A Wager for the Widow. Elisabeth Hobbes
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.
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!
Will strode along the dimly lit corridor at a leisurely pace, the cold air providing a welcome blast of sobriety after the stuffiness of Sir Edgar’s library, and made his way to the kitchens. With an assured manner he gave orders, noting with satisfaction the efficiency with which they were carried out.
‘Rather young to be a steward,’ Lady Peyton had said, the scepticism clear in her voice. Will’s pride pricked for a moment. It was true enough that he was young, but what of it? The lady would find no fault tonight, he determined. He busied himself testing dishes and tasting wine. Satisfied with the quality of the food, he gave his praise to the cooks, then issued orders to the serving maids, bestowing charming smiles on them as he did. He smiled to himself as they blushed and scurried away giggling.
Will made the short journey to the Great Hall where two long tables were laid for the household members, one down either side of the room, leading to the raised dais where the family would sit. A man was lounging by the fire at the far end of the room. Perched on an iron stand was a small, hooded kestrel. As Will entered the hall the bird screeched. Sir Edgar’s current falconer pushed himself to his feet and hailed Will with a cheery wave of a bottle.
Will greeted his younger brother with a frown. ‘Rob, I’ve told you before, keep your birds out of here. How long have you been here? You’re not usually this early for meals.’
In response the sandy-haired man reached inside his jerkin and produced an embroidered yellow scarf. He twirled it above his head before holding it out to Will for inspection.
‘Eliza Almeny finally gave me her favour...and a little more besides.’ Rob grinned impishly. ‘I won the wager and you owe me five groats!’
The wagers had begun years ago when Edmund had loudly stated to their fellow drinkers that Will’s grotesque scars would ruin his ability to catch any woman. His pride injured, and still smarting from the damage to his face, Will had risen to the challenge. By the end of the evening he’d charmed the tavern maid into his bed and discovered that a ready wit could make a woman overlook most imperfections, especially when a quick tongue was combined with a thorough dedication to using it in a variety of inventive ways.
He’d won from Edmund his drinks for the next week and since then the wagers had been an amusing game between the two men. When he returned to Tawstott to find Rob mooning over the miller’s daughter, Will had seen no reason not to include him in the fun.
Will raised his eyebrows at his brother. ‘Five groats? I said three, you swindler!’
Rob laughed. ‘Yes, but you wagered I wouldn’t manage to kiss her before midwinter’s night. I’ve done more than that and I’m three weeks early so I believe I deserve more. Besides...’ he paused and his grin became suddenly bashful ‘...I’ll need the extra now I’m going to be a husband!’
Will’s face broke into a surprised grimace. ‘A husband, is it! Then you do indeed need more, though mayhap I should give the money to Eliza, as it seems she’s been the one to ensnare you rather than the other way about!’
Rob tipped the bottle towards his brother. ‘You say that now, but you may feel the same one day,’ he said with a sympathetic smile that made Will’s stomach twist.
Will shook his head and frowned darkly. ‘You know I have no intention of marrying,’ he said emphatically.
‘Remind me, in that case, is the next wager to be yours or Edmund’s?’ Rob grinned.
Will’s eye roved to the serving maid who was lighting thick beeswax candles in the sconces. He winked at her and she fumbled her taper, a blush spreading across her cheeks. The girl held no real attraction for him and his action had been instinctive.
‘Perhaps I’m getting a little tired of this sport.’ Will sighed. ‘I think no more wagers for me.’
‘In that case you may as well marry.’ Rob laughed.