The Consolation Prize (Brides of Karadok #3) - Alice Coldbreath Page 0,106

other facts have emerged. In short, his life was spared, though he teetered on the brink of death for a while, with a grievous head wound.”

“He’s still alive?” There was a lump in Armand’s throat. “Are you saying he means to rally Northerners to the Blechmarsh cause again?”

Walker shook his head. “He has neither the means nor the following.” He hesitated. “Waleran’s injury unbalanced him. No man of sense would get behind his banner now. Even his own kinsmen have renounced him.”

“What are you telling me?” Armand asked harshly. “That my wife’s brother is a madman?”

Walker looked grave. “It’s hard to predict the course of action such a man will take. Lord Vawdrey would not have the Lady Una troubled by this matter,” he said quietly. “Not for the world. He thinks it would be wise however, to give you fair warning. ”

Armand had a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach. “And Vawdrey thinks this Waleran will try to approach her?”

“Lord Vawdrey is keen to eliminate any chance of that happening,” Walker said staunchly. “However remote that possibility may be.”

*

Una spent a miserable morning by herself in the solar with only Abelard for company. When Rose brought her up some midday refreshment, she was distracted from her own woes by the marked change in that young woman. Una had never seen her in anything so drab as the gray woolen gown she wore, with her pretty hair tucked away.

“Why, Rose, where is your pretty gown this morn?”

Rose bobbed a discreet curtsey, nothing like her usual one of sweeping grace. “I’m putting such foolishness behind me, milady,” she answered, startling Una a good deal as she set down the dish of pastries and cheese. Rose bent down to return Abelard’s greeting. “I mean to take Janet as my example in future. This gown is one she kindly helped me alter.” She touched the headscarf to check none of her hair was escaping.

“But … why?” Una asked mystified.

“It’s high time,” said Rose, promptly straightening up. “I’m not a girl anymore, but a woman of two and twenty. I’ve moved out of the larger bedchamber and in with Janet,” she added. “She’s happy to share with me and it’s more fitting to my station.”

Una regarded her silently a moment. “If this is because you think you somehow invited Roger’s attentions yesterday, Rose, then I can assure you that you did no such thing.”

Rose looked blank. “Oh, Master Roger,” she said as if she had forgotten his very existence. Then confessed quite simply, “I do not think of him at all, my lady.”

Una opened her mouth to ask if this change then, was in response to something Otho had said. Something stopped her from voicing the suspicion. If it was, then clearly Otho’s words held an impact for Rose that should not be taken lightly. “And you are not unhappy?” she asked instead.

Rose gave a reassuring shake of her head. “No, milady.”

“And … you do not find Mrs. Brickenden unkind?”

Rose blinked. “Unkind? No, milady. She scolds, but only where it’s deserved, and Janet agrees with me on that score.”

Una considered this. Perhaps she had done Mrs. Brickenden a disservice. “Would you tell Mrs. Brickenden to come to me this afternoon, when it is convenient for her?” she asked at last.

“Of course, milady.” Rose bobbed again, cast a fond look at Abelard and was gone. Una could not help but feel deeply disturbed by the recent development.

Mrs. Brickenden appeared before Una had even finished her meal. She had just handed a meat pastry to Abelard when the housekeeper’s thumping step was heard on the stair. Abelard, showing a new boldness, circled on a rug before lying down to enjoy his treat.

“Milady,” said the housekeeper appearing on the threshold.

“Please come in,” Una invited, gesturing to a chair. She could see Mrs. Brickenden’s reluctance to take a seat but kept her hand extended. After a moment, the older woman seemed to accept the inevitability and lowered herself onto a chair. “I wanted to ask you how you think you are settling into the role here at Lynwode.”

Mrs. Brickenden’s cautious features became even closer if that was possible. “Tolerably well, thank you, milady,” she said repressively.

“You have acted before as chatelaine to a large household, I think.”

Mrs. Brickenden relaxed infinitesimally. “I have, for Lady Mildred over Upper Derring for thirty years.”

“It must be difficult adapting to a different place,” Una commented mildly. Mrs. Brickenden’s lips tightened but she made no comment. “I presume that at your