Page 92 of An Ill-Made Match

“Of course I remember,” said Eden smoothly. “You secured the patronage of the Duchess of Rand, I think? A couple of months ago, at one of our meetings.”

“Oh yes!” said Mr Lewen with a short, sardonic laugh. “Her!”

Eden paused. “I’m afraid I don’t quite follow you-”

“Took my life’s work she did!” he huffed, tears springing to his eyes. “Said she would be in touch with me forthwith, and then what do I find?” he swung wide an arm and covered his eyes tragically. “She’s carried it off to her middle son’s seat in the country with her! Without even sending me word!”

Eden hesitated. “Is it your only copy she has taken?” she asked, not without sympathy. He was certainly very distressed. “I am sure I can find the direction of her son’s estate and write to her there-”

“It’s one hundred and fifty pages madam!” he screeched, pulling at his lank hair. “How many copies do you think I have?”

Eden drew herself up, adopting her firmest, most no-nonsense manner. Clearly expressing any sympathy for Mr Lewen in his current frame of mind was a mis-step. “As I said,” she said briskly. “I will certainly speak to the Duchess, and-”

Mr Lewen wheeled around, blocking Eden’s path with his body. He flung his skinny arms wide, preventing her from brushing past him. “That’s what you say!” he said wildly. “But when? When?” The last word was practically screamed in her face. Eden pursed her lips together. He was going to cause a scene at this rate. She glanced past him, but no-one else was yet in view. She was sure she did not have much time before the poetry gathering broke up and there would be plenty of spectators. “Please collect yourself, Mr Lewen,” she said coolly. “I realize this has being a trying time for you, but-”

“Oh, do you? Do you really?” he gave high bitter laugh, and Eden heard an edge of hysteria with a sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach. “What would the likes of you know about my struggles?” he demanded shrilly, his voice shaking with emotion. “You couldn’t have the faintest notion, madam!” Eden braced herself as he stepped directly into her space, bringing his face close to hers. “You’re absolutely bloody-”. His words finished with a startled yelp and Eden felt a whoosh of air, and a blur before her eyes. When she blinked and refocused, Mr Lewen was pinned to the middle of the wall, his legs dangling beneath him. Eden turned her head and found Roland Vawdrey glaring down the length of his muscular arm at the poet whose tunic he held bunched in his fist.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” he asked softly. Eden gasped, thinking for a moment he was addressing her. “Answer me!” his voice rang out sharply, and he slammed the unfortunate man back against the stone wall for emphasis. Eden stared as Mr Lewen’s mouth opened and closed like a fish. “What’s that you say,” Roland barked, narrowing his eyes. “Let’s have it. The reason you think you can speak to my wife in that manner?” His voice had dropped again, but somehow the softly spoken words seemed even more ominous. Mr Lewen’s terrified gaze darted to Eden in unspoken appeal.

“You know this man?” Roland turned his head to look at her.

Eden cleared her throat. “Mr Lewen is a poet of some renown,” she said.

“Is that so?” His words were clipped and very hard.

“Until today,” she forced herself to add. “He has always conducted himself in a courteous manner.”

“Indeed?” Roland’s gaze was fixed on the cringing poet’s face. “And why was today any different?”

When Mr Lewen remained dumbstruck, Eden cleared her throat. “Unfortunately, Mr Lewen has suffered a disappointment with his patroness, the Duchess of Rand.”

“A disappointment he saw fit to vent on you,” said Roland in a cold voice, his steady gaze fixed on the man dangling from his fist. “Apologize,” he added harshly.

“My apologies, good sir,” gabbled Lewen hastily.

“To my wife, fool.”

“I do implore you for forgiveness, Lady Eden,” begged Mr Lewen.

“If I ever hear you’ve been disrespectful to my wife in such a manner again,” said Roland in a curiously expressionless voice. “You will not like what happens.”

Mr Lewen gulped, then nodded his head jerkily. Roland released him, and he fell to the ground, clutching his throat and wheezing. “It won’t happen again, I assure you,” he gasped.

“I should hope not indeed,” responded Eden gravely. She turned back to Roland who was stood watching her with a narrowed gaze. Was she imagining it, or was there a faint gleam of challenge in those eyes? “Thank you,” she said. For a moment, she thought he looked surprised, but then almost instantly, it was gone.

Mr Lewen lurched off on shaky legs, and they both watched his retreat a moment.

“I think that the meeting will be disbanding, any moment,“ said Eden with dread. Jane had come forward and was looking awkwardly between the two of them. “Jane,” she said. “I think it would be advisable for us to move from this place before everyone emerges.”

“I agree,” said Jane hastily.

“Would you object to my husband accompanying us down as far as the lower gallery?” Jane hesitated, looking torn. Clearly she had received some directive about keeping them apart. “Please,” appealed Eden. “We will stay in your view at all times.”

Jane swallowed, two spots of pink color appearing in her pale face. “Very well,” she said and fell in step behind them.

Eden placed her arm on Roland’s and faced forward, “You do not mind accompanying us?” she said, when he did not move at once. That seemed to spur him on and they started walking. She stole a sideways look at him, only to find he was doing the same thing to her.

“H-how did it go today?” she asked with a faint air of desperation. “With the King?”