A Wager for the Widow. Elisabeth Hobbes
Edgar was poring over a large ledger when Will entered his library. He shut the ledger with a bang and grimaced at Will.
‘Duke Roland’s visit is going to bankrupt me, I fear,’ he grumbled. ‘The costs keep mounting.’
‘There is much to be done before the visit,’ he agreed. ‘I should be happy to have twice the assistance I have now.’
‘Well, I can ill afford to hire anyone else,’ Sir Edgar cautioned. Will’s heart leapt with glee. The baron had practically introduced the subject himself.
Sir Edgar picked up his quill and tapped the end irritably against the table edge. ‘My only hope is that my wife finds husbands for my daughters and makes the expense worthwhile, although I can scarcely afford dowries at this time. Eleanor will have to provide her own, though I’m sure she would be more than happy to do so. Never have daughters if you can help it, young man!’
This was even better, Will thought triumphantly. He fixed his face into a sympathetic smile. ‘It is about Lady Peyton that I have come to see you...’ he began.
‘Eleanor, what of her?’ Sir Edgar peered at Will warily. ‘You don’t wish to marry her, do you?’ He laughed as he spoke, though Will thought he could hear a note of hope in the baron’s voice.
‘I would not presume to reach so high,’ Will declared. ‘I merely came to say that I have noticed Lady Peyton seems rather...’ he searched for a word that would not offend ‘...rather listless and vexed. I wondered if she might need something to occupy her.’
‘I’m sure she does,’ Sir Edgar agreed. ‘If I only had the time or finances to fill her days, I’m sure she would be much happier.’
Will sighed, then his face lit up. ‘I have an idea—!’ he began, then broke off. ‘No, it would never do,’ he said with a regretful shake of his head. He walked to the window and gazed out. From the corner of his eye he could see Sir Edgar leaning forward with interest.
‘If you have something to say, tell me,’ Sir Edgar instructed.
With mock reluctance Will spoke. ‘I have a suggestion that might satisfy all our needs.’
He outlined his idea to Sir Edgar. The baron sat back in his chair, hands together across his belly. ‘Excellent idea, William,’ he said finally. ‘Would you find Eleanor? I shall tell her immediately.’
‘May I suggest Lady Peyton is led to believe the plan is yours alone? After all, it was you who gave me the inspiration and I would not wish to take the credit.’
‘Nor the condemnation if it does not meet with Eleanor’s views?’ Sir Edgar asked shrewdly.
The two men’s eyes met and an unspoken acknowledgement passed between them. The baron recognised his daughter’s temper, too. An unprecedented twinge of sympathy seized Will at the thought of Lady Peyton’s brother and father both conspiring against her. Little wonder she preferred to live elsewhere.
Still, that was not his problem. He had less than three weeks to win his wager. Whistling cheerfully, he made his way in search of Lady Peyton, picturing the look on her face when she learned of his plan.
‘Have you succeeded yet?’
Will had been so engrossed in his musings as he made his way from the north wing that he had not noticed Edmund Fitzallan standing in the hallway until his friend shouted after him. Despite the weather Edmund was dressed in his heavy riding cloak and hood. Will experienced a momentary pang of envy, wishing he too could spend his days at leisure. He didn’t need to ask what Edmund referred to.
‘After less than a single day? I’m flattered you credit me with such ability!’ Will leaned against the stair banister and inspected his fingernails, assuming an untroubled expression. ‘I haven’t yet, but I will. In fact, I’m in search of your sister now—do you know where she is?’
Edmund raised his eyebrows and laughed. ‘Would I tell you if I did? I might as well throw my stake down the well if I’m going to help you.’
‘It’s hardly much of a help,’ Will replied. ‘Helping would be telling her of my excellent character and suggesting she finds comfort from widowhood in my arms. Besides,’ he added, ‘your father sent me.’
Edmund jerked his thumb towards the stairs. ‘I haven’t seen her, but try the solar. Mother will be there as usual. It’s possible Eleanor might have decided to join her. If she has, she might even be pleased to see you as a result!’ He opened the door and turned back with a grin. ‘Don’t take too long over the matter, Will. There’s a new dairymaid over at Collett’s farm and I’m eager to try a taste of her cream.’
‘Then do so,’ Will replied, wincing slightly at Edmund’s words. ‘You needn’t delay on my account.’
Edmund laughed. ‘What, and waste the chance to win my money back?’
Will smiled and crossed his arms, ‘So you do believe I’ll succeed!’ he crowed.
The frown Edmund gave as he left kept Will amused as he climbed the stairs to the solar, Lady Fitzallan’s domain at the top of the south wing. As Will entered the light, airy room and bowed, Lady Fitzallan lifted her moss-green eyes to notice him. She was not the kind of woman who would wrinkle her nose, but Will always had the distinct impression that if she were not the well-bred niece of a duke she would have done whenever she saw him.
She was sitting close to the fire, her tapestry frame close beside her. Anne sat on a low stool by her feet, a lute in hand which she laid on her lap as she saw Will. Three maids completed the picture of domestic harmony. They had paused in their task of sorting coloured wools and buried their heads together amid hushed giggles when they saw who stood there. Will and Edmund had spent happy evenings drinking and laughing in their company during Will’s first month in Tawstott. He hoped the information would not find its way to Lady Peyton, otherwise he might as well pay Edmund and Rob this very day!
Lady Peyton was sitting in the window seat, removed from the company. Her grey woollen dress almost veiled her against the stone wall, a stark contrast to the brightly coloured clothes of her mother and sister. Only her copper-coloured plait prevented her from disappearing entirely. Her feet were drawn up and an embroidery ring lay on her lap though she was staring at the rain. She glanced across when the door opened. Will might have imagined it, but he swore the briefest flash of a smile crossed her face before she looked determinedly out of the window once more.
‘May I help you, Master Rudhale?’ Lady Fitzallan asked coldly.
‘I have a message for your daughter—’ he began. Anne’s lute fell to the floor with a clatter.
‘For Anne? Well, deliver it,’ Lady Fitzallan said crisply, frowning at her daughter.
Lady Peyton had turned her head at Anne’s reaction. Now she looked at Will, suspicion flashing in her green eyes.
‘It is for your elder daughter, my lady,’ Will explained. He bowed to Lady Peyton. ‘Your father wishes to speak to you, my lady.’
‘Tell my husband he must wait, Eleanor is engaged at this moment,’ Lady Fitzallan replied before her daughter could respond. Lady Peyton’s brow furrowed and Will recognised the temper he had borne the brunt of. He hid a smile and adopted a humble expression as he crossed the room to the window.
‘He expressly told me he wishes you to come now,’ he said.
Lady Peyton looked past him to the huddle of women.
‘I’ll come,’ she said.
She unwound herself from her seat as Will bent to pick up the crutch that lay at her feet and held it out. Lady Peyton took it, her eyes gleaming and her lips twisting into a conspiratorial smile. Together they left the room.
*