Page 75 of Her Baseborn Bridegroom

“Not much,” agreed Gertie briskly.

Glancing down, Linnet cried out.

“What is it, milady?” asked Gertie in alarm.

“My wedding ring,” said Linnet, twisting around in her chair. “I’ve lost it!”

They stared at each other in dismay.

“Oh miss,” said Gertie, crossing her fingers and closing her eyes to ward off bad luck.

It was hard not to take it as an ill omen. Nerves overtook her completely, and dashing to the adjoining garderobe, Linnet was violently sick.

XXIX

It was crowded in the King’s levee which was held in the gallery off his private chambers. Luckily for Mason’s sake, amongst the officials and diplomats mingled a few liege lords, who had lately risen to prominence through battle like himself. They greeted him warily as though expecting that he was there to warmonger or urge further campaigns on the King’s behalf. More than one reminded him the kingdom was now at peace, much to Mason’s irritation.

“You need to stop glaring at everyone,” hinted Oswald. “They think you’re spoiling for a fight.”

Mason glowered, his eyes scanning once again for the King. “Where is he?”

“Patience,” murmured Oswald. “Let us make pleasant conversation for a while.” He tugged his brother towards Lord Schaeffer, who was stroking his grey moustache and speaking in low tones to another nobleman.

“Lord Schaeffer, well met!” Oswald hailed him. “I believe you are acquainted with my brother, Sir Mason Vawdrey.”

Lord Schaeffer’s eyes bugged a little. “Oh—er—yes, of course, of course,” he blustered. “Didn’t realize you’d bring your . . . er . . . brother,” he added lamely.

Mason nodded his head in his closest approximation of a courtly bow. “Your servant,” he muttered insincerely.

Lord Schaeffer turned reluctantly to his companion who had cold, shrewd eyes, despite his frivolous silver robes. “This is Viscount Bardulf of the Western isles. He is part of the Queen’s retinue.”

“Good day,” drawled Viscount Bardulf. “Of course, we’ve met before.” He flicked an invisible fleck from his puffed silk sleeve.

Mason shot him a startled look. “I doubt it.”

“At Demoyne,” explained Bardulf, looking amused. “I’d recognize you anywhere, Sir Mason. Even when you’re not covered in mud. And blood,” he added thoughtfully.

“You were at Demoyne?” asked Lord Schaeffer, sounding astonished.

Mason couldn’t blame him. It was hard to imagine this polished courtier in a siege situation.

“Oh yes. I was in the first wave,” smirked Bardulf. He drew a finger delicately over his throat.

Assassin, thought Mason. That made more sense.

Schaeffer, who had not seen the discreet gesture, continued to look disbelieving. “Wouldn’t have thought that was your sort of thing at all, dear sir.”

“Oh, it wasn’t,” shuddered Bardulf dramatically. “Walking around, with the fear one might be stabbed in the back at any time.”

“So different to life at court,” answered Oswald blandly.

Bardulf laughed. “As you say.”

Lord Schaeffer, who clearly could not see the joke, cleared his throat, looking round a little wildly as if for an escape.

“And how is the investigation going into my brother’s matter?” asked Oswald, swiftly changing the subject.

Lord Schaeffer cleared his throat. “Slowly but steadily,” he replied cautiously. “These things take time.” He shook his head. “They can’t be rushed, my boy.”