in affectionate dismay and chuckled. “I shall make a point of having you visit Beresford at his home in town tomorrow. You will have a very different impression of him when you see him in his element. Your feelings will undergo a measurable change for the better.”
Adela paused. The young woman’s obvious retort would have been, ‘Ah, madam, it is not
my
feelings about the marriage that need to improve, but those of my husband-to -be, who has expressed his displeasure at the match.’
Instead, Gwyneth said nothing. She merely nodded. Adela waited another moment for a response, and when Gwyneth glanced at her modestly and expectantly, as if waiting for the next topic, Adela felt her dissatisfaction grow into frustration. For all her skill at eliciting valuable information from the unsuspecting, Adela was baffled by Gwyneth. She could not determine whether the young woman was remarkably docile or exceptionally smart.
Adela sensed that her plans could go awry if she did not realize them soon. “Everyone will feel better, I am sure, when the date for the wedding is set,” she said with a smile. “I will have it announced at supper this evening, when the toasts to your happiness are made.”
So saying, Adela rose, thereby bringing the brief conversation to its conclusion. She touched her hand to her forehead and said, “Ah, but I have just bethought myself of a task left undone.” She turned toward one of her ladies. “Marta, I pray you, escort our guest to the hall for supper.” Turning back to Gwyneth, she said, “I will follow shortly. You will understand if I am unable to accompany you there myself just now, won’t you, my dear?”
****
Gwyneth understood perfectly. She had held no illusions before the summons to the king’s consort’s solar and held none now. When Adela had opened the discussion with, “The matter of your marriage is not cast in stone until the wedding vows are spoken, you know,” Gwyneth had not been deceived into thinking that she had the power of refusal. When Adela had brought up the little matter of the rumor circulating that Simon of Beresford was not well pleased with the match, Gwyneth had grasped the true reason she had been honored with an invitation to the private chambers: Adela had wished to forestall a potential scandal and avoid an openly unwilling bride. Gwyneth had seized upon the occasion to reaffirm Beresford’s opposition to the scheme, and although her ploy might not undo the match, she was not sorry to have tried. Not for anything would she have revealed her own fears for her future, for she had lived with Canute too long to ever expose weakness. And her tongue was
never
loosened by strong drink.
Accompanied by Marta, Gwyneth arrived back at the great hall, where preparations for the lighter of the two daily meals were going forward. Even in this warm weather, low fires mulled on the hearths of the wide fireplaces that faced one another across the length of the room, chasing any chill and damp. Pages were setting up the trestle tables and benches and arranging the silver spoons and cups of horn. Servants with bronze ewers circulated throughout the hall so that the nobles could wash their hands.
Upon stepping into the activity, Gwyneth felt a calm that came from knowing the worst of her fate. A glance around the room confirmed that Beresford was not there. She did not have a moment to feel at a loss in this gathering of strangers, for several women came up to her, friendly and curious. She had hardly been introduced to them and begun to receive their congratulations when a man joined the group, smooth and smiling, and somehow she found herself separated from the women and alone with him.
“You are Cedric of Valmey,” she stated. The handsome man, dressed in a rich burgundy tunic that enhanced his dark good looks, was standing too close to her, and she took a discreet half step away from him.
He bowed and said, “You flatter me, Gwyneth of
Adela paused. The young woman’s obvious retort would have been, ‘Ah, madam, it is not
my
feelings about the marriage that need to improve, but those of my husband-to -be, who has expressed his displeasure at the match.’
Instead, Gwyneth said nothing. She merely nodded. Adela waited another moment for a response, and when Gwyneth glanced at her modestly and expectantly, as if waiting for the next topic, Adela felt her dissatisfaction grow into frustration. For all her skill at eliciting valuable information from the unsuspecting, Adela was baffled by Gwyneth. She could not determine whether the young woman was remarkably docile or exceptionally smart.
Adela sensed that her plans could go awry if she did not realize them soon. “Everyone will feel better, I am sure, when the date for the wedding is set,” she said with a smile. “I will have it announced at supper this evening, when the toasts to your happiness are made.”
So saying, Adela rose, thereby bringing the brief conversation to its conclusion. She touched her hand to her forehead and said, “Ah, but I have just bethought myself of a task left undone.” She turned toward one of her ladies. “Marta, I pray you, escort our guest to the hall for supper.” Turning back to Gwyneth, she said, “I will follow shortly. You will understand if I am unable to accompany you there myself just now, won’t you, my dear?”
****
Gwyneth understood perfectly. She had held no illusions before the summons to the king’s consort’s solar and held none now. When Adela had opened the discussion with, “The matter of your marriage is not cast in stone until the wedding vows are spoken, you know,” Gwyneth had not been deceived into thinking that she had the power of refusal. When Adela had brought up the little matter of the rumor circulating that Simon of Beresford was not well pleased with the match, Gwyneth had grasped the true reason she had been honored with an invitation to the private chambers: Adela had wished to forestall a potential scandal and avoid an openly unwilling bride. Gwyneth had seized upon the occasion to reaffirm Beresford’s opposition to the scheme, and although her ploy might not undo the match, she was not sorry to have tried. Not for anything would she have revealed her own fears for her future, for she had lived with Canute too long to ever expose weakness. And her tongue was
never
loosened by strong drink.
Accompanied by Marta, Gwyneth arrived back at the great hall, where preparations for the lighter of the two daily meals were going forward. Even in this warm weather, low fires mulled on the hearths of the wide fireplaces that faced one another across the length of the room, chasing any chill and damp. Pages were setting up the trestle tables and benches and arranging the silver spoons and cups of horn. Servants with bronze ewers circulated throughout the hall so that the nobles could wash their hands.
Upon stepping into the activity, Gwyneth felt a calm that came from knowing the worst of her fate. A glance around the room confirmed that Beresford was not there. She did not have a moment to feel at a loss in this gathering of strangers, for several women came up to her, friendly and curious. She had hardly been introduced to them and begun to receive their congratulations when a man joined the group, smooth and smiling, and somehow she found herself separated from the women and alone with him.
“You are Cedric of Valmey,” she stated. The handsome man, dressed in a rich burgundy tunic that enhanced his dark good looks, was standing too close to her, and she took a discreet half step away from him.
He bowed and said, “You flatter me, Gwyneth of
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