Undine would relinquish neither the small satchel of clothes nor the much larger case of herbs, already propped open on the chest of drawers, to the young, doe-eyed lady’s maid assigned her.
“I shall manage on my own,” Undine said, observing the ornate bedchamber without much enthusiasm. “Pray, don’t trouble yourself.”
“’Tis no trouble, Lady Bridgewa—Miss Bridgewater—I mean, milady. Oh dear, I’m afraid I don’t know what to call you.” A bright pink crossed her cheeks. The girl shifted the linens in her arms and looked as if she may cry.
“Any of your choices is fine,” Undine said, “though I’m not Lady Bridgewater yet. Could you call me Undine, do you think?”
The girl stiffened. “I should be whipped for it, milady.”
“By whom?” Undine inquired casually, gazing at her case. A fortnight of flux ought to break the spirit of even the most hardened villain.
“Mrs. Janus. She’s the housekeeper.”
“We shan’t upset Mrs. Janus then. You may call me Mistress Douglas.”
The girl’s jaw fell. “You have a surname?”
Undine laughed. Witches, she supposed, were born without fathers. Naiads, unfortunately, weren’t. “I do, though few have ever heard it. But I shouldn’t like to see you get in trouble.”
The girl bobbed her head. “Thank you, ma—er, Mistress Douglas.”
Undine smiled. “And you? Might I be honored with the gift of your name?”
The girl’s color rose higher. “Ardith.” She curtsied. “Very pleased to make your acquaintance.”
“Well, Ardith, I shall require a great deal of privacy. The bed may be made and the fire drawn, but you are not to touch or move any of my things. There are herbs in that case that will scale your skin and turn your eyes a bright shade of orange.”
The girl took a step back. “In truth?”
“Ardith, we’re going to have to work on your credulity, aye? I need you to be sharp-eyed and skeptical. ’Tis the only way to make your way in this world.”
“Aye, ma’am.”
“How long have you been part of the lodge’s household?” she asked lightly, hoping Ardith was familiar with Bridgewater’s habits.
“Not long. A few weeks. His lordship wishes to know if you’d like him to bring in a dressmaker?”
“Does his lordship not care for my taste?” Undine peered at the simple but exceedingly flattering silk gown that shimmered blue and chartreuse in the candle’s glow. The snug bodice required no boning, the elbow sleeves permitted ease of movement, and a half-dozen hidden pockets meant she was never far from the tools of her trade.
“I think he thought only of the size of your satchel.” She added in a small voice, “And he is quite in love with you. I believe he longs to give you whatever you will accept from him.”
Undine sighed. “I am in need of a sturdy pair of boots.”
“I’ll let him know.”
The door opened without a knock. “Undine,” Bridgewater said, “may I have a word?”
Oh, this will become tiresome quickly. “Of course. Enter.”
Bridgewater’s gaze cut to Ardith and flicked her away as if she were a trifling bug. She put down the linens and ran.
“How happy I am to see you settled here,” he said.
Undine ducked a curtsy in agreement.
“Is the girl to your liking?” he asked. “The housekeeper has some questions.”
“She’ll do nicely. Thank you.”
“Good. Very good.” He glanced briefly over his shoulder at the hall, and Undine had an uncomfortable sense Ardith should have stayed. “The bishop has surprised me,” he said. “I’m expecting a man from my solicitor’s office tomorrow from London to work out some matters regarding my estate and will. ’Tis a long distance, aye, but the matters are important. There’ll be additional papers for them to draw up after we marry, which will entail another journey.”
Undine felt an odd tingle up her spine. “Oh? And how has the bishop surprised you?”
“He’s offered to forgo the banns and marry us tonight.”
Undine swallowed her shock. “Tonight?”
“’Tis only for the paperwork, my dear. Nothing will change between us till you’re ready. The bishop’s offer is kind, and I need his support—we need his support—if we are to bring this eternal fighting to an end. In any case,” he added with a gentle smile, “if anything were to happen to me, I’d want you to have the protection and benefit of my name.”
She looked in the sharp blue of those eyes. Does he even remember the beating he gave me?
“No,” she said firmly. “I can’t marry at a moment’s notice. I’ve barely unpacked my things here. Give me a few weeks. Please.”
“The bishop is near to insisting. ’Twill make no difference in our lives.” He took her hand in his and the blue turned as deep as a loch’s. “You swore your troth to me, even if you said you needed time. You have not made me so happy only to break my heart, have you? Your affection was real, was it not? Not false or…or…” His gaze caught the case of herbs, and he hesitated.
“No, of course not,” she said firmly. “My heart is unchanged. Of that you can be certain. I just… Tonight?” She blew out a puff of air and gave him a weak smile.
“Aye, my love, tonight.”
The joy in his eyes was unsettling. “But my friends…”
“We shall throw a real party when you’re ready and do it all again. Your friends will be here then, I promise. No one needs to know about tonight’s vows unless you tell them. Except the bishop, of course, and my solicitor.”
And the servants. And by tomorrow, the news will have reached every man, woman, and child between Carlisle and Edinburgh.
“I’ll need a dress,” she said. “Surely you don’t want me to become Lady Bridgewater in this old thing.”
“You look lovely in everything. But you needn’t worry. I took the liberty of having a gown—several, actually—made for you. Have you not looked in your wardrobe?”
She shook her head. He crossed to the painted ebony piece and opened the door. The most spectacular gown of pale pink and seed pearls hung at the front. It would befit a queen on her coronation.
So why was the queen that emerged in her head Anne Boleyn?
“It makes me almost breathless,” she said, sinking into the chair.
“Truly?”
“Oh, aye. Give me a few moments to marshal my reserves and I shall…join you.”
“Marshal your reserves?” He laughed. “You make our wedding sound like an army tactic.”
And I have been ambushed.
When he disappeared, still chuckling, she sunk into a chair and considered. She could run, she could marry, or she could delay. The risk of delay was elevating his suspicion. Through the cloud of the spell he had, for an instant, considered the relevance of her herbs to his love. She had pushed him from the edge of realization with a quick affirmation of her affection, but she might not be around when the next moment of clarity descended.
The risk of running was discovery. If a slight hesitation was enough to arouse suspicion, her disappearance would end the game. On one hand, she’d be safe, though Bridgewater would pursue her to the four corners of the earth to exact his revenge. On the other, she’d know no more of England’s plans than she did now.
She forbore to consider the risk of marrying. Having to submit to the will of any man, let alone that ruthless prick… She might as well be hung.
Undine unfolded herself and stood before her jars and pots—wormwood, yarrow, elf’s wort, ashweed. What had the versatility? The immediacy? The impact? She rubbed her neck to soothe her jangling nerves. She needed something to happen right now that would convince Bridgewater to put off the wedding. But she’d seen the way he ran the lives of the people around him. It would take an act of God to—
An act of God?
She straightened as the realization washed over her.
That’s exactly what I need.