Page 16 of Her Baseborn Bridegroom

He looked a bit taken aback by this and shot a look at Mason, but smiled nonetheless. “You are very kind, Linnet. Indeed, I hope you will call me Oswald.”

She smiled and nodded “Of course,” and he returned to his dish of pickled herrings. Mason, she noticed, was eating salted cod.

“This pandemain is very good,” commented Oswald, gesturing to the white loaf on the table. “You do not partake of it, Linnet?” He looked curious.

“Um, no,” she said, lowering her butter knife. “I prefer darker bread made with oats and rye.”

“Linnet has very unusual tastes for a fine lady,” cut in Mason drily. “She prefers vegetable soup to roast meat.”

“You mean low tastes,” she replied sweetly. “But indeed I much prefer this to wheat bread. It is much more flavorsome with lentils, acorns, and chestnuts added to the dough.”

Mason gave a grudging laugh.

Oswald merely looked surprised. “I have heard that some vegetables can be poisonous,” he said with concern.

Linnet shrugged. “None that our kitchen has ever served me,” she countered, taking a sip of milk.

“What is that on your head, wife?” asked Mason conversationally. He pointed with his knife to the linen rectangular veil covering her hair.

Her hand flew up to touch it. “Why, ’tis only my head veil, husband.” She responded with alacrity.

“You look like you’re about to take holy orders,” he said. “Take it off.”

“But . . . ’tis only seemly that I should wear it in company,” Linnet found herself squeaking.

“I don’t like it.”

“But . . . ” her words trailed off. Her gaze darted to Oswald, who was looking at Mason with surprise.

“To sit in company with my head uncovered, ’twould not be proper.” she argued uncertainly.

“Did you not just say that Oswald is now your brother?” asked Mason, raising an eyebrow at her challengingly.

“Well . . . yes,” she agreed lamely. With a sigh of defeat, she reached up to remove it. “I thought if I wore it without a wimple you would not object.”

“You thought wrong,” he responded, lowering his tankard of ale. There was a gleam in his eye and it occurred to her that Mason Vawdrey was in favor of confrontation at the breakfast table. What a strange man he was! She laid the veil down on the bench and smoothed her hand over her hair, flicking it over her shoulders.

Mason’s eyes followed her closely. “It appears that the Jevonses removed themselves with some ten servants last night,” he said.

“Five of them would have been my aunt’s ladies-in-waiting,” Linnet responded after a moment’s hesitation.

“And the other five?” he asked.

She shrugged. “The steward?”

He shook his head. “I have seen Robards this morning. He remained behind. I believe the man is honest. What was your impression?”

Linnet looked up, expecting his gaze to be on his brother, but found it trained instead upon herself.

“I . . . I never met him before yesterday,” she admitted with a stammer.

“And?”

“He seemed honest though somewhat uneasy,” she said slowly.

Mason nodded in agreement.

“I believe my uncle would have taken his groomsmen who look after his horses,” she said, feeling encouraged. “And the chamberlain who saw to his wardrobe. He was quite vain you know. I don’t believe he has a squire presently. He hasn’t had one for a few years. “