Page 16 of The Forgotten (Echoes from the Past #2)

Is that so? Petra thought bitterly. Avery had been heartbroken when his father pledged him to the church.

Obedience, celibacy, and poverty were not something he aspired to, but it seemed that he’d changed his tune.

Most clerics were happy enough to be a parish priest. It wasn’t a life of wealth and privilege, but they did hold a place of respect in the community and enjoyed certain benefits if they found a wealthy patron who was willing to offer coin in exchange for absolution and God’s blessing.

Petra never thought of Avery as someone with ambition, but then again, the last time she’d seen him he was only seventeen.

He’d been angry and defiant, but most of all, afraid of losing everything he held dear.

It seemed that Avery found new ideas to feel passionate about, and chose to make the most of his situation.

Petra wouldn’t call it a vocation, since it’d never been Avery’s desire to enter the church and serve God, but for many, a position in the church was more about advancing their own interests rather than serving the Lord or their parishioners.

Petra was distracted from thoughts of Avery by the sound of an opening door, followed by heavy footsteps coming from the antechamber.

Lady Blythe insisted that the front door be kept locked throughout the day, so whoever had just entered the house had a key.

Petra exhaled in relief. It was probably Robert, come to check on his mother.

He’d been to the house the week before, to give Lady Blythe her usual update on the business, despite his brother’s absence.

Perhaps this was more of a social call. She turned to Lady Blythe to inform her that she had a visitor, but the old woman nodded off again, her head dipping onto her bosom in slumber.

Petra sat up straight, quickly tucked a stray wisp of hair beneath her barbet, and smoothed down her skirts before reaching for her embroidery.

It wouldn’t do to look like she was dawdling while Lady Blythe slept.

The door opened softly to reveal Lord Thomas Devon.

Petra hadn’t seen him since returning to Lady Blythe’s service and was surprised by how much he’d changed over the past twelve years.

Gone was the lanky young man with a mane of dark hair and serious blue eyes.

He’d been replaced by a man of late middle years, whose powerful frame nearly filled the shadowed doorframe.

Lord Thomas’s temples and beard were liberally silvered with gray, and his eyes narrowed in suspicion as he glared at Petra, making her feel like a fish on a hook.

Petra sprang to her feet and curtseyed to Lord Thomas, wishing all the while that Lady Blythe would awake and explain Petra’s presence in the house, but she slept on, snoring loudly enough to wake the dead.

Lord Thomas motioned for Petra to follow him, and she obeyed, walking behind him on silent feet toward the dining hall.

This room was considerably brighter, since Nan had just lit a brace of candles in preparation for Lady Blythe’s supper.

Lord Thomas turned to face Petra. In the past, he’d favored simple, comfortable garments, but now his dress proclaimed his elevated position.

There were stringent laws in place, detailing which fabrics and furs each class was permitted to wear to make their station obvious.

A man in Lord Thomas’s position could wear the very best, being of noble birth and high standing.

This evening, Lord Thomas wore a traveling cloak of midnight blue, trimmed with miniver and adorned with a silver clasp decorated with gemstones.

Beneath, his clothes were just as fine, made of rich velvet and the softest leather.

Lord Thomas shrugged off his cloak and draped it over a chair as he studied Petra, his brow furrowed.

His gaze was as serious as Petra recalled from before, but there were new lines etched into his face, the grooves bracketing his mouth being the most obvious.

Lord Thomas didn’t look like a man who smiled often.

Petra recalled her recent conversation with Robert as she stared at her toes.

Robert should have kept his counsel and respected his brother’s privacy, but he’d always been something of a gossip and couldn’t resist taking a stab at his earnest older brother.

“Those two just never got on,” Robert confided in Petra, referring to Thomas and Mildred.

“Cold and ill-tempered she was, refusing Thomas her affections more often than not. She’d birthed two stillborn boys and then bore Thomas a daughter.

After that, the marriage bed had grown cold.

Covered with a quilt of cobwebs,” Robert had confided to Petra with a wicked smile.

“’Tis a sad thing to say about a woman so recently deceased, but I think my brother was glad to see the last of her.

Miserable, she made him. No man should dread coming home to his hearth, not even one as humorless as my brother,” Robert added.

“And what of his daughter?” Petra asked, curious what type of child such a marriage produced. Her own children were a product of a loveless marriage, but they were kind and compassionate, unlike their father. Perhaps Lord Thomas’s daughter was the same.

“Just like her mother, by all accounts, in looks as well as temperament. I don’t see much of her.

Thomas had arranged a marriage for Tanith last year.

She agreed readily enough. He’s a good catch, her husband, and as much of a cold fish as she is, apparently.

Married nearly a year and no sign of a babe in her belly.

They probably perform their marital duties once a month during a full moon, if it falls on a Tuesday,” Robert added, making Petra giggle.

“I think Tanith will start leaving offerings to the pagan goddess of fertility soon if she doesn’t conceive.

When one god fails, you try another. I hear her father-in-law is none too pleased with her, the old rogue.

Sired eight sons in his day, some of them born just months apart, if you get my meaning. But we don’t speak of such things.”

Robert really did have a vicious tongue, always had, but he spoke the truth, which one heard so rarely.

Had Robert been poor and without influence, he likely would have been accused of blasphemy by now and been punished for his sins, but Robert always landed on his feet, like a cat.

He might have favored his mother in looks, but his personality was that of his father, who spent his youth carousing and fornicating with other women.

There were several young men in Dunwich who bore a striking resemblance to the late Lord Devon, and a few young women as well.

Lord Devon looked after all his children, ensuring that their mothers, most of whom were already wed by the time he lay with them, suffered no ill effects from their association with him.

Robert was faithful to his wife, but that didn’t stop him from flirting with any attractive woman who happened to be in his path, and Petra was no exception.

She enjoyed his visits but never took anything Robert said seriously.

She didn’t expect the reunion with Lord Thomas to be quite as pleasant, if his scowl was anything to go by.

Petra raised her eyes to Lord Thomas, recognizing the need for an introduction, when a spark of recognition finally lit up his eyes.

“Petra, it’s good to see you again. I was sorry to hear of your husband’s passing,” Lord Thomas said. “I do hope my mother is treating you well.”

“Thank you, Lord Thomas, she is,” Petra replied truthfully .

“How are you managing?” he asked, surprising Petra with the unflinching honesty of the question. No one asked her that. No one cared enough to. She was just another widow, left to fend for herself and support her family as best she could.

“We’re getting by,” Petra replied. The fact that she was back in his mother’s household was answer enough. A life of wifely duty had been replaced by a life of subservience. At least Lady Blythe no longer beat her.

“And your children?” Lord Thomas went on, watching her intently.

“They are well, lord. Thank you for asking.”

“Have you secured an apprenticeship for your son? He’s nearly twelve, is he not?”

“Ah, yes.”

“When’s supper?” Lady Blythe demanded as she shuffled into the room, saving Petra from answering. She’d been about to lie but had been spared from having to be dishonest. Petra breathed a sigh of relief and swept from the room under the pretense of checking on supper. It had to be ready by now.

“Nan, please serve the mistress and Lord Devon,” Petra instructed the servant. “They’re ready to dine.”

“Right away,” Nan replied. She’d been dozing by the hearth, her head lolling from side to side when Petra walked in.

That girl was as lazy as a cat, always finding a warm place to sleep.

In the old days, her back would have been striped more often than not, but Lady Blythe had mellowed with age, forgiving domestic negligence that she would never have overlooked in years past. Perhaps she’d been less tolerant then because of her husband’s ways, taking out her frustration on her servants, since she could hardly whip her husband or the women who warmed his bed.