Page 28 of Ondine

Ondine sent Lottie to the dining room with a message that she was indisposed and would not be joining Warwick and Justin for dinner.

She did have a headache, a raging headache.

She had no doubt that Warwick meant his words.

He would bring her with him, one way or another.

She had spent the afternoon pondering escape from the manor; that, too, seemed impossible.

She was constantly watched. She couldn’t even get on a horse without Warwick appearing.

A rap upon her door startled her and reminded her that if she was “indisposed,” she shouldn’t be caught nervously pacing the room, fully clothed. She bit her lower lip, took a deep breath, and called out a weak “Yes?”

“Milady, ’tis Mathilda. I’ve brought tea and broth.”

“Oh, thank you, Mathilda. I—I’m not hungry.”

“Nay, milady! I will not leave till you’ve taken something!” Mathilda returned with concern.

Ondine sighed. Mathilda had sounded so fiercely determined—and worried. She felt guilty. She hesitated a second longer, then called out, “A moment . . .”

In another few seconds she had shed her clothing and donned a nightgown. She quickly ripped apart the bed Lottie had so meticulously straightened. Kicking her clothes aside and nervously composing herself, she came to the door, hoping she looked ill.

“Oh, Lady Chatham! You shouldn’t be out of bed in bare feet!” Mathilda chastised her. “You must get back beneath the covers . . .”

“I will, Mathilda. Thank you for the tea.”

“I’ll not leave until I see you warm and fed, milady,” Mathilda fretted, standing staunchly at the door with the tray in her hand.

Ondine lowered her head as another ripple of guilt touched her. Mathilda was really distressed. She had lost one beloved mistress; perhaps it was natural that she grow nervous over the “illness” of the next.

“I shall crawl back into bed right now, Mathilda. And I’m very sorry to have upset you; it’s nothing. A slight indisposition of the stomach, that is all. I shall surely be fine in the morning.”

Mathilda set the tea tray on the dresser, walked over to the bed, and fluffed the pillow. “You can never be too careful . . .”

She smiled wanly at Ondine. “Come, now, let me take care of you, I implore you, lady.”

Ondine crawled back into the bed. Mathilda smoothed the covers over her with a motherly concern. “Now, if you sit so, I can put the tray upon your lap.”

Ondine obliged her, touched by her tender care. She found herself watching Mathilda curiously, then saying gently, “My name is Ondine. I do wish you would use it. I—understand that you are a Chatham, too, Mathilda.”

Mathilda glanced at her, surprised and smiling. “You didn’t know it all along?”

Ondine shook her head, and Mathilda sat beside her on the bed, dropping a cube of sugar into Ondine’s tea. She stirred it and handed it to her, smiling again. “You will understand why I am so concerned for your health. The child will be my own blood, you see.”

Ondine gasped, scalding her throat on the tea, then choking.

“Oh, dear!” Mathilda leapt to her feet and patted her back.

“The . . . child?” Ondine managed to sputter.

“Oh, dear . . . dear,” Mathilda muttered, wringing her hands a little helplessly, then she sighed.

“Perhaps you did not wish him to say anything yet? But men are like that, milady! Ever so proud of themselves over an heir. Like strutting peacocks.” She smiled with a knowing empathy.

“Many women think it unlucky to make announcements early, but you mustn’t feel so.

And you mustn’t be angry with him. He appeared so impatient when your message was brought to the dining table, but then he sighed and started to smile—what a ravishly wicked, pleased smile, but then you do know the earl!

—and said it was surely natural, since in the early stages carrying a child did cause a woman discomfort. ”

The man was insane! Ondine thought, and barely kept herself from informing Mathilda. Insane—and cruel, to instigate such a falsehood. Mathilda seemed to yearn for the child with a tender and aching excitement.

She lowered her eyes quickly as her heart began to pound. Why the lie? Why was she constantly watched? What in God’s name was going on? Was the Earl of North Lambria mad as a rabid hare?

Her temper began to soar. Damn him! He was at it again—throwing these absurd surprises her way without the slightest warning. Master of play, indeed! It would serve him right if she were to tell Mathilda that the earl was either crazy or sadly mistaken; there was no child.

“Milady—Ondine, are you quite all right? Oh, I haven’t made you feel worse with my rattling tongue, have I?”

Ondine shook her head and offered her a smile that was truly sickly. “Nay, Mathilda. I was just taken a bit by my lord’s . . . announcement. I—I am not that far along. I had thought we might wish to . . . be absolutely certain.”

“Oh!” Mathilda chuckled happily, taking her place by Ondine’s side once again. “A woman knows these things, I think!”

“You’re pleased?”

“Aye, that I am! A wee babe about the manse again! I beg you, take the greatest care! But then you’re so young and healthy. Not at all like—” Mathilda broke off unhappily.

Ondine stretched out a hand to gently encircle her wrist. “Genevieve?”

Mathilda’s lip trembled. “Aye, like Genevieve.”

“Oh, Mathilda! You mustn’t worry so. I will be fine; truly I will.”

Mathilda nodded. Ondine looked searchingly into her eyes and thought that she must have been very beautiful once.

And then Mathilda flushed, appearing a little embarrassed by her show of emotion. “Well, now, you must eat the broth! For the wee one! And . . .”

“What is it, Mathilda?”

“If you should ever need anything, you must call upon me! Anything, at any hour!”

“Thank you, Mathilda.”

“I’m not leaving until you eat the broth.”

Ondine obligingly ate the broth and drank the tea. Mathilda moved about the room, collecting Ondine’s clothing to hang in the bath closet. Then, seeing that her offering was fully consumed, she smiled with approval and took the tray.

“Rest now!”

“I will, I promise.”

Still happily smiling, Mathilda strode to the door with her tray, but Ondine called to her, affecting a bright curiosity before she could exit.

“Mathilda, who was about when milord Chatham made his announcement? Is . . . everyone aware of my—condition?”

“Aye! Justin was there, and a number of the servants. Oh, and Clinton had come in! And, of course, they’re both so pleased.

Justin and my Clinton, I mean. Justin was himself, laughing and telling his brother he was a rake to waste no moment’s time.

He said he was green with envy—Justin is quite taken with you, you know. ”

Ondine kept trying to smile. “Is he? Did he say anything else, or did Warwick?”

“Ah, well . . .” Mathilda suddenly looked uneasy.

“Mathilda! Please?” Ondine wheedled.

“Nothing, really.”

“Tell me! I shan’t sleep a wink if you don’t!”

Mathilda sighed, resting the tray upon her hip. “Well, Justin said that he couldn’t wait for the lady Anne to hear the news.”

“The lady Anne?”

“His old flame at court . . . Oh! You never met her? I had assumed you met there.”

“I didn’t meet the lady Anne,” Ondine replied evasively, a hot needling of temper pricking at her again.

“Old flames are those that are extinguished, you must remember,” Mathilda assured her wisely.

“And your husband responded that he was quite anxious for Lady Anne to hear the news, so surely; he wishes her to know how quite settled he is and happily so! And he added that he hoped Lord Hardgrave also learned quickly that there was to be an heir to North Lambria soon!”

Ondine leaned up on her elbows. “Who is this Lord Hardgrave? Warwick mentions him occasionally—and not with pleasure.”

“A neighbor, lower in title and stature than Warwick, and hostile for it. Ah . . . admittedly, Warwick, too, is hostile. They met at age three, and even then they were enemies.” She stopped speaking, glancing at Ondine with a wary sigh.

“There—now I have answered all your questions, even those I probably should not have! You promised to rest.”

“Oh, I will,” Ondine said, and she forced a sweet and cheerful smile to her lips.

She waited until she heard Mathilda’s footsteps pass through the bath, through Warwick’s chamber, and the music room.

When a soft and distant click assured her that all doors to the apartment were closed and that she was quite alone, she threw the covers off the bed, leapt up, and slammed furiously from her chamber.

In Warwick’s room she paused, found his brush upon his dresser, and threw it wildly against the wall.

“Damn you, knave, what is the game you play?” she whispered vehemently.

She stalked out to the music chamber and sat at his desk, determined to assault him with demands the moment he entered. She sat, barely restraining herself from shredding the chair’s brocade with her nails.

And then it occurred to her quite suddenly that she might have at last found her bargaining power. She could tell him that if he forced her to court, she would refute his lie—and inform his household that she was certainly not expecting a child.

Excitement and relief joined with her anger so that she was anxious to see him. She jumped back to her feet and began pacing the room. Again and again, nervous energy drove her back and forth like a caged tiger.

But she began to worry—what if he was a little mad and considered it all a joke? What if he laughed and told her that he didn’t care what she told anyone?

That worry caused her to pause at a window and stare out at the night, fear streaking through her in icy shafts. Should she tell him that she could not go to court because she would be wrested from him, dragged into prison, and tried as a traitor?

No! She could not let it happen. There would be no more such scandal and lie cast upon the family name! They would never prove her a traitor, for she would never let them!