Page 61 of Lord of Mistrust

Chloe smiled up at Robert. Her heart was full of joy, despite the tears that continually threatened to spill.

He returned her look with a beam of pleasure. “It was a long sermon. Mayhap we should trot along, Wife, lest we catch a chill.”

“Surely you jest, Husband? If I run in my pattens, I’ll break an ankle. Perchance both of them.”

“I could lift you and run with you. That would warm us.”

“Nay.” She shot him a sideways glance. “I need you to save your energy for the marriage bed.”

His mouth drooped. “But that is hours hence, and there is much feasting, carousing, and dancing to be endured before the appointed hour.” He grinned suddenly and gave her a look that made her quiver in anticipation. “Be not afeared, Wife. I will be able to stay the pace.”

“Mayhap you won’t have to wait that long. It’ll be dark by five. We could slip away and avoid all the embarrassment.” Chloe wasn’t looking forward to people crowding around them and singing rude songs as they headed for the traditional bedding of the bride. She wanted privacy, and she didn’t want Robert to have to rush.

“Regrettably, we must put our desires aside and let our guests hold sway, my love. But mayhap we can escape partway through the celebrations for a short walk around the manor. I can show you the home farm, and the horses, and we can see if the ice on the duckpond needs breaking.”

Chloe squeezed his hand. Robert was justly proud of Blacklands, his manor in Berkshire. It was set amidst gently rolling hills, boasted the ruins of a Norman castle, and was fully tenanted. The house itself required repairs, particularly the roof, where many tiles had cracked or spalled. It was most fortunate that Chloe’s mother had persuaded Sir Mortimer to not only cancel Robert’s debt but to provide Chloe with a substantial dowry. It meant the house could now be put to rights.

“A perambulation of your manor would be welcome—we may need to walk off the wedding feast in any case. Our guests have been generosity itself—I still can’t believe my father sent us a peacock. What a centerpiece it will make!”

“Your mother’s gilded apples have captured the imagination, as have her oranges. ’Tis a shame your father deigned to come—I would have enjoyed watching her punish him some more.”

Chloe pulled her fur partlet more tightly around her neck. Privately, she was grateful her father had remained in London and not come to the festivities. Despite his recent generosity, he’d decided not to publicly recognize her as his daughter. She didn’t mind this at all—Uncle Matthew was more deserving of that accolade, for he had raised her from a small girl. Nay, Sir Mortimer Fowler was as bad-tempered as his name suggested, and despite their shared blood, she couldn’t love him as a daughter ought. She now had Robert’s protection so had no expectation of needing her father.

“Aye, my mother does seem to have gone for every spherical fruit that can be had at this time of year. I’m glad she made no blancmange for us, for that would doubtless have been shaped like a pair of dugs and topped with sugared cherries.”

Robert threw his head back and laughed. “Mistress Riviere of the Bawdy House will never change, I fear. I hope you’re not too ashamed to have her as kin?”

“She will behave if I speak firmly to her. She understands enough about propriety not to make me a laughingstock. And after today, she’ll return to Southampton. We’ll see her only when she comes to us rather than vice versa. As she said—she’d rather not mix business with pleasure, which is ironic considering her business is pleasure.”

They’d reached the courtyard of the manor house now and were walking on cobbles rather than the rutted road. Chloe paused in the porch to lean on her husband while she removed her muddied pattens. Their youthful escort quieted and stood off to one side, gazing solemnly at the newly-wedded pair.

“I’ll carry you across the yard so you don’t soil your shoes.”

A cheer erupted as Robert hefted Chloe into his arms and marched into the house with her. He carried her all the way through the great medieval hall around which the modern manor had been built. The place was decked with evergreens, and sweet herbs burned in the huge fireplace. As soon as the couple appeared, musicians struck up a cheerful tune.

Chloe took her place at the top table and exchanged nods and smiles with their guests. Master Whiteley joined them, as did her mother, the parson who’d conducted the service and, of course, Uncle Matthew and Aunt Philippa. Sitting at lower board, at the far end of the hall were, amongst the tenants and servants, Master and Goodwife Hazelthwaite from the White Hart. They’d traveled all the way up from Hampshire and were staying at the village inn, along with very self-important Sim.

Dela leaned across and patted Chloe’s hand. “Did I not say all would turn out well? A daughter should always trust her mother’s words.”

Chloe raised an eyebrow. “In this instance, aye, you have proved to be right. But largely because you bullied poor Sir Mortimer.”

“No more than he deserved, as well you know. Imagine forcing your charming husband to tear all around the country and risk his life because of a gambling debt! Deplorable worm. Although, I suppose I shouldn’t speak ill of your father at your wedding.”

Chloe relented. “I’m only teasing you, my Lady Mother. I’m truly grateful for all you have done on my behalf.” She lowered her voice. “Your scheme to make Robert jealous was particularly successful.”

Dela chuckled. “I can tell by the pink of your cheeks that it was. And in very truth, I was glad of the chance to see Mortimer again. He needed to be put in his place, and I thoroughly enjoyed doing so. Now, by contrast, what a magnificent fellow that Sir Francis Walsingham is!”

Walsingham, though he had wished Chloe and Robert well, had found it needful to remain in London. He had, to Chloe’s relief, released Robert from his service, claiming that now Robert was married, he had a duty to his wife to keep his skin whole. Fearing that Robert might miss the excitement of being an undercover warrior for his queen, Chloe had made a bargain with Sir Francis. Robert would be called upon if any local plots or unrest were suspected—but he’d gather information only, not enter into any fights. She vowed she would hold him to that.

Chloe wondered why her mother’s eyes were shining. “I don’t know that I’d call him magnificent, but he’s a fine fellow, and a fair one. So long as one remains on the right side of him.”

“Ah, well, there you have it.” Her mother tapped the side of her nose conspiratorially. “Pray, keep this to yourself, but I can tell you that although Walsingham has lost one of his agents—Robert Mallory—he’s gained another. Can you guess who that might be?”

Her mother’s excitement was so obvious, there was no need to guess. “Oh, Mother, surely you haven’t allowed yourself to get tangled up in his schemes?”

“Oh, it’s nothing dangerous. But I was much taken with the clever gentleman when we met him at Whitehall Palace. There’s great advantage to be had from aiding him, you know—if there’s anyone in the realm who could help one out of a tight spot, that man is Walsingham. My girls are party to many secrets that men in their cups, or in the throes of passion, accidentally let slip. The queen’s spymaster will pay me handsomely for useful information. What say you to that?”

“I don’t know if that knowledge will make me worry about you more, or worry about you less. Just be careful. You have seen how dangerous a game spying can be.”