Eadgith forgives in time

Eadgith sat in the tower room that had once been hers, and which, she realized now, she had already left by the time she learned that Sigefrith loved her. It was strange to think that she now waited in this same room, shortly to realize the dreams she had scolded herself for dreaming here once.

She was already dressed in her blue and silvery gown, her hair was braided, and she had only to wait now. Her mother had dressed her, with the help of Edris, Matilda, and – clearly due to Sigefrith’s intervention – Leila. It had been a painful hour for her. She would not have shut Leila out for the world, but the chill in the air between her father’s two wives was enough to make her shiver.

Nonetheless, Matilda had been harder to bear, for her mother and Leila were resentful of each other, while Matilda was resentful of her. She could not shut her out, either, without revealing her reasons, and so she had submitted to the Duchess’s ministrations. Matilda delivered them with a faint smile, the corners of which were almost imperceptibly turned down. Matilda knew better than she how a great lady could indicate displeasure to the interested party without revealing it to others.

It was no pleasure to have one’s hair plaited by such hands. Indeed, she was mortified to think that three of the four pairs of lady’s hands in the room had been on her father’s body at some point – going where and doing what she did not care to imagine. She did not quite believe Matilda’s assurance that nothing more than what she had seen had happened.

Only Edris had prattled on guilelessly. Only Edris had kept her from screaming or sobbing to break the tension in the room. And even Edris was not quite happy with her husband. Eadgith thought it unfair that she should have to learn so early that marriage was not the unalloyed bliss young brides thought it, as Matilda had said. She thought she might have been allowed to believe it so, at least until the bliss ended for her.

She had asked the ladies to leave her for a while after she was dressed, and now she didn’t know what to do. She thought she should pray, but she could not find any words. There were things she would have liked to ask of the Lord, but they seemed selfish now. Surely one could not expect any happiness to be unalloyed, even one’s own wedding day – certainly not when one had such a family as she.

But she knew that if she could get through it, there would be Sigefrith at the end of it. Matilda would have called her naïve, but she felt that everything would be better when she could be with him and he could keep her family at bay, and not the contrary.

A timid knock came at the door, and she was frightened to think it might be Sigefrith himself. He was not supposed to see her now, but she did not feel she had the strength to send him away.

“Who is it?”

“Your father, baby.”

“Is it time?” she asked in anguish. She wasn’t ready.

“No, baby, not quite. May I come in?”

“Come in.” She could not shut him out, but if he came alone, she could at least show her displeasure.

He had left as soon as possible after she had seen him with Matilda, having made but one half-​​hearted effort to see her, which he abandoned when found her out of the house. Nor had he returned until the latest possible moment. The Baron, who had a grieving wife at home, had left her and come down into the valley before her father had ever found the courage to come and face his daughter. This hurt her more than anything.

He slunk into the room as if he were the guilty child and she the stern parent, but his face changed when he saw her. The guilt slowly sagged into despair, and he muttered, “I’m too late.”

“For what?” she asked, and she could feel her own glare melting away.

“You’re already a grown woman. I came to see my baby.” His voice broke and, she thought, his heart with it.

She forgave him at once and leapt up to embrace him. He was only a man.

“You’re not too late,” she whispered.