Elizabeth allowed herself time to admire the room that would be her own. Timber-ceilinged, plaster-walled, painted in floral patterns now faded into delicate soft colours with the years, a patterned tiled floor—it all wrapped her round in an aura of wealth and comfort. A fire burned in the stone fireplace and beeswax candles had been lit in tall candlesticks to push back the shadows. The bed—oh, glory!—had patterned silk curtains and tester, the canopy attached by tasselled cords to the ceiling beams. After the deprivations of Llanwardine, she could imagine the sheer luxury of lying there, beneath the silk cover where she could see the luxury of a feather mattress and cool linen sheets. An oak chest, a box chair, a stand with pewter ware. Elizabeth took it all in with a silent sigh of delight. The Malinder household had taken pains to make her feel welcomed. The bands of tension around Elizabeth’s heart loosened a little; her fingers, which had been clenched into fists at her sides, slowly opened.
Before she could express her thanks, her attention was truly caught because there before the fire stood a bound wooden tub. And buckets of steaming water brought in by servants. Elizabeth looked at it longingly, with unspeakable gratitude, as she tugged at her gown where it clung unpleasantly to her hips. Her appearance on her arrival could not have been worse. She hated to think what she looked like. She knew what she looked like. What a shock it must have been for Richard Malinder to see his betrothed for the first time, as if she had just been dragged from a river. At least she could only improve. A cynical twist touched the corner of her lips, quickly hidden as she recalled her first unfortunate reaction.
Richard Malinder was definitely the man of the scrying bowl. The same astonishingly attractive features, the same fall of black hair. And when those grey eyes had looked at her she had felt her bones melt, and was almost compelled by some inner force to reach out a hand to touch him. Not that she had, but surely he was everything a woman could want in her husband if physical beauty mattered.
How tragic that she could not match him with a beauty of her own.
Yet she must remember. Elizabeth, unaware, frowned at her new surroundings. He was a Lancastrian, and therefore her enemy. It would be unwise to be seduced by the magnificence of a man’s face. And what was it that Jane had said in warning? Two dark men, one friend, one enemy.
If Richard Malinder was to prove to be her enemy, then she must be on her guard.
She had seen the tightening of his muscles when he approached her, until good manners had forced him to play the gallant. It was the moment she had been dreading. She had to summon all her inner resources to present a blank and unresponsive exterior, anything but reveal the fear in her heart. And he was so cold and formal—he must dislike the match more than she thought. A pity she had nothing to recommend her to change his mind. Not compared with the decorative little cousin who was even now watching her, head tilted, with a slyly amused light in her eyes.
Elizabeth’s meagre belongings had already been brought in. Never had a bride from so powerful a family been so poorly prepared. Jane Bringsty deposited the cat, which took up a position on a corded box and watched the proceedings with half-veiled hostile eyes. Then as warmth pervaded, it stretched and began to wash its damp fur with intense concentration. If only it could be as easy for her to settle into these new surroundings.
Jane Bringsty, aided by a suspiciously willing Anne, began to open the packages on the bed, intent on discovering a suitable gown. An impossibility, Elizabeth acknowledged, knowing the contents. Meanwhile with cold stiff fingers she unpinned and removed the heavy wimple. As she held the coarse cloth in her hands, Elizabeth sensed and heard the reaction. And knew why. She herself had grown used to it—almost.
‘Oh.’ Anne’s eyes danced. ‘How shocking!’
‘The nuns,’ Elizabeth found herself explaining, ‘believe that long hair encourages vanity and distracts a woman from her vocation and the true meaning of life. At least they did not shave my head. It could be worse.’
‘Not much worse!’ Anne answered with devastating frankness.
True enough, even though the comment was pure malice. The shortest of dark hair covered her head. Soft and short, raggedly cut, it hugged her skull, hardly a covering at all.
Knowing that she had no control over the next few minutes, Elizabeth tensed against what must follow, grateful that the candles in the room were few, the light dimly shadowed. Her gown was removed and then her chemise until she stood, clammy and damp in shivering flesh beside the steaming tub. A little draught touched the skin of her neck and shoulder, as of a door opening, and with it a sudden presentiment. Elizabeth lifted her head, quickly glancing over her shoulder, to see that the door was indeed partially opened. There, unmoving on the thresh-old, was a dark figure. He must have knocked and, receiving no answer, opened it to ask after her needs. This was far worse than any of her imaginings. Richard Malinder, shockingly aware of the most intimate of her secrets.
Elizabeth stood immobile, as unmoving as he, her eyes wide and lips parted in dread, appalled at what she knew he must see. His face might be expressionless, but she could imagine the thoughts clamouring in his mind. To her horror his gaze moved from hers to slide over her shoulders, her back, down to buttocks and thighs. Then back to hold hers again. Light, insubstantial his appraisal might be, yet she felt that his keen eyes had taken possession of every inch of her skin—and presumably found her undesirable. How mortifying! Elizabeth shivered in awareness at the chill in that direct judgement, the only blessing that the flickering of the candles might mask the worst of the scars.
And that was not the worst of it. By the Virgin! Would he come in? Would he find a need to comment, to draw even more attention to her with its ensuing degradation? And if he did, would she be forced to abandon what dignity she had left to snatch up her robe to cover herself and her shame? Elizabeth prayed he had enough sensitivity to retreat and not inflict any more humiliation on her. Was it not bad enough that his beautiful cousin should see her punishment revealed?
Even as the thought crossed her mind, as if hearing her silent plea, as if reading the dismay on her face, Richard Malinder bowed, and withdrew before the others in the room knew of his presence, closing the door softly. Leaving Elizabeth to claw back her control. The whole had only lasted a matter of seconds, yet it had seemed to Elizabeth a lifetime of raw exposure, to be scrutinised and judged.
Meanwhile, Anne Malinder, unaware, looked at Elizabeth with emerald-eyed interest.
‘What did they do to you?’
In her mind, Elizabeth saw herself as Anne would see her. As Richard Malinder must have seen her. She carried no extra flesh. Her ribs could be detected beneath her skin, as could the press of bones at hip and shoulder. Her breasts were small and undeveloped. Almost a child’s body in its slightness, despite her age and obvious womanhood. She could almost hear the condemnation. If Richard wanted a wife for childbearing, he had not chosen well. Overcome with shame, as if her deficiencies were all her own fault, Elizabeth turned her back on her unwelcome audience to pick up a bedgown and so hide herself from this too public view and inspection. An action that allowed the candlelight to glimmer along silver welts. Healed but visible. As she realised what her action had revealed to Anne Malinder, Elizabeth stiffened again, but it was too late.
A fraught silence descended. Until the sharp tension was broken by a quick and attractive gurgle of laughter. Mistress Anne covered her smiling mouth with her hands in what Elizabeth instantly recognised as a parody of regretful sympathy. Her eyes shone brilliantly.
‘What do you suppose Richard will say when he sees you?’
For the first time Elizabeth truly looked at the girl who stood beside the bed with one of her desperately unattractive and unfashionable gowns in her pretty hands. And immediately recognised in Anne Malinder a danger. There was no friendship offered in those sparkling green eyes.
But was Mistress Anne Malinder not accurate in her observation?