Page 56 of Wed By Proxy

“Delicious,” he answered promptly, his eyes roaming over her.

“Is my hair a terrible mess?” she asked in a lowered voice when his gaze rested on it. “I did not think to tidy it before I came down.” He shook his head. “It didn’t used to be so curly before it was cut.”

Underneath the table, his hand sought hers. “No?” he asked softly.

“No, it was practically straight.”

“Perhaps it was the weight of your long hair pulling it down,” suggested Rob helpfully. “When it grows long again, it may correct itself.”

“I like it curly,” Guy said unexpectedly. “Besides, it’s not short now. It’s fully to your shoulders.”

“Only when I pull on the ends,” Mathilde said ruefully, tugging on the curly strands.

“Curls aren’t fashionable at court,” Rob said with a shake of his head. “Not for a long time. Though they do say the king’s first mistress had a head of yellow curls. The one who would only wear red velvet and kept a retinue of matching pages.”

Prudence gave a sharp exclamation. “You mean to tell me the southern king keeps his leman in his castle?” she said incredulously. “No northern wife would stand for such a thing!” Mathilde found her face turning pink. No one publicly talked of such things, though it was widely known of course who was currently receiving the king’s favor. Prudence pursed her lips. “Disgusting!” she sniffed.

“Funny, I heard your northern princess had a brace of bastard brothers,” said Rob sarcastically. “I did not realize such things only happened in the south.” A shocked silence greeted his words. Mathilde noticed Guy’s face had colored.

Mathilde cleared her throat. “If it’s more than a passing fancy, the king will usually set them up in their own household,” she said hurriedly. “I had heard he’s bought a country estate for the Lady Helen,” she said, naming the king’s latest paramour, Helen Cecil.

Her ears burned. If her mother could hear her speaking openly of such things she would be appalled! But somehow the dreadful silence had to be filled with something, even if ’twas only gossip. She did not want talk of North and South to split up the camaraderie of their morning meal.

“Oh aye, Kinnerton,” Rob agreed. “A vastly pretty estate. He didn’t buy it for her though, it used to belong to his mother, the old queen.”

“Oh,” said Mathilde. “I had not heard.” It always seemed surprising to her, that people purported gossip was a woman’s realm. Men seemed to be allowed to speak much more freely about such things, where women were forced to whisper and then judged ferociously for it.

Robin nodded. “They say he’s given it her in place of a titled husband.”

“The wages of wickedness,” tutted Prudie distastefully. “Fancy giving his own mother’s place to his strumpet!”

“In truth, I do not believe King Wymer was very close to his mother,” Mathilde explained quickly, with a glance at Guy. “I do not think royal children are often raised with their parents. The young prince does not even reside at court, but safely in the country with his own household of servants and guards. Did you never hear the story of the king’s coronation?” she babbled on desperately. “They say he cared not a rush for anyone truly, save his old nurse Bathilde. There he sat on the golden throne, waiting for the bishop to put the crown on his head, when he looks up and sees they’ve removed his old nurse out of the front row to make way for a bunch of nobles. ‘Be damned to them’, he cried. ‘I care not if it’s the queen herself who makes way. I’ll not be crowned without my Nurse there to see it!’”

Mathilde noticed uncomfortably that Waldon and Prudie were listening intently to this story of the king who’d beaten their own forces into submission. Was this perhaps not the sort of story she should be telling? Guy still held her hand under the table, though, and had not squeezed it in warning or told her to stop talking. Doubtless this was a vastly different side to the warlike King Wymer they’d all be aware of. She thought briefly of her own dear old Nurse, deaf and rather short-sighted, who likely would have had palpitations when she’d found an imposter lying in her charge’s bed. Her eyes misted over, and she felt a pang of guilt, though she did not think her mother could possibly blame Nurse for her disobedience. Someone cleared their throat opposite. Mathilde looked up. It was Waldon, fixing her with a stern glare.

“And did they?” he asked gruffly.

“Pardon?” asked Mathilde.

“The king’s old nurse. Did they bring her back to see him crowned?”

“Oh yes, of course. They would not dare disobey the king. Bathilde had the seat of honor.”

He gave a short nod of his head, seemingly satisfied with this. “Loyalty’s an important quality in a man,” he said heavily. “Be he king or be he beggar.”

“What about loyalty to his mother, the queen?” asked Prudie tartly.

“A mother is as a mother does,” he retorted sternly. “I doubt it was the old queen who wiped his arse!”

Rob nudged her in the side. “You shouldn’t use that word,” he said reproachfully. “Not now you’re wearing skirts again.”

“What word?” Mathilde asked startled. It wasn’t her who had said arse.

“Damned,” Rob elaborated.

Mathilde blushed. She had been so carried away with retelling the story that she had not noticed the slip. “He did say it though,” she said, wondering who present she wasn’t supposed to offend.

“You let your mistress alone, lad,” Waldon interrupted, shaking his head. “We’re not so mealy-mouthed around these parts.”