve been thinking that poetry isn’t much like the real thing at all.” Sir Roland is sick for love of you. She cast a sidelong look at Lenora. “Do you really think he was lovesick for me?”

“I still think he is,” said Lenora. “He won’t be cured until you love him back.”

“Do you think Lord Vawdrey spoke the truth? When he said that Roland said he would wed none but me.”

“I do,” said Lenora. “But it doesn’t really matter what I think.”

Eden reached across and clasped her cousin’s hand. “Yes, it does,” she said.

They sat for a moment in silence. Lenora squeezed her hand and they both looked up as the door opened and Jane ushered in two guests to the sitting room. Eden grabbed at Parnell’s collar, for he had bounded up at the intrusion.

It was Lady Harriet Portstanley and Lady Winifred Hawes, two serious-minded members of court who moved in scholarly circles. They had come, they said, to invite Eden to the poetry reading in the small gallery which they were sure she would not want to miss. As Eden had been instrumental in setting up these same poetry readings, it felt strange to be receiving an invite. Still, she thanked them for their consideration, and though Lenora pulled a face and cried off, Jane kindly intimated she would be happy to accompany her. She had not explicitly been told that she could not leave the Queen’s apartments alone, but it had been heavily implied. The four of them went along to the small gallery and sat and listened to the gathering of patrons and poets who had assembled there. Eden enjoyed herself for the most part, and had a flattering amount of people tell her she had been sorely missed amongst their number. One of the less enjoyable factors, was a small number of people present who were not regular members at all, but seemed to be there simply there on the off-chance of catching sight of her. They took the opportunity to gawk at Eden and talk to one another throughout the poetry. In the old days, Eden would have had stern words with them, but now she felt less certain of herself. Sat clothed in one of Lenora’s bridal frivolous gowns, she felt most unlike her old self. A mere month ago, no-one would have dared point and whisper about her in her presence. Now it seemed like something she would simply have to get used to it, until the next scandal came along to replace hers. At one point, she did level a censorious gaze in their direction, but it just had the dubious effect of dissolving them into giggles. Eden pursed her lips and went back to ignoring them.

Toward the end of the gathering, she fidgeted in her seat, wondering if it might be a good idea to simply slip away now before she was collared by anyone wishing to grill her. She touched Jane Cecil’s arm, and to Eden’s relief, Jane seemed to catch her meaning quick enough. They both rose to their feet and started edging quietly toward the door. In fact, Eden thought they had got away with it, when they managed to open and close the heavy door behind them, effecting their escape. She breathed a sigh of relief as the two of them started down the corridor, only to find her way barred by an irate gentleman, waving a parchment in her face.

“Three weeks!” he yelled. “And nary a word! Secure a patron they said! All your troubles will be over, they said!”

Eden flinched and stared at him. Dimly, she remembered him as one of poets from the group. She glanced back at the door to see if they had disbanded already, but no-one else had emerged.

“You don’t even remember me, do you?” he said accusingly.

“Mr – er- Lewen?“ ventured Eden, as things clicked into place. So he was the one that had written her the angry letter. Jane had drawn tactfully to one side of the corridor and was trying to look like she was nothing to do with them.

“I’m vastly flattered,” he remarked sarcastically.