The Unintended Bride (24 page)

"I have expressed my regret, of course, several times."

Hero could see his hands clenched tightly at his knees, out of the line of his grandmother's sight. She wished she could reach over and take his hand in hers, but no doubt his grandmother would only be angered further by such a gesture.

As it was, Eustacia Watterly's eyes were flinty with pure rage as she asked icily, "Have you begged his forgiveness for your betrayal?"

"Not in so many words."

"Then do so at once."

He nodded sharply. "I will ride over to see him tomorrow." Arthur seemed to find the idea a good one, but Hero had her reservations. Perhaps, she thought, it was because she did not like recognizing that marriage to her was how he had committed the betrayal in the first place.

His grandmother was still not pleased, however. "I cannot believe I must tell you such a thing. You should be on your knees to the man, begging his pardon, hoping that he will one day grant you his forgiveness. Instead, you are digging a ditch."

Hero interjected, "Arthur met one of the challenges that will allow him to lead the Round Table Society by digging that ditch."

His grandmother's expression softened somewhat as she paused for a moment and then asked, "Is that so?"

"I have." He glanced at her as if perhaps he wished she had not said anything about the challenges to his grandmother.

"Which challenge is it that digging a ditch satisfies?" The contempt in her voice was not disguised in the least.

He said calmly, "Chivalry, of course, Grandmama." He paused, and then added, "You know — the virtue of giving aid to those less fortunate than yourself."

"Virtue indeed," she said dryly. "I should have kept a closer rein on you when you were younger," she added for good measure. "You are out digging ditches when you have fences to mend. I cannot believe you have single-handedly made an enemy of this man who has been a friend to our family for years."

Arthur interrupted sharply. "I remind you, if he is anyone's enemy, Grandmama, it is mine and mine alone — not this family's or yours."

For several tense seconds, his grandmother simply stared at him, as if he were an unusual specimen she wished to categorize but could not. And then she said abruptly, "He is set upon Gabriel Digby to win out as head of the Round Table Society."

Arthur blinked at the blunt announcement. "We are both good men, both good candidates. It would be no shame to lose to Gabriel Digby." He added, "Not that I intend to lose, of course."

"Lose?" She sighed. "Have I not passed on my knowledge of Arthurian legend? Do you not have your grandfather's and your father's scholarly research? Their library? The stories you took in with your mother's milk and those at your grandfather's knee?"

"I do." He nodded.

But she went on, impatiently. "There should never have been a competition between the two of you. If you had been more forceful, more commanding, there would have been no choice to make."

Hero wanted to protest the unfair criticism, but Arthur warned her not to interfere with a swift glance.

"If you lose this, you are no grandson of mine." She sagged in front of them as if she had become boneless, and then she straightened once again.

Hero braced herself for some new attack.

With an arch of her brow, Eustacia Watterly questioned her grandson sharply. "Have you met either of the other challenges yet?"

He shook his head. "No."

She paused a moment, holding his eye with hers for a longer time than absolutely necessary. "Digby has."

Arthur said only, "Did Fenwell Delagrace tell you this? He might have reason to lie — "

Her laughter was pure scorn. "With his rescue of your bride from that fire, Arthur, he has met the challenge of Valor."

Arthur sat stunned and silent.

She did not stop her scornful scourge, however. "He risked his own life for your bride." She added, bitingly, "Worst of all, you will be the one to bear witness to his tale. Admit to the whole society that your wife helped your rival to win."

"I cannot wish that he did not rescue Hero," Arthur said softly, turning to look at her as if he thought she might need assurance on the matter. It did not please her that she did indeed need the confirmation she saw in his expression. "No matter that it means he has met a challenge, or that I must bear witness to it."

"Then you are a fool, and you will feel it keenly when you stand to tell your tales and be judged for them."

"So be it." He shrugged with a nonchalance that Hero doubted he truly felt. "I will do as I must. I will apologize to Fenwell Delagrace, and I will meet my challenges."

"Then do so," his grandmother snapped. "And exercise some control over your own wife."

"My wife is not an issue." Arthur stood, his own anger at the fore. "I will do my best, as I always have, to make this family proud."

"Good." Her attention turned with no warning to Hero. "And will you help him, girl, instead of putting boulders in his path, as you have been?"

"Of course I will," Hero answered without hesitation.

"Very well, then prove the mettle of your words with action. Begin with turning the Delagrace family back into our allies, please."

Arthur uttered a strangled protest.

"Grandmama — "

"I expect you — the both of you," Her eyes were sharp upon Hero. "For mark my words, you will fail if you are not both working relentlessly toward this end — to ensure that one challenge has been met by the Delagrace dinner party next week."

"He has met one," Hero protested.

"Digging ditches? I hope you, at least, believe your husband can do better than that." She turned her attention back to the letter in front of her.

Apparently, that action served as their dismissal, because Arthur held out his hand for Hero. She gripped it tightly as she rose, glad to be leaving the opulent and oppressive room, where darkness hovered in the very corners. She was suddenly grateful for her own large and loving family, despite the distance between them now. Poor Arthur. How awful to have such a woman as your sole remaining family member.

Arthur entered Hero's room without knocking, startling Ellen at the task of brushing her mistress' hair. He took the brush from the maid's reluctant fingers. "I will finish here. Go and tend to your other duties."

The maid glanced at Hero, who nodded. Arthur did not know whether to be annoyed or pleased. At least the maid believed Hero deserved loyalty and respect.

"Have you received another note?" She rose from her dressing table to face him and did not bother to fasten her robe closed. Was that sign that she trusted him? That she was growing more comfortable with him despite his clumsy oafishness in the carriage?

"No." There had been no more notes since their arrival at Camelot. Each morning Arthur carefully checked to make sure their mysterious note writer had not dropped another missive while he was occupied about the business of his estate. "Perhaps he is bored with the game."

She smiled in sympathy. "I'm sorry. For a time it felt so close, seeing the words in Malory's own hand. But perhaps it is for the best while you still have to meet the three challenges." She took the brush from his hand. "But it is bad of you to frighten Ellen like that for no reason. She must think you wanted to eat me. I cannot imagine what she is saying below stairs."

He laughed, taking the brush back from her and plying it slowly through her hair. "No doubt she is saying that the master is a randy toad, who will not leave the mistress in peace, even in the daylight."

The looking glass reflected her smile, which was too sad for his liking. "It is more likely that she will report you found something amiss with your household and came through to scold me."

He turned her to face him. "Never."

"You truly do not blame me for your predicament? First you had to marry me, then your rival is the one to rescue me from the inn. That is a lot to forgive."

"I believe it is you who had to marry me." He ran his hand through the silk of her hair, trailing his fingers down across the bared skin at the top of her nightdress, feeling the strong beat of her heart. "Not to mention if I had been beside you in bed, there would have been no need for Digby to rescue you."

She took the brush from his hand and moved away to put it down on her dressing table, but not before he felt her heartbeat surge. "Why is it you needed to see me so urgently this morning?"

He put the idea of coaxing her back into bed from his mind with a force of will. "Is Grandmama right? Should I find another way to meet the Chivalry challenge?" He was proud of the ditch he had helped Nat Turner to dig. The man was eighty, with five widowed daughters, and twelve as yet unwed granddaughters. If he'd not waited until forty to wed, he'd not have been in his predicament, but how could anyone in the Society argue that he was not a fellow in need of a knightly good deed?

"Perhaps that would be a question to ask Fenwell Delagrace? Sometimes it is easier to be granted forgiveness when you ask for it along with wise advice."

"I shall do that, then." Until that time, he would account chivalry as accomplished. Honor and Valor left to be satisfied in two months' time. He dropped a kiss on her head, intending to leave her to her morning routine, when her advice struck him again. Beg forgiveness while asking for advice.

He took her hands. "Hero. I would ask your advice about another matter."

"As you wish."

"What wise counsel would you give a man who has offended his wife and wishes to make amends?"

She smiled. "What is his offense?"

"An unforgivable one, I fear. He put his need above hers one afternoon and caused her undue discomfort."

She shook her head and sighed. "A good wife knows that a little discomfort is the price of marriage."

"So there is nothing he can do to make amends?"

"He could please her in such measure that she counts herself fortunate, no matter a discomfort or two."

"Wise advice indeed." He pulled the rope to ring for Ellen and lifted Hero to the bed. He pressed a kiss to her neck and pushed down the shoulder of her robe.

"What are you doing? Ellen will be here any minute."

He skimmed his hands up her shoulders, her neck, to the nape of her neck and pulled her toward him for a thorough kiss, before he answered, "I don't want to disappoint Ellen, and make her think her mistress was subject to a scolding, now do I?"

She laughed shakily in answer. He left her looking like the wife of a randy toad, an act of chivalry if he'd ever heard of one.

Feeling as if a weight had been removed from his shoulders, he went about his morning with a hopeful heart and broke for luncheon expecting a pleasant meal with Hero. To his shock, he discovered that an unexpected guest had arrived. Gabriel Digby sat boldly and unapologetically at the table.

"Watterly" Digby greeted him civilly with that grin that showed all his perfect teeth.

"Digby." His new resolve to devote himself to meeting his challenges allowed him to say the man's name calmly, masking completely the astonishment he felt. He did not, at first, even glance at his grandmother.

He took his place at the table, noticing only then that Hero was not yet present. "Grandmama, where is Hero?"

He could see the question surprised her. No doubt she had expected him to challenge Digby, perhaps even call him out. She answered the question he had asked, though, after a slight hesitation. "She is being fitted for new gowns."

"She cannot take time out for a meal?"

"She lost half of her entire wardrobe in the fire. She has many gowns to replace."

He knew the message she was sending to him. She wanted to remind him of the fire and the challenge Hero had met for Digby. Apparently, she did not even mind that Digby sat consuming their prime salmon, oblivious to her rebuke.

"I will see that something is sent up to her," he said mildly, gesturing to the footman.

"As you wish," his grandmother replied snappishly. He hoped some of her irritation was in response to his cool acceptance of her perfidy. "She is mistress of the house, after all, and perfectly capable of ordering her own meal sent up."

"And well you should remember it," he agreed.

When she did not seem sufficiently abashed, he added sharply, "And I am master and may be solicitous of my wife, if I wish."

Digby, who had been watching the exchange with the polite boredom of the genteel eavesdropper, said heartily, "I applaud you, sir, both for seeing promptly to the replacement of your wife's unfortunate loss of her wardrobe, as well as for seeing that she is fed during what I imagine must be quite a traumatic undertaking, if I am to believe the tales my sisters have told me."

"Thank you, Digby." He wanted to throttle the man, but the way his grandmother glanced at him, he had a feeling she was hoping he would. So instead, he said shortly, "I intend to see that my wife wants for nothing."

His grandmother was clearly displeased with his statement. But instead of inciting any further argument, she turned to a new and well-loved topic. "How is your translation on that French tale coming, Arthur?"

They talked of King Arthur, as his grandmother wished. Much to his chagrin, the conversation was stimulating, all three of them experts. Digby knew the subject as well as Arthur. Not to mention that he had rescued a woman from a fire while Arthur had only dug a ditch.

His decision was only confirmed more absolutely — he could waste no more time on Malory's elusive manuscript. He must concentrate on meeting his challenges. After he succeeded in removing Digby from Camelot.

Under his breath he asked his grandmother, "Grandmama — did you not just tell me yourself that has the support of Fenwell Delagrace himself? How can you allow him into the house knowing that?"

She smiled, not bothering to keep her voice discreetly low. "I invited him. Such a charming young man. I can see why the Round Table Society would consider him to lead them."

Digby, ever the gentleman, excused himself politely as soon as the voices about him began to rise. Arthur watched him go, his thoughts in confusion. Why had his grandmother really summoned his rival? Could she, too, be planning to side with Digby as head of the society?