For Her Own Good: Of Duty and Silver, #2

By J.S. Mawdsley

Muriel Ostensen, handsome, clever, and a bitch, has no desire to get married. Broderick Gramiren, natural son of the king, has other ideas for her, and so does her family.

 

In the wake of a shocking royal assassination, Broderick maneuvers secretly to become his father's official heir. But first, he just needs the right wife to help press his case. The Duke of Severn's daughter would be the perfect woman to help Broderick in his quest, especially with his father, the king, pressuring him to marry. Muriel, however, loves her independence, and she feels her family is selling her short by trying to marry her to a bastard, even if he is the king's bastard. If she has one scheme to avoid marrying Broderick, she has a dozen, but Broderick might just have a dozen and one.

 

Book 2 in the political fantasy series Of Duty and Silver, For Her Own Good picks up where The Queen's Tower left off, but it can also be read as a standalone romance.

• Language: English
• Publisher: J.S. Mawdsley
• Release date: May 20, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393903383

J.S. Mawdsley

We’re a husband and wife novel writing team and have been since about a month after our marriage in 2007. He’s a teacher of education law. She’s a Librarian. Being able to write together so happily once made a friend remark that we are as mythical as unicorns. J.S. Mawdsley live in Ohio, where they share their house with half a dozen dying houseplants, and their yard with a neighborhood cat named Eugene, a mother deer and her fawn, affectionately known as the Countess and Cherubino, and a couple of blue jays, Henry and Eleanor. 

Book preview

Map

Myrcia and the Northern Trahernian Lands

A picture containing text, map Description automatically generated

Chapter 1

332 M.E.

At first, Muriel was sure the pounding was all in her head. There was a throbbing behind her eyeballs, and it felt as if something furry had died in her mouth. She rubbed her temples. She pressed her thumb and forefinger to the bridge of her nose and breathed slowly—in and out. The pounding stopped. But then it started again. Or knocking, rather, like at a door. And Willa, her lady’s maid, was whispering from out in the hall.

My lady? Lady Muriel? Are you awake?

No, grumbled Muriel, as she pulled the silk comforter over her head.

My lady, please. Your mother has asked to speak with you.

That got Muriel to sit up. Or at least she tried to. Her first attempt was a miserable failure, ending in a headlong plunge into her pillow. She might have stayed there except that Willa started knocking again—louder this time.

Muriel tried again, putting out her arms for better leverage. But her right hand found something warm and soft under the covers. Warm, soft, and...hairy.

There was a low grunt, and then a hoarse baritone voice saying, What is it? Oh, Earstien, where are we?

She had a burst of insight. Not enough to illuminate the entire preceding evening, but enough that she remembered kissing a boy. No, it had been more than just kissing. Definitely more. She turned and looked at the figure in her bed, and although his jaw was covered in stubble, and his features were contorted in a grimace as he tried to open his eyes to the gentle predawn light, she recognized him. He was Lord Richard Noddy Arbuthnot, heir to the earldom of Dunbar, and a member of her set of young courtiers.

She tried to remember if she had intended to sleep with him or not. It was difficult to recall now. He was a nice enough fellow, and even if his schoolfriends had saddled him with the ghastly nickname of Noddy, she wouldn’t have been completely mortified to be seen with him. At least if they were in public together somewhere. Being seen with him here could be disastrous.

With a sudden, sharp elbow to his ribs, she conveyed the seriousness of their predicament. Get out of here, she hissed. Now, before anyone sees you.

From the hallway, Willa tried again, knocking louder and raising her voice almost to normal volume. My lady? Please, if you could undo the latch, we really must get you ready.  Your mother will be wondering—

Yes, yes, fine! snapped Muriel. I’ll be with you in a moment! Turning to Lord Noddy and lowering her voice, she said, Out. Now!

He headed for the door, the idiot, and she had to grab him by the shoulders and push him toward the window, instead.

Do you actually think I can climb down from here? he said, eyes wide.

You made it up that drainpipe last night, she said, handing him his boots. It can’t be any harder to get down.

He nearly fell twice, but in half a minute, he was safely in the back garden, which was still cloaked in deep shadow. She watched him until he was over the wall, and then she threw on a clean shift and a bright cotton day gown. From a small bottle on her dressing table, she took a swig of perfume, which she swirled around her mouth until it burned. After spitting it out the window, she went to the door and opened it. Leaning against the frame, she smiled at Willa and said, So sorry. Did you need something?

Willa wrung her hands. My lady, your mother is asking for you. Hurry now, please.

Muriel put her thick blonde hair up first, and then went down to the little blue parlor where her mother liked to write her morning correspondence. That was what her mother was doing, in fact, when Muriel walked in. Vibeka Ostensen, Duchess of Severn, sat with painfully rigid posture at her writing desk, composing a letter in purple ink with a long peacock quill.

There you are, she said, looking up sharply. It was not her everyday voice. It was deeper and more resonant, like an alto bullfrog—a sign that she was about to deliver a lecture. Muriel, the servants tell me your door was locked last night after the party.

I didn’t wish to be disturbed, said Muriel, clasping her hands behind her.

I imagine you didn’t, said her mother, raising a thin, golden eyebrow. She pursed her lips and shook her head. We’re not going to have another problem, are we?

Muriel tried to look as innocent as possible. A problem, Mother?

You know precisely what I mean. The duchess set down her peacock pen with a rainbow flourish. So far very little scandal has attached itself to your name. But there are only so many little scandals that a girl can have before her reputation is fatally injured. She picked up the quill again and shook it at Muriel. Yes, my dear girl, that applies even to the daughters of dukes, I’m afraid.

Muriel recalled a story from Immani history about the daughter of an emperor who had been wrongly accused of promiscuity. Her father had told her she ought to be ashamed that she had lost her honor, and the girl (whose name had been Augusta Verrana) had shot back that The shame is all yours, sir. My honor remains my own.

That would have been a marvelous reply, except that it would have been complete bullshit, and Muriel’s mother knew it. So, after letting out a tiny sigh, Muriel bowed her head and said, Yes, Mother, I’m very sorry, in her best impression of true contrition.

Very good, said her mother. Very good. You will need to be on your best behavior, because we are going to Leornian. The entire court is going to Leornian, in fact, and it will be the most important social occasion of the year.

Muriel tried to figure out why the king would move his court to the ancient former capital so late in the year, but she couldn’t think of any good reason. Why Leornian? she finally asked.

Because it is on the road to the border with Loshadnarod, said her mother. Queen Nina and her son, Prince Vadik, are coming to visit Myrcia, and King Ethelred has decided to meet them halfway, rather than making them come all the way here to Formacaster. She sat up even straighter than usual. Naturally, our family must be represented.

Naturally, said Muriel, stifling a yawn.

Her mother raised an eyebrow. This will be the social event of the year—no, the decade! Your father and I think this might be an excellent opportunity for you to meet some eligible young men.

Muriel couldn’t resist a smirk. Mother, that’s one thing I don’t need any help—

I don’t mean like that, said her mother severely. You’re 19 now. You’re too old to behave like this anymore. It’s time you took your responsibilities to this family seriously.

Again, Muriel would have loved to make a sarcastic reply, but her breath caught in her throat as she opened her mouth to speak. There was a sudden tightness around her chest, too, and a trickle of sweat ran down her back.

There was no need to ask what her mother meant by her responsibilities to her family. It meant making a good marriage to someone who could further her father’s political ambitions.

Have I made myself clear? her mother pressed.

Yes, ma’am, said Muriel softly.

Very well. The duchess pulled open a drawer in her little writing desk and produced a small velvet bag that gave a metallic clinking sound when she set it down. Now, you’re going to need an entirely new wardrobe. Take this down to the cloth market and pick out anything you like. Just make sure the seamstresses cut it in the Myrcian fashion.

Muriel scowled. Mother, my new Annenstruker dresses are—

Are lovely, said her mother, nodding. However, they are too daring for..., she cleared her throat, our dear Lady Hildred. I’m very sorry, but when I was up at the castle, she made a point of mentioning it to me.

In the absence of the queen, the role of royal hostess had been usurped by Lady Hildred Meredith, wife of the bishop of the capital. Hildred wouldn’t have known a good time if it had fallen in her...lap. There was a part of Muriel—a very large and insistent part—that longed to defy Hildred. It would serve her right if I showed up to court in a red silk shift, Muriel thought. But that would be more trouble than it was worth, however amusing it might be at the time.

And there was always something to be said for the prospect of new dresses, even if they were going to be in the boring local style. Muriel could always have them altered later, after all.

She collected the velvet purse from her mother and prepared to face the day. She took a long, hot bath and had a leisurely breakfast of fried eggs, bacon, and strong coffee. So it was nearly noon by the time she left her family’s mansion on Hafoc Street, at the foot of the castle hill. This was the most desirable address in all of Myrcia, though Muriel had often wondered why this should be so. Personally, she would much rather have lived somewhere more private, instead of at the center of everything. The only thing to be said for the house was that it wasn’t nearly as ostentatious as the big palace back home in Severn, and that wasn’t really saying much.

Muriel rode across town in her mother’s carriage, slumped down in the plush velvet seat with the shades pulled low. There was no point in staring out the window—she would barely have registered anything. She was thinking hard about those dreaded responsibilities to her family.

She had always known she would have to marry. In fact, she wanted to marry. At least in theory she did. Her female friends sometimes talked about their ideal husbands, but she had never managed to conjure up a definite idea of the man she wanted. He was a shadowy figure, somewhere in the background—an understanding sort of fellow who managed the estates and worried about politics and left her alone to live her own life the way she wanted. Trying now to think about him in concrete terms frightened her. But she had to do it.

Very well. The first and most obvious candidate was the man who had been in her bed a few hours earlier: Lord Noddy. But she barely had to think of him before she dismissed him. He was pretty to look at and (as far as she could recall) rather virile. But he was also rather stupid. She wanted her husband to give her space, but from time to time they would have to talk, and she liked to think that he would have something interesting to say.

Briefly, she ran through the young men of the court. Most of them had been educated at the best schools of Myrcia, but sadly, Noddy was probably the most intellectual of the lot. Some were from very prominent families. But there were others who lived at the periphery of polite society, and whom Muriel only knew because they were the friends or cousins of someone more important. Like that one fellow from out west that she had been talking to before Noddy. What was his name? Something starting with an L. It probably didn’t matter. No, he would never do. None of them would.

What about this foreign prince, Vadik? He was near her in age, as far as she recalled. And the girl who married him would be a queen someday. Except that she would have to live in Loshadnarod, a benighted country of high, frozen plains and snow-capped peaks. And they were all religious zealots, too—people who made Lady Hildred look tolerant in comparison. No, marrying into a society like that would be a disastrous mistake, even if Vadik were the best man on earth. Which he probably wasn’t. Most likely he was toothless, inbred, and illiterate.

No, if she were going to try for a prince, she might as well set her cap at the local target: King Ethelred’s only legitimate son and heir, Crown Prince Maxen. The trouble was that she knew him. Maxen was a year older than her, but was a whiny little boy at heart. And to say he had the intelligence and personality of a box of rocks would have been an insult to minerals everywhere.

Muriel was still pondering the question when the carriage slowed and stopped at the edge of the big cloth market. All rational thought was driven from her head by the insistent cries of the merchants up and down the street. The strong scent of dyes made her eyes water briefly, before a breeze came off the river and cleared the air. She stepped down into the shade of one of the huge canvas awnings and looked around, pondering where to go first. The richest and best-established merchants had their offices in stone and wooden storefronts along the street, while brash upstarts sold their wares from little stands and tables right on the pavement. For shoppers of a gambling disposition, there were shady characters in narrow alleyways, selling bolts of high quality fabric off the back of their carts.

A cheerful, high-pitched voice hailed her, and she saw Rhian Byrne, one of the girls of her set, approaching in a horrible blue and green embroidered dress that was obviously brand new.

I just picked this up! Rhian confirmed. Do you like it?

It is certainly unique, said Muriel.

I simply had to have something new, Rhian continued. My father says the court is going to Leornian, and apparently everyone will have to be there!

Rhian’s father was a duke, as well. He wasn’t on the Privy Council, though, like Muriel’s father. For whatever that was worth.

You’re coming to Leornian, aren’t you? Rhian said, grabbing Muriel’s arm and squeezing it tightly. The girl liked to do that sort of thing, and Muriel had trained herself not to cringe when she did it.

Naturally, said Muriel.

Rhian looked up and down the street and lowered her voice. I can’t wait, because my father said—well, you know how blunt he is....

Yes, prompted Muriel.

Well, he said this is exactly the sort of time when people start... ‘pairing up.’ Rhian let out a giggle, her face going nearly as red as her hair. That’s just how he put it. And, she gripped Muriel’s arm tighter, I think I’m already in love.

Congratulations, said Muriel, feigning interest she didn’t feel. Who’s the lucky boy?

Lord Noddy! cried Rhian. Oh, I suppose I should call him Lord Richard, shouldn’t I? I mean, it’s one thing for his friends to call him by his nickname, but a wife should be more respectful, don’t you think?

Muriel rubbed her eyes. Her hangover headache was returning, and her supply of tact—always dangerously low—had just run out. Oh, Earstien. Rhian, what makes you think Noddy would be interested in you?

Why, last night at the Shepherds’ party, he talked to me for nearly an hour!

And do you know what he did after that? Guess.

Muriel leaned closer and looked the other girl straight in the eye until Rhian blushed again and dropped her gaze.

In a tiny, plaintive voice, Rhian said, You didn’t, did you?

I did, said Muriel.

Rhian clenched her fists, and something glistened at the corners of her eyes. Her shoulders slumped. Sometimes I really don’t like you very much.

On a normal sort of day, Muriel wouldn’t have cared what Rhian thought of her. But on this particular day, Muriel felt a bit vulnerable herself, so she blurted out, My dear girl, you’re far better off without him. There are plenty of other handsome men at court.

Oh? Rhian looked up, hope blossoming again in her bright green eyes. Who do you mean?

Well, all sorts of boys, said Muriel. Like...like.... And then, providentially, a name she had been trying to remember earlier popped into her mind. It was the name of the pathetic young nobleman who couldn’t quite make it into the inner circle of court life. Like Sir Hans Lucowitz, for instance.

Rhian frowned. I think I know who he is. Didn’t I dance with him last night?

Absolutely! cried Muriel, who had no idea if this was true or not. See? He’s interested already. He’s a much better match for you than Noddy! Now, let’s go over to Gilbert’s here, and I’ll buy you something that Sir Hans will be sure to like.

Chapter 2

As a little girl, Muriel had loved traveling on her father’s grand barge. With its gold and silver scrollwork on the stern and the dark blue hull, it looked as if it belonged to a king, not merely a duke. On summer nights, she would go up and lie on deck, looking at the stars and trying to spot the fabled constellations that the old Odelandic astronomers had claimed were up there. In the winter, when the frost made the boat look like it was covered in a layer of velvet, she would sometimes leave the shutters of her little cabin open to see how long she could stand the cold. She couldn’t do things like that at her parents’ house in Formacaster, or at the ducal palace in Severn, because the servants would have found the window open and closed it. Or they would have found her trying to watch the stars and asked if she was ill.

She still loved boats now, but the family barge felt more cramped than it used to. Rather than reveling in the privacy of her own tiny cabin, she felt trapped in it, with her mother sleeping in the cabin to one side and Willa on the other side. She hadn’t noticed as a child how thin the bulkheads were between the cabins. Anytime her mother or Willa sighed or snored or shifted in their bunks, Muriel heard it as clearly as if they had been in the room with her. On coming aboard, Muriel had admired the muscles of her father’s team of rowers, and she had wondered if a few of them might like to join the duke’s youngest daughter for a drink. But there was no point in asking. Her mother would hear everything and put a stop to it.

I suppose, thought Muriel, that I will just have to try to be good.

On the morning of the second day out of Formacaster, heading east up the great River Trahern, the barge passed a column of soldiers marching along the river road. To everyone’s surprise, they were carrying the banner of the Duke of Severn.

What are your troops doing up here? Muriel’s mother asked.

Her father looked confused for a second, but then, in a blustering sort of voice, he said, Well, it’s summer maneuvers, obviously. Anyone can see that, Vibeka. Not that you ladies know anything about that, of course.

It was three days past the Autumnal Equinox; too late in the year for troops to be out playing at war hundreds of miles from home. Most of these men were farmhands or rivermen. They would be needed soon for the harvest. Muriel was trying to think of a way she could ask about that without embarrassing her father, when the troops on the bank came to a halt, and someone hailed the boat with signal flags.

There was a little dock on the north bank, just a few hundred yards farther on, and when they tied up there, they discovered that the officer in charge of the column was Muriel’s oldest brother, Lukas. He met them there, jumping down from his gray palfrey and rushing over to give everyone a hug. He actually lifted Muriel in the air and twirled her around.

What are you doing all the way up north here? their mother demanded.

It’s summer maneuvers, Mother, said Lukas, with a laugh. Obviously it is. I mean, why else would I be here? He nodded at their father. I sent you a message about it, sir.

Oh, of course, said the duke, looking worried. Um...yes, of course. The message. Obviously, I read it. Obviously.

Here’s someone you’ll all want to see. Lukas looked back over his shoulder and waved a man forward from the crowd of knights and officers at the edge of the dock.

It was Sir Broderick Gramiren, Captain General of Myrcia and the commander of the king’s army. That made him Lukas’s commander on maneuvers, but the two men had grown up together and had been best friends long before Muriel was born.

Broderick was a tall man, though not nearly as tall as Lukas. His dark, wavy brown hair was a bit longer than usual, and there was stubble on his strong jaw. He wore tight-fitting black leather trousers and long boots covered in dust. She admired him for a few seconds, only just managing to raise her eyes in time to meet his when he looked around at her.

Broderick doffed his cap and, with a flourish of his black half cape, he gave them all a deep bow. Then there were hugs and a lot of backslapping and old, well-worn jokes that were taken out and passed carefully around like antiques.

After chatting with the duchess for a while, Broderick turned his attention to Muriel. Well, hello there, he said with a nod. It feels like it’s been ages since I’ve seen you. Have you gotten taller?

It’s been no more than a month since we saw each other. She rolled her eyes, but smiled. How are maneuvers going this year?

He let out a snort of laughter. Well enough, I suppose. I keep inviting my brother to come out and participate, but he never answers my letters.

No one could have accused Muriel of being slow on the uptake, but even so, she thought at first that he was referring to Lukas. After all, the two of them were practically like brothers, and Broderick had often treated Muriel like a little sister. But no, Broderick meant his half-brother, Crown Prince Maxen.

I’ve invited him to join my fencing club, too, Broderick went on. He doesn’t answer those letters, either.

Muriel wasn’t quite sure what to make of this information. He seemed to be hinting that there was something lacking in the crown prince, though she couldn’t understand why he was telling her about it, of all people. Um..., she cast about for a reply. Is Prince Maxen a good fencer?

No, he isn’t, said Broderick, with a low chuckle. That’s why he should join.

Muriel’s father interrupted at this point and commanded the servants to lay out a table for a meal. You and your officers must ride with us to Leornian, the duke said. I assume you’ll be joining the court there.

Broderick said he would stay for one night, at least, though he couldn’t promise that he would sail the entire way with them. I have urgent business in Leornian, he said, but for now, let’s have some wine!

Some of the crew found instruments, and there was dancing in the waist of the ship until the table was ready for lunch. Muriel would have preferred to hang back and watch Broderick in those trousers of his. But every time she tried to sit down with her mother, either he or Lukas would rush over and make her join the dance again. She was only permitted to rest when the meal was served.

So what is this urgent business you have in Leornian? the duchess asked Broderick.

He paused with a bite of roast pheasant halfway to his lips. It’s...it’s my mother, ma’am. I’m going to visit her.

There was a brief, awkward pause. Broderick’s mother had been the king’s mistress. It was slightly indelicate to mention her in society.

Your mother is well, I trust? asked Muriel’s father, who didn’t care about indelicacy.

Broderick’s face fell. I’m sorry to say she isn’t. She’s been indisposed for some time, and I’m afraid she has been hiding the severity of her illness from me. That’s why I have to hurry on to Leornian. I want time to see her and speak with her physicians before..., he waved a hand vaguely, the Loshadnarodskis arrive and all the feasting and celebrating starts.

Well, you must be looking forward to seeing her, said the duke.

Yes, I am, said Broderick. One corner of his lips turned up in a half-smile. Both her and...and my stepmother, as well.

If mentioning Broderick’s mother was indelicate, mentioning Queen Merewyn, the mother of Prince Maxen, was positively scandalous. The woman’s lover, the king’s cousin Fransis, had plotted to overthrow King Ethelred. His scheme had been uncovered before it could even properly begin, and he had been executed, while the queen, informally found guilty only of adultery but not of being a part of the plot, had been locked away for seventeen years.

As a girl, Muriel had loved hearing about Earl Fransis’s rebellion. The fact that adults so rarely wanted to talk about the tragedy had only made her more interested in it.

After an uncomfortable pause, Muriel’s mother said, I suppose it is quite interesting, visiting...her majesty...in that tower.

Broderick chuckled. Actually, as it happens, you all might get a chance to see her. My father is thinking of letting her out for a little while. I guess he wants to prove to our Loshadnarodski visitors that she’s still alive and being treated well.

The duchess let out a gasp, and Muriel’s jaw dropped open. The younger officers and ladies at the table were shocked, as well. But Muriel’s father and Lukas didn’t seem very surprised at all. No doubt this was another of those secrets that everyone in the king’s inner circle already knew.

Up and down the table there were whispers. Muriel caught words like, shameful and insulting. But someone else said, That poor woman.