A Wager for the Widow

‘Eleanor, you’re very late and I’m afraid I am neglecting you,’ Sir Edgar broke in. ‘William, please be so kind and pour my daughter some wine.’ He motioned Eleanor to take the steward’s seat by the fire. She sank down gratefully and stretched out her leg, glad to take the weight off her ankle. The short journey to Sir Edgar’s rooms had put more strain on it than she had realised.

‘Tell me, my dear, was your journey difficult?’ Sir Edgar asked. Without waiting for an answer he addressed the steward. ‘I do worry about my daughter travelling so far alone. No one knows whom one might encounter on the road, but she insists!’

From the corner of her eye Eleanor saw Rudhale stiffen and the steward’s broad shoulders tensed, his hand halfway to the open bottle nestling between piles of scrolls and parchments on the table. Eleanor glanced at him over Sir Edgar’s shoulder as he twisted his head towards her. Briefly their eyes locked. Rudhale raised one eyebrow questioningly, as though issuing a challenge to Eleanor to explain what had happened.

Her mind once again conjured the memory of him holding her close in such a disrespectful manner. And the kiss he had demanded. Even as she bristled at the memory a warm flush began to creep up the back of her neck as she stared at the full lips. Alarmed at the feelings that rose up inside her she ran her hands through her hair, pulling the long plait across her shoulder and away from her neck, hoping to cool herself.

It was clear that Rudhale had not been aware who she was on the ferry, but even so his manner had been unseemly. The man deserved to have his insolence revealed and it was on the tip of Eleanor’s tongue to tell her father everything. She looked back to Sir Edgar. His brow was furrowed with concern and she hesitated. An encounter with an unknown man whilst travelling alone would be the ideal pretext for Sir Edgar to curtail her independence. Unhurriedly she held her hands out to the fire, taking her time before she answered, enjoying making the steward wait.

‘Nothing eventful happened, Father. The river was flowing fast and the wind made climbing Kynett’s Hill hard for the horses, otherwise I would have been here an hour ago. Apart from that our journey was the same as it always is.’

A triumphant grin flitted across the steward’s face. It reminded Eleanor of an extremely self-satisfied cat and her stomach tightened with annoyance that she had passed up the chance to reveal his conduct. She expected him to leave now that she had arrived, but to her consternation he made no attempt to leave the room. Instead he drew up a low stool and sat between Eleanor and her father. Now she looked closely at his clothing she noticed the thin band of orange-and-green piping around the neck of his tunic, signalling the livery of Tawstott. As he handed her the wine cup, she held his gaze.

‘Master Rudhale, how long have you been in my father’s service? He has not mentioned you to me.’

Sir Edgar spoke before Rudhale could answer. ‘Rudhale has been in my service for a little over five months, though he grew up in the town here. His father was my falconer until his death two years past. You must remember old Thomas Rudhale, Eleanor?’

Eleanor wrinkled her forehead. Although she knew the name, hawking had never been a favourite pastime of hers and she spent little time in that part of the estate. The face finally crawled into Eleanor’s mind. A quietly spoken man who rarely strayed from the mews, his belt and jerkin hung about with bags and odd-looking equipment. Another memory surfaced, too, however: a young man slouching around the outbuildings. Eleanor’s eyes flickered to the steward. Surely that youth, too thin for his height with dull floppy hair, could not be the one who stood before her now, arms folded across his broad chest and a wolfish smile playing about his lips?

‘Yes, I remember,’ Eleanor said slowly. ‘I’m sorry for your loss.’

‘We all are. Never was a man so good with a goshawk,’ Sir Edgar barked, clapping his hand on the steward’s shoulder.

‘Unlike his son,’ Rudhale remarked darkly, tracing a finger meaningfully down the deep line of his scar. ‘Father sent me to work as usher to a merchant in the north in the hope I could make my fortune and keep my eyes.’

Eleanor’s eyes followed the path of his finger. Taking that side of his face alone he looked like a cutthroat, but the ugliness was tempered by his almost sapphire eyes and enticing smile. Rudhale watched her carefully, as though testing her reaction to his deformity. Determined not to respond, she fixed her eyes on his.

‘You seem rather young to be steward of such a large household,’ she remarked.

‘William may be young, but he comes highly recommended,’ the baron explained. ‘He and Edmund shared lodgings for a while.’

‘Edmund remembered me when this position arose.’ Rudhale smiled. ‘Sir Edgar was good enough to trust Edmund’s testimony. You are right though, few men my age could hope to attain such a prominent role, but I hope I am proving my worth.’

Eleanor narrowed her eyes, digesting the information as Sir Edgar hastened to assure Rudhale of his value. Her brother had a habit of choosing friends who shared his tastes for drinking and women. From Rudhale’s behaviour on the ferry it would seem he was yet another good-for-nothing reprobate of the sort that Edmund would naturally find delightful.

She took a large sip of wine, swallowing her annoyance down too. The wine was spicy and sweet and Eleanor relaxed as the warmth wound down to her belly. Sir Edgar placed great importance on keeping a good cellar stocked and Rudhale was clearly capable of rising to the challenge. Eleanor held the cup to her nose and inhaled deeply. She raised her eyes to find the steward watching her carefully, his blue eyes fixed on her as though he was assessing her evaluation. She took another mouthful.

‘It’s good,’ she commented appreciatively.

‘It’s seasoned with ginger and aged in whiskey casks,’ Rudhale explained as he refilled Eleanor’s glass. ‘I am trying to persuade your father to buy half a dozen barrels in preparation for the midwinter feast.’

‘You’re giving a feast?’ Eleanor stared at her father, unable to keep the astonishment from her voice. She forgot her irritation with the steward in the light of this news. Sir Edgar was notoriously reclusive and it was a family jest that if his wife permitted him to, he would live within the confines of his library on a permanent basis.

Sir Edgar frowned and threw himself heavily into the chair opposite Eleanor. He pulled fretfully at his greying beard, no longer the vibrant red Eleanor remembered from the previous winter.

‘I have no choice, my dear,’ he growled. ‘Unfortunately Duke Roland is rumoured to have made damaging losses at cards and dice. Whether or not that is true I don’t know, however he has decided that he will be spending the winter months touring his lands and living off the generosity of his tenants-in-chief. As his nephew by marriage, I am being granted the great honour of having his retinue here for two weeks. He expects a feast to celebrate the passing of the shortest day.’

‘Father!’ Eleanor’s eyebrows shot upwards at the incautious manner in which her father spoke of his liege lord in front of the steward. Her lord as well, she reminded herself, as Baldwin had also owed fealty to Duke Roland. She glanced across to where Rudhale was now busying himself replacing scroll boxes on the shelves that lined the walls. Sir Edgar must have read her thoughts because he leaned across and took her hand.

‘Don’t fear for what William here might think. He knows he is serving a cantankerous old man and, like the rest of you, I expect him to humour my moods. I trust his discretion absolutely.’

Rudhale nodded his head in acknowledgement. He placed the final caskets on the shelf and Eleanor found her eyes drawn to his slim frame as he reached with ease to the high shelves. Rudhale crossed the room and picked up the bottle from the table. He refilled their glasses and returned to lean against the fireplace beside Eleanor, his long legs crossed at the ankles and the firelight turning his blond locks as red as Eleanor’s own.

‘I suspect your mother might have had something to do with her uncle’s decision,’ Sir Edgar continued. ‘She sees certain advantages to having guests. The duke will be bringing a number of his court with him. Your sister is of an age where she needs to be seen in society and your brother should be married by now. For your part, Eleanor—’

‘I myself will be returning home as usual as soon as I am permitted, Father,’ Eleanor broke in sharply, anticipating what was coming next. The room, already stifling, grew hotter. She stood abruptly, walked to the window and leaned back against the cool panes. ‘You told me nothing of this in your letter. I will not be paraded around like one of your prize mares. I am done with all that!’

‘For your part,’ Sir Edgar continued, with only the slightest hint of reproach in his voice, ‘I would be grateful if you would provide a dozen or so casks of oysters for the feast. I have never found any finer than those from Baldwin’s fisheries. I am sure you would wish the duke’s party to be well fed and there could be business in it for you, too. If you will insist on living independently, I must at least try to aid you where I can.’

‘Oh!’ A prickle of heat flickered across Eleanor’s throat. ‘Of course, Father. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean...’

‘Oh, yes, you did,’ Sir Edgar chided gently. ‘I don’t say I blame you, but that is a conversation for another time.’

Eleanor glanced at Rudhale. The steward was now bent over the fire, adding logs to the diminishing flames. He gave every impression of appearing unaware of her blunder, though the deliberate way in which he went about his task left Eleanor in no doubt that he had been listening to every word. A burst of irritation shot through her that she had let her guard down in front of him. She crossed the room and refilled her cup before offering the bottle to her father and finally the steward. Hoping to break his self-possession, she addressed him with a demure smile.

‘This wine really is very good, Master Rudhale. I can tell you must have taken great pains to ensure its safe arrival!’

She had the satisfaction of seeing him blink a couple of times as he worked out the meaning behind her words, before he broke into a broad grin, his blue eyes gleaming. Even that had not appeared to disconcert him. He raised his cup to her and drained it.

‘May I compliment you on your taste, Lady Peyton. It needs time to settle really; being thrown around in a saddlebag has done nothing for it, but you can tell the quality, can’t you? How can you resist such a glowing recommendation, Sir Edgar?’ Rudhale asked the baron smoothly. ‘Will you write me an authorisation to purchase the remaining supply? I will attend to it first thing tomorrow. Master Fortin intends to travel to Bristol, then to Gascony, within the week and I would like to catch him before he leaves.’

‘Abroad, eh? Is he planning to trade? It’s a good time now we are at peace once again and there are fortunes to be made, I don’t doubt it.’ His mood warmed by the wine, Sir Edgar cheerily gave a wave of the hand. ‘Certainly, William, it’s a good vintage and it would be churlish of me to deprive you of your income.’

Eleanor wrinkled her forehead, aware she was missing something.

Rudhale smiled at her. ‘I have some personal interest in the matter, Lady Peyton. My last position was as pantler in the household of the wine merchant I acquired this from. When I left his employment he allowed me to invest a small amount in his business. If I can benefit both my previous and current employer, it is all to the best.’

‘And yourself?’ Eleanor asked.

‘Of course,’ he replied. ‘It may never make me wealthy, but only a fool would turn his back on the opportunity to add to his coffers.’

He moved to the table. Taking a quill in his left hand, he began scribbling rapidly on a sheet of parchment with confident strokes. Watching, Eleanor mused on Rudhale’s references to his previous positions. An usher, a pantler and now a steward: each position was more influential and well remunerated than the last. So Rudhale was ambitious, but also happy to move on before too long? She wondered if his time in Tawstott would be equally brief.

Sir Edgar affixed his seal and Rudhale folded the document carefully before slipping it inside his jerkin. Eleanor followed it with her eyes, her mood lifting a little. With any luck the man would see to the task personally and be gone again by morning.

‘If you will excuse me, I must leave you now. Dinner will be almost ready. Having been absent for three days, I would like to supervise the final preparations myself.’ With a bow to the baron he excused himself. He paused before Eleanor and looked deep into her eyes. ‘Now she has arrived I would like to give Lady Peyton a good impression of my competence.’

Eleanor smiled coolly and held out a hand. The steward hesitated briefly before taking it in his and raising it. Did his lips brush her hand for slightly longer than necessary, or with slightly more pressure than decorum allowed? Eleanor wasn’t sure. She inclined her head and bade him farewell, watching until the door closed behind him and fervently wishing the next two months would pass quickly.

Chapter Three (#ulink_5c00155a-c105-5703-b3b0-32f57dda892c)

William Rudhale’s smile lasted for as long as it took to him to leave the room, then melted away to be replaced with a grimace. He breathed in a lungful of cool air and held it for a moment before exhaling deeply, admonishing himself for his lack of foresight. He had known for weeks that Lady Peyton was expected any day. Why had he not made the connection between Sir Edgar’s daughter and the woman on the ferry? Her hair alone should have given him enough of a clue; that intense shade of copper was so rarely seen that it would have been remarkable if the woman were not related to Sir Edgar.

Somehow he had forgotten that the widowed daughter must be younger than him. If he had pictured her at all, it had been a plain, pinched face atop a shapeless, thickening body swathed in black. Lady Peyton was as far removed from the dumpy, elderly woman in his imagination as it was possible to be.

He had spent most of his ride from the ferry to Tawstott happily reliving the sensation of the enigmatic woman’s slim frame pressing tightly against him. He had let his imagination have free rein with what he would do if they were to meet again. Certainly she would not have refused his kiss a third time, he would have made certain of that.

A shiver of desire rippled through him at the memory of the slender frame with such soft, tempting curves. He shook his head ruefully. No point spending too much time thinking about them. It was clear that Lady Peyton most definitely had not expected to encounter him again and, judging from her expression, she was not at all pleased to do so!