A Wager for the Widow. Elisabeth Hobbes
forward, anxious to catch a first glimpse of the heavy oak door standing invitingly open.
Her mother was waiting in the Outer Hall. Lady Fitzallan gave sharp orders for a bath to be prepared and would hear no protestations from Eleanor.
‘Your father is in his library at the moment. His business should be finished with by the time you’re presentable,’ she told her daughter as she ushered her up the broad staircase.
* * *
Half an hour later, clean and warm, Eleanor knocked softly on the north-wing door to Sir Edgar’s library and walked in.
Two men were sitting together at either side of the fire. Sir Edgar’s face broke into a wide beam at the sight of his daughter. Eleanor’s eyes passed from her father to the face of his guest and her skin prickled with a sudden chill. His gaudy cloak had vanished and his hair was combed smooth, but even so Eleanor would have recognised the horseman anywhere.
‘Ah, Eleanor, it’s good to see you again, my dear,’ Sir Edgar Fitzallan cried. The Baron of Tawstott strode across the room and kissed Eleanor warmly on both cheeks. Eleanor dropped into a formal curtsy before embracing her father tightly. All resentment at being summoned home melted away as he enveloped her in a hug.
The rider had jumped to his feet upon Eleanor’s arrival, his eyes widening the slightest fraction as he looked at her. Could he be as surprised as she herself was at coming face-to-face again? He swept a low, elegant bow as Eleanor stared at him over her father’s shoulder. His head was down now, hiding his face from view, but she could all too clearly remember the way his eyes had glinted when he’d held her in his arms.
With difficulty Eleanor tore her eyes away from the stranger, her mind whirling as she tried to fathom why he was in her father’s house. He had mentioned having business to conduct before he jumped his horse on to the ferry, but at the time it had not occurred to Eleanor to wonder where he was travelling. If he had dealings with the baron, she hoped it would be concluded quickly and he would be gone before long.
‘Forgive me for intruding, Father,’ she said quickly. ‘I did not realise you had a guest. I will leave you in peace and come back after he has left.’
Eleanor made to leave the room, but Sir Edgar tugged her back.
‘There’s someone I want you to meet,’ Sir Edgar said. He tucked her arm under his and led her unwillingly towards the fire. Eleanor took a deep breath. She would greet him politely and leave. It would be done with in a matter of minutes.
Sir Edgar pushed Eleanor gently forward until she was standing opposite the man.
‘Let me introduce Master William Rudhale, my new steward. Master Rudhale, this is my daughter, Lady Peyton.’
Eleanor stared wordlessly at the man for what felt like minutes as her father’s words sunk in. His steward! Surprise fought with dismay in her heart that the man was not simply a visitor. They would be living under the same roof until Eleanor returned home.
Sir Edgar coughed meaningfully. ‘Is everything all right, my dear? Are you feeling unwell?’
Eleanor became conscious that Master Rudhale was staring at her intently. His cheeks had taken on a ruddy glow, the scars’ fine white furrows standing out across his face. His hands moved to brush away creases from his wine-coloured tunic, unlaced at the neck to expose the glint of fine hairs on his chest. He planted his feet firmly apart, his head tilted slightly on one side as he studied her reaction. If he had indeed been surprised by her appearance, he had recovered his equilibrium much quicker than she was managing to do. Her training since childhood in the behaviour required of a lady flooded back into Eleanor’s mind.
‘Not at all, Father. Please forgive me, Master Rudhale. My journey was long and I am forgetting my manners. How lovely to meet you,’ she said with a polished smile and a slight emphasis on the word meet.
On firmer ground her nerves settled and she inclined her head automatically with grace that would make her mother proud to witness.
Rudhale bowed deeply again, once more exhibiting the easy grace with which he had moved on the ferry.
‘Lady Peyton, I am at your service.’ His voice was deep and dripped honey. He spoke with a sincerity that would have fooled Eleanor if she had not already encountered him. He brushed a stray strand of hair back from his eyes and gazed directly at her through lashes almost indecently long on a man. A smile danced about his lips and Eleanor’s heart pounded with the intensity that had so confused her at their first meeting. She looked away, lost for words and unnerved by the reaction he provoked inside her.
‘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