Page 47 of Her Baseborn Bridegroom

“Veils,” said Linnet, growing puzzled herself.

“Oh! Oh veils . . . ” he said, his head sinking back down onto his crossed forearms. “Your pardon, I had lost the thread of the conversation.”

Linnet sat and frowned a moment. Then she realized what it was Oswald had thought she had said. “Actually, Mason does not really care about my freckles,” she said quietly.

Oswald’s head didn’t rise from where it lolled, and she lapsed into silence. Surprising as it was, she did not think Mason would have lied about her freckles. He did not seem to care about sparing other people’s feelings enough to lie about anything. He believed in plain speaking with the whole unpalatable truth. Right from the outset, she reflected. He had been completely up front with her. With the possible exception of just how many sons he expected from her. She was almost sure he had only asked for one at the beginning!

“We’re here!” yelled Cuthbert as the cart lurched to a stop outside a tumbledown cottage. Cuthbert scrambled down from the cart and held his hand up to her obligingly. Deciding against waiting for the fragile Oswald’s support, she instead took Cuthbert’s little hand and swung down from the cart. Both of them reeled back a few steps. “It’s higher than it looks!” puffed Linnet. Cuthbert tugged his blue tunic straight. “I believe you’re getting heavier, milady.” He said ingenuously.

“Do you think so?” asked Linnet. “I must say, I do think my appetite has improved lately, so I wouldn’t be at all surprised.”

Oswald was climbing rather gingerly down from the cart. “I may walk back,” he said grim faced.

“Oh dear, do you really feel unwell Oswald?” she sympathized. “Is it affecting your head as well as your stomach now?”

“Please don’t let’s talk of it,” he grimaced. “It only makes it worse when I dwell on how wretched I feel.”

“Very well,” she agreed hurriedly. “Let’s go in.”

“Can’t,” said Cuthbert cheerfully.

They both turned back to look at him in astonishment. “Whatever do you mean, Cuthbert?”

“See that scarf?” he said, gesturing with his thumb over his shoulder at the wooden door where sure enough, an old grey looking scarf was wound around the latch. “When that’s there it means you have to wait, as granny’s got someone in with her.”

“Someone?” grouched Oswald, plainly annoyed.

“Someone seeking her advice, I take it,” said Linnet thoughtfully. She looked about her. “Well, let us sit on this stone wall a moment and breathe the fine country air.”

Cuthbert hopped up onto the wall and unwrapped some cheese and dry biscuits from his handkerchief. He offered some to Linnet which she smilingly declined. Pulling herself up onto the wall beside him, she swung her legs under her blue skirts, drumming her heels against the stones. She could feel the sun on her shoulders and hair, and even though that meant more freckles, at this precise moment she couldn’t bring herself to care. She glanced sideways at Cuthbert and he beamed back at her. She held her hand out to him and they clasped hands in silent companionship as Oswald once again dry heaved over the rose bushes.

“Silly great sot,” whispered Cuthbert.

Linnet gave a gurgle of laughter. “Your master may have a sore head today also, Cuthbert.”

Cuthbert snorted. “Not he. Sir Oswald cannot hold his ale and had to be carried up to his bed yestere’en.”

“Did he indeed?” asked Linnet with interest. “And what of Lord Vawdrey?”

“Nay, Lord Vawdrey took one step back for every three steps forward, but he did find his own way there,” Cuthbert informed her gravely.

“I see.”

“Was the master sotted?” asked Cuthbert curiously.

“Possibly, he was a little, but not so much that you would notice it.” She blushed, but luckily Cuthbert was distracted by a passing bumble bee.

Presently the cottage door opened and a short, nervous-looking man sidled out. Linnet could not help wondering what manner of help he had asked from Mother Ames, but she merely nodded at him as he hurried past them.

“That’s Samuel Johns,” whispered Cuthbert. “He’s worried he’s going bald.”

“Oh,” Linnet glanced after him and thought he had every right to be worried with his thin-looking hair.

“Good morrow,” called a voice from the doorway, and Cuthbert hopped down off the wall.

“Morning, Granny.”

“Good morning, Mother Ames,” called Linnet.