Page 79 of Her Baseborn Bridegroom

A thrill of surprise ran through the hall. Queen Armenal waited patiently for the reaction to subside before continuing in a hard voice: “The left-hand path is for your marriage to remain legal. But, as a consequence, you will lose the Cadwallader estate which will be confiscated by the Crown and the title Duke of Cadwallader will be rescinded.”

Linnet gasped. Her feet suddenly felt terribly heavy, like they might crash through the floorboards. The room swayed and went dark. And then Linnet did something that she had never done before in all her twenty-four years. She tumbled to the floor in a dead swoon.

XXXIII

It was dark and quiet in the room and something damp lay on her brow. Linnet could feel she was lying on a bed or a cushioned bench of some kind. A voice was coming in and out of focus, loud then quiet, then loud again. Linnet felt spent, hopeless, and wretched. She didn’t even care about her disorientation or lack of vision. What did it matter anymore? She had lost everything. She could feel tears flowing down her cheeks from her closed eyes. She gave a soft sob.

“Oh, milady!” wept Gertie. “Oh, you did frighten me. When they carried you in here you was as limp as a rag!”

“Where’s Cuthbert?” Linnet croaked, reaching for Gertie’s hand. Her maid clasped it warmly.

“He’s helping pack up your things, milady.”

Linnet went cold. “Packing?” Already?

She would never see Mason again, she thought dully. She would return to her tower and a life lived through books and illustrations. When she grew old and grey, she would remember her short-lived marriage almost as if it were a dream. She shivered.

“Are you cold, milady?” Gertie asked considerately. “These rooms is too bare!” She clicked her tongue. “Can tell they’m bachelor rooms. Not a soft furnishing in sight! And not fit for the likes of you and so I told him!”

Linnet frowned. She was a little woozy, but something wasn’t making sense here. Lady Doverdale was a widow, not a bachelor. She turned her head. But no, Gertie was right. These weren’t Lady Doverdale’s rooms. She did recognize it vaguely though.

“Where are we?” she asked weakly.

“Still at that wicked court, more’s the pity,” said Gertie bitterly. “I heard all about it! How you been done out of your birthright and it’s a crying shame! What’s everyone back at Cadwallader Castle goin’ to say when they find out it’s been commandeered? Thievin’ wotsits, that’s what I say!” whispered Gertie hoarsely.

Linnet’s head reeled. The door cracked open and a dark head peered around it. To her utter astonishment, Sir Roland Vawdrey peered in! Grasping for the bedside cabinet, Linnet reached a brass candlestick holder off the side and flung it at his head as hard as she could possibly manage.

“Get out!” she whimpered. Gertie shrieked and unfortunately the blasted thing soared only as far as the middle of the room before clanging against the bare flagstones and crashing to a halt.

Roland dodged back out. “She’s mad as fire,” she heard him say before the door creaked open again and Mason strode in.

Her heart stopped and she stared at him.

He looked long and hard at her tear-streaked face and then cursed and pulled her off the bed.

“There’s no need to be so rough with her!” begged Gertie, flinging her apron over her head and bursting into tears.

Mason’s expression could have been carved in stone. “You’re coming out to eat with the family and you’d best get used to it,” he said in a flat voice.

Then Linnet recognized the room. It was Mason’s bedroom at the palace. She had been lying on his bed! No sooner had it clicked into place than he was yanking her out of the room and dragging her into another chamber off the sitting room. When she tried to protest or twist out of his punishing grip, he spun her around and leant his face down close to hers.

His eyes were hard. “You’re a Vawdrey now Linnet, and you’re staying one. The sooner you get used to that fact, the better.”

He half-carried her to a seat at a small dining table where Baron Vawdrey, Oswald, and Roland were all looking at her uneasily. An elderly, male servant was placing dishes on the table for dinner.

Baron Vawdrey sat at the head of the table, cleared his throat. “Right sorry I am about this lass,” he said, shaking his head. “It’s a sad day for you, and no mistake. But er . . . such is the lot of women,” he said, obviously making an attempt to be conciliatory for once in his life. “They’re always the ones to suffer for men’s mistakes. Best to simply try and make the best of a bad lot.”

Linnet stared, then she realized that Mason was ladling food to her plate. It looked like a vegetable stew and smelled, she noticed distractedly, quite delicious.

Wordlessly he poured a cup of frothy white milk into a cup and passed it to her. Linnet placed it carefully on the table as he took the seat beside her.

“What did you do?” she asked in a quiet voice. “Mason?”

He went still a moment. “Eat your meal,” he said, not looking at her.

“I’m still a Vawdrey?” she asked in disbelief. When Mason wouldn’t answer, she gazed up at Oswald who sat opposite her with a concerned look on his face. Seeing her silent appeal, he gave a sharp nod of assent, his eyes full of sympathy.

“We’re still married?” she mumbled numbly.