Читать книгу Marriage Under Siege - Anne O'Brien, Anne O'Brien - Страница 8

‘A sad occasion, my lord.’ Mr Gregory Wellings shuffled the papers before him with all the professional and pompous efficiency of a successful lawyer.

Thursday morning.

They had chosen to meet in a room that might have been transformed into a library or study, or even an estate office, if any of the previous Brampton lords had shown the least inclination towards either books or business. Since they had not, it was a little-used chamber, of more recent construction than the original fortress, but neglected in spite of the splendid carving on the wooden panelling and the wide window seats, which might tempt someone at leisure to sit and take in the sweep of the distant hills. Although it was rarely used, there was clear evidence of some recent attempt at cleaning, presumably for this very event. Where else would it be possible to invite Lord Edward’s legal man to read the will to those who might expect some recognition? The floors had been swept, the heavy hangings beaten to remove the worst of the dust and cobwebs. A fire burned and crackled fiercely to offset the dank air. The mullioned windows, larger than many in the castle, had been cleaned and, although still smeared with engrained grime, allowed faint rays of spring sunshine to percolate the gloom. A scarred, well-used oak table served as a desk for Mr Wellings to preside over the legal affairs of the dead, the surface littered with documents and letters, frayed ribbon and cracked seals. The two documents before him, upon which his thin hands now rested, were both new, the paper still in uncreased and unstained condition.

Honoria had taken a seat on an upright chair beside the fire. Lord Mansell stood behind her, leaning an arm against the high carved mantel. The lady was as impassive as ever, but Mansell’s concern for her well-being increased as the days passed. If she had slept at all the previous night it would have been a surprise to him. Her hair and skin and her eyes were dull as if they had lost all vitality and he knew with certainty that she was not eating enough. If only she had some colour in her cheeks and not the stark shadows from exhaustion and strain. Whatever was troubling her was putting her under severe stress, but she clearly had no intention of unburdening her anxieties to him. Whenever possible she absented herself from his company. When they met they exchanged words about nothing but the merest commonplace. Why are you so unhappy? he asked her silently, glancing down at her averted face. Surely your freedom from Sir Edward with a substantial income in your own name should be a source of happiness and contentment, not despair? But he found no answer to his concerns. Perhaps she was indeed merely dull, with no qualities to attract.

But, he decided, quite unequivocally, she should not wear black.

Lady Mansell’s spine stiffened noticeably as Mr Wellings cleared his throat, preparing to read the final wishes of the recently deceased Lord Mansell. The present lord, on impulse, leaned down to place a hand, the lightest of touches, on her shoulder in a gesture of support. She flinched a little in surprise at his touch, glancing briefly up at him, before relaxing again under the light pressure. After the first instant of panic, he recognised the flash of gratitude in her eyes before she looked away. So, not impassive or unmoved by the situation, after all!

Also present in the chamber, as requested by Mr Wellings, was the Steward, Master Foxton, on this occasion accompanied by Mistress Brierly and Mistress Morgan, Lord Edward’s cook and housekeeper of many years. They stood together, just inside the doorway, nervous and uncomfortable in their formal black with white collars and aprons, to learn if they were to be rewarded for their long and faithful service. Uneasily, their eyes flickered from Mansell to the lawyer, and back again. The brief sour twist to Foxton’s lips as he entered the room suggested that they had little in the way of expectations from their dead master.

Mr Wellings cleared his throat again and swept his eyes round the assembled company. He knew them all from past dealings at Brampton Percy, except for the new lord, of course. He would be more than interested to see Lord Mansell’s reaction to Lord Edward’s will. He straightened his narrow shoulders and lifted the two relevant documents to catch the light. ‘My lord, my lady, this is the content of Edward Brampton’s will.’

He turned his narrowed eyes in the direction of the servants and inclined his head towards them. A brief smile, which might have been of sympathy, touched his lips. ‘Lord Edward left a bequest to Master Foxton, Mistress Brierly and Mistress Morgan in recognition of their service at Brampton Percy. They shall each receive a bolt of black woollen cloth, a length of muslin and a length of linen, all of suitable quality and sufficient for new clothing. They shall also be assured of their keep and a roof over their head until the day of their death.’

Mr Wellings paused.

‘Is that the sum of the bequest, sir?’ enquired Mansell in a quiet voice at odds with the grooves of disgust that bracketed his mouth.

‘It is, my lord.’

‘It is interesting, is it not, Mr Wellings, that the final part of the bequest will fall on my shoulders, not on those of my late departed cousin?’

‘Indeed, my lord.’ Wellings’s sharp eyes held a glint of humour at the obvious strategy of his late employer.

‘It is quite insufficient, but much as I expected.’ Mansell dug into the deep pocket of his coat and produced a leather pouch. How fortunate, he thought sardonically, that he had come prepared. As the pouch moved in his hand, the faint metallic chink of coins was clear in the quiet room. He approached Foxton and handed over the pouch.

‘I have noticed that every member of this household is in need of new clothing, Master Foxton. If you would be so good as to arrange it, this should cover the expense and more. I expect that those in my employ should be comfortably and appropriately clothed, as would any lord.’

‘My lord …’ Foxton stammered, holding the pouch tightly. ‘This is most generous …’

‘No. It is your right and I believe it has been neglected.’

‘Thank you, my lord. I shall see to it.’ Mistress Brierly and Mistress Morgan, less successful that the Steward in hiding broad smiles of delight, exchanged glances and dropped hasty curtsies, their cheeks flushed with pleasure.

‘If you will come to me this afternoon, Master Foxton, I will discuss with you suitable remuneration for all three of you as is fitting and as I am sure Lord Edward would have wished.’

‘I will, my lord.’ Lord Francis himself opened the door to allow Foxton to usher out the two women.

‘That was well done, my lord.’ Wellings’s tone was gruff as he nodded in acknowledgement of the gesture.

‘It was necessary. I take no credit for it, Mr Wellings.’ Mansell’s tone was sharp, his brows drawn in a heavy line. ‘Efficient servants are essential to the smooth running of this household and should be suitably rewarded. It is to Lord Edward’s detriment that he failed to do so. It is something I must look to.’

‘Your concern will be welcomed at Brampton Percy, my lord. It is not something of which your dependants have recent experience.’

‘Probably not. So, Mr Wellings, let us continue and finish this business.’ He returned to his stance by the fire, casting a critical glance at Honoria. She had remained silent, uninvolved, throughout the whole interchange. The sudden warmth that touched her chilled blood would have surprised him, her instinctive admiration for his sensitive handling of Edward’s mean bequests. He did not see her quick glance through concealing lashes. She would have thanked him, but feared to draw attention to herself. Perhaps later, when all this was over and she could breathe easily again.

‘Very well, my lord.’ Wellings picked up where he had left off. ‘To my wife Honoria …

‘As by the terms of the jointure agreed between Sir Robert Denham and myself on the occasion of our betrothal in February 1643, she will enjoy to her sole use and her gift after her death the property of Leintwardine Manor in the county of Herefordshire, which was in her own inheritance. Also the property Ingram House in London. The coach and six horses in which she travelled on the occasion of her marriage from the home of Sir Robert Denham. And the handsome sum of £4,000 per annum.

‘This will be deemed sufficient to allow her to live comfortably and is in recognition of the extent of the inheritance that she brought to the Brampton family with her marriage. It is a substantial settlement—as is your right, my lady.’

‘Is that as you anticipated, my lady?’ Mansell queried when the lady made no comment.

‘Yes. It is as was agreed between my lord and Sir Robert. Lord Edward made no changes here.’

‘Continue then, Mr Wellings.’

‘To my heir, Sir Francis Brampton, of the Suffolk line of Bramptons, there being no direct heirs of my body, it is my wish and my intention that he will inherit the whole of the property that comprises the Brampton estate. This is to include the estates of——and each area is itemised, my lord, as you will see—the castle and land of Brampton Percy, the manors of Wigmore, Buckton, Aylton and Eyton, the lease of crown land at Kingsland and Burrington. That, my lord, is the extent of the Brampton acres. Also itemised is livestock, timber and grain from the said estates and the flock of 1,000 sheep, which run on the common pastures at Clun. Finally there is a substantial town house in Corve Street in Ludlow. Apart from this bequest, there is the inheritance of the Laxton estates in Yorkshire and Laxton House in London, both from the inheritance that Honoria Ingram brought to the marriage.’

Wellings laid down the document in completion, then peered under his eyebrows at Lord Mansell with a speculative gleam in his eyes, his lips pursed.

‘You should know, my lord, that even though this will was made less than a month ago, on the occasion of his recent marriage, Lord Edward in fact added a codicil only two weeks later, a few days before his death. He visited me privately in Ludlow for that purpose.’

‘I see.’ Mansell’s brows rose in some surprise. ‘Or perhaps I don’t. Did you know of this, my lady?’ He moved from the fireplace to pull up one of the straight-backed chairs and sat beside her.

‘No.’ She shook her head, running her tongue along her bottom lip. ‘Does it pose a problem to the inheritance, Mr Wellings?’

‘A problem? Why, no, my lady. It is merely in the way of being somewhat … unusual, shall I say. But nothing of a serious nature, you understand.’

‘Then enlighten us, Mr Wellings. Just what did Lord Edward see a need to add to so recent a will that is not in itself serious?’

‘Lord Edward was aware of his impending death, my lord. He had been aware, I believe, for some months. It was a tumour for which there was no remedy. Recently it became clear to him that his days on this earth were numbered. The pain, I understand … I know that he did not wish to worry you, my lady, so I doubt he made any mention of his complaint …?’

‘No, Mr Wellings.’ There was no doubting the surprise in Honoria’s response. ‘He did not. All I knew was that he was drinking more than was his normal practice. But I did not know the reason. Why did he not tell me? And what difference would it make to his will?’

‘It was his choice not to inform you, my lady. And, if you will forgive me touching on so delicate a matter, my lady, he also realised that in the time left to him he was unlikely to achieve a direct heir of his own body to his estates.’ Wellings inclined his head sympathetically towards Honoria. A flush of colour touched her pale cheeks, but she made no response.

The lawyer glanced briefly at Mansell before continuing.

‘In the light of his very brief marriage to Mistress Ingram, a lady of tender years, and your own single state, my lord, Lord Edward recommends in the codicil that the lady should be taken into your keeping and protection. That is, to put it simply, that you, my lord, should take the lady in marriage. It will provide Lady Mansell with protection and continuity of her status here at Brampton Percy, as well as keeping the considerable property and value of her jointure within the Brampton estate.’

Wellings leaned across the table and handed the relevant document to Lord Francis for his perusal. He took it, rose to his feet and strode to the window where he cast his eyes rapidly down the formal writing. It was all very clear and concise and precisely as Wellings had intimated. He looked back at Honoria.

Their eyes touched and held, hers wide with surprise and shock, his contemplative with a touch of wry amusement at Edward’s devious methods to keep the estate intact. And negate the need to raise the vast sum of £4,000 every year for the comfort of his grieving widow!

‘No!’

‘No, what, my lady?’ He could almost feel the waves of fear issuing from her tense body and knew a sudden desire to allay them. He allowed his lips to curl into a smile of reassurance, gentling the harsh lines of his face, and the gleam in his eyes was soft. It appeared to have no calming effect whatsoever on the lady.

‘You do not wish to marry me, my lord.’

‘How do you know, my lady? I have not yet asked you.’

Honoria could think of no immediate reply. Panic rose into her throat, threatening to choke her, her heart beating so loudly that she felt it must be audible to everyone in the room. She could not possibly marry Francis Brampton, of course she could not. She must not allow this situation to continue. She could not take any more humiliation. With an urgent need to escape she pushed herself to her feet—but then simply stood, transfixed by the power in Mansell’s eyes that held hers, trapped hers. She might have laughed if she could find the breath. She now knew exactly how a rabbit would react when confronted by a hungry fox.

‘There is no need to fear me, my lady.’

‘I do not,’ she whispered, hands clenched by her sides. But she did. And she feared even more her own reaction to him.

The lawyer looked from one to the other, struck by the intensity of emotion that had so suddenly linked them. ‘There is no compulsion here, my lord, my lady,’ he suggested calmly after a short pause in which neither of them had seemed able to break the silence. ‘There is no financial penalty if you choose to go your own separate ways. It is merely Lord Edward’s personal recommendation with the best interests of the lady and of the estate at heart.’

‘I feel free to doubt that Lord Edward ever had anyone’s best interests at heart but his own.’ Mansell’s words and tone were critical and condemning, but his eyes remained fixed on Honoria, and they were kind.

‘I have to say, my lord,’ Wellings continued, ‘that on this occasion I find room for agreement with Lord Edward. In the light of present events and the uncertainty of war it would be most unwise to leave a lady without protection. Leintwardine Manor would be almost impossible to fortify, an easy target for anyone wishing to take control if its security was not looked to. And a lady on her own …’ He looked anxiously at Lady Mansell. ‘As for raising the annual sum from the property, run-down as it is …’ He shook his head. ‘I advise you to think carefully, my lady, before severing your ties with the Bramptons. Unless, my lord, you yourself are bound into an alliance with a young lady?’

‘No.’

Mansell walked across the room and handed the document to Honoria so that she might read of her proposed fate for herself. She took the paper in fingers that were not quite steady and dropped her gaze from his at last.

‘If you decide to take the advice of Lord Edward, I might suggest that you do so promptly,’ Wellings continued. ‘To bring the properties back into the estate will give you, my lord, every legal right to look to the preservation of Leintwardine Manor and Ingram House.’

‘Thank you, sir, for your time and your timely advice. I believe there is much value in what you say.’ He kept his attention on Honoria’s bent head as she read.

‘It is my pleasure. I hope to be of use to you in the future. To both of you.’ The business completed to his satisfaction, Wellings rose to his feet and bowed.

‘Lady Mansell and I need a few private words in respect of the codicil, Mr Wellings. If you wish to gather up your papers, I will send Foxton with some refreshment. I will see you before you leave, of course.’

He took Honoria’s unresisting hand, removed the document from her fingers and then drew her hand through his arm, making the decision for them both.

‘My lady, I suggest we repair to the solar to consider this new situation.’

The solar was warm and inviting if either of them had been in the frame of mind to give it more than a cursory glance. The only appreciative presence was Morrighan, banished from the legal discussions earlier in the day, but now together again with her mistress. She curled her long limbs before the fire, in pleasure at being reunited with such comfort.

The solar was well placed, deliberately so by the Norman-French de Bramptons, who had constructed the castle principally for their safety rather than their comfort, to benefit from whatever sunshine there might be in winter. Pale gold beams spilled through the windows to gild the panelling and the sparse furnishings. The room had been given a woman’s touch. Of all the rooms in the castle that Mansell had investigated, with increasing disfavour since his arrival, this was the only one to bear signs of personal occupancy and attention. It smelled faintly of herbs—lavender, he presumed. The furniture—a chest, a table, carved armchairs—was carefully chosen from what little the castle could offer and had been recently polished. A bright rug covered the smoothly worn floorboards before the fireplace, its colour warming the austere grey stone. Hand-worked cushions helped to soften a window seat that had a view out over an inner courtyard. A bunch of brave snowdrops gleamed white and green in a small pottery vessel on the table. It was clear to him that Honoria had made the room her own and enjoyed its privacy.

But now they stood facing each other across the void of the oak table, Lord Edward’s final document lying between them, the black ink stark in the sun.

‘Please sit, my lady.’ Mansell indicated the carved chair next to her. He poured small beer for them both, pushed the pewter tankard towards her and lowered himself thoughtfully on the seat opposite, hands resting on the table top. He knew that he must tread carefully. Did he really want this aloof, enigmatic lady as his bride? He was not at all certain that he wanted this responsibility along with all the other complications of his now far-flung estates, but did he have a choice? He could hardly throw her to the wolves of local politics and warfare. And there was something about her that tugged at his senses, at some chivalric instinct to protect. Perhaps her vulnerability, her isolation within the community of Brampton Percy. But marriage! He took a deep breath and a mouthful of Lord Edward’s ale, wincing in disgust as he contemplated his next words.

Honoria found herself contemplating not her future, but the hands spread masterfully on the table top. They were wide-palmed, long-fingered and elegant, but with considerable strength. She noted the calluses along the edge of his thumbs from frequent friction with sword and reins. They were hands that would take and hold fast. Was she willing to put her future into those hands? She longed for it, she admitted to herself in a blaze of honesty, but at the same time shrank from the prospect. She pushed the tankard aside and waited.

‘We need to talk, my lady—without polite pretence or dissimulation.’ Mansell’s tone was flat and matter of fact, as if embarking on a business transaction where time was of the essence, but his eyes were compelling. ‘But remember Wellings’s advice. There is no compulsion here. There is no need to feel that you are under any obligation but to your own wishes in the matter. I believe that you will value that—your freedom of choice—more than anything. Am I correct?’

‘Yes.’ She nodded. His approach and understanding put her at her ease again, she found herself able to quell the sense of panic which had begun to tighten its hold, and concentrate on the practicalities.

‘Firstly, then, it is necessary for you to tell me—is it possible that you carry Lord Edward’s child? If that is so, then the whole of the will as far as my inheritance could be invalid and we must refer again to Wellings.’

Lady Mansell’s eyes flew to his, all her composure in tatters once more, before she hid her consternation with a sweep of lashes. She looks astonished, he thought. As if she had never even considered the prospect.

‘No.’ He could not identify the emotion in her voice.

‘Are you quite certain?’ He kept his voice gentle.

‘I am certain, my lord. I am not breeding.’

‘Very well. Then tell me what you wish for. Your jointure is secure in all details. You have the manor and the London property, with sufficient income to allow you to live independently. I presume the estate is capable of raising it, if it is taken in hand. Sir William Croft seemed to think so.’

‘Yes. It is what I hoped for. And I have thought about it carefully. If I live at Leintwardine, I do not believe that I would be in any danger. My neighbours, apart from yourself, would all be Royalist and most of them connected by family to the Bramptons. And since I have no intention whatsoever of dabbling in local politics, I think that no one would threaten my peace or my safety. Leintwardine Manor is small and insignificant—hardly a key property in county affairs.’ She clasped her hands on the table, fingers tightly linked, as if her determination would make it so. ‘If there was a threat, I should know about it. Eleanor Croft, Sir William’s wife, would ensure that I be warned.’

‘You seem very sure.’ His brows rose.

‘Yes.’ Honoria chose not to explain her certainty.

‘You may be right.’ But why? He tucked the thought away, to be perused at a later date. ‘But you should consider, my lady, the alternative possibilities. What if the Royalists do not prosper? What if Parliament is able to put considerable forces into the field in the west and can overcome His Majesty? A superior Parliamentarian force might be victorious and see Leintwardine as a jewel for its collection. The garrison at Gloucester is not so far away, after all, and if Sir William Waller should bring his forces to strengthen it, well …’ He shrugged, rose to his feet and moved restlessly around the room, his tall frame dominating the space. ‘And I am not convinced that your sex or your family connections would automatically safeguard you from attack.’

‘But that is all supposition, my lord.’ She frowned at him as he purposely undermined all her comfortable planning.

‘I know. And I remember your previous words to me: that you had had enough of betrothals and marriages to last a lifetime. But consider.’ He sat again and leaned forward on his elbows, spread his hands palm up. ‘I believe that national events are likely to overtake us before we know it and we will all be caught up in the maelstrom of war and violence whether we wish it or no. If you agreed to the marriage I would give you the protection of my name, my resources and my body. Your jointure would remain as it is now, to give you financial security in case of my death. For the present, Brampton Percy would remain your home and I would do all in my power to secure your jointure estates from attack.’

It was a very persuasive argument. But I hate this place! The hatred burned in her throat, hammered in her head. But she did not, could not choose to say it aloud in the face of such a generous gesture. But did he mean it? Could he truly contemplate marriage with her rather than allow her to go her own way and so rid him of the responsibility?

‘I would not pressure you,’ Mansell persisted, ‘but there is much to recommend the scheme.’

She looked at him at last, a clear and level gaze, keeping her voice light. ‘Perhaps you have not considered, my lord. My upbringing was under the influence of Sir Robert Denham, as you are well aware. As a Baron of the Exchequer, he was unswervingly loyal to the King. And so my own inclination has been formed. Could you really believe that the marriage of a Parliamentary radical, as I understand the matter, to a Royalist sympathiser would be suitable?’ She caught the quick flash of surprise on his face. ‘Did you think to keep your political leanings secret in this house? You spoke about them to Sir William after Lord Edward’s burial. You were overheard—so it is now the talk of the servants’ hall.’ She smiled a little at his momentary discomfort.

‘I see. Then I must learn discretion and to guard my tongue. But I am no radical.’ His eyes glittered with a touch of humour. ‘But, yes … of course it would be foolish to deny that it is divisive. But is it insurmountable?’

‘Would it be possible to differ on politics, when blood is being shed in the name of King and Parliament, but yet preserve domestic harmony?’ There was more than a hint of doubt in her voice.

‘I have no idea.’ Frustration engraved a deep line between his brows. ‘I agree that it is an issue, but I find your safety to be a more pressing one. Perhaps we could beg to differ on the powers invested in the monarch, but not be reduced to shooting each other over the breakfast table.’

‘I suppose so.’ The doubt was still very evident. ‘But I would not care for you to suspect my loyalties. As you say, we have no idea of what might develop to split families asunder.’

‘Very true. Yet I still believe that the advantages far outweigh any difficulties that may not even happen.’ Mansell hesitated a moment, hearing his own words, amazed that he appeared to be talking himself into an alliance when he was by no means certain that he desired it, whatever Lord Edward’s wishes might have been. Why not simply let the matter rest and let the lady sever all ties with the Bramptons, if that was her choice? And then a thought struck him. One he did not care for. ‘Unless, of course, you would find me objectionable as a husband.’

She glanced up, her eyes wide, her hands suddenly curled into fists, hidden in the folds of her black skirts. Objectionable? Oh, no. How could any woman find an alliance with this virile, formidable man anything but acceptable? Those magnificent eyes, which gleamed silver in the light. The strong wave of his dark hair. The strength and power of his lean body. How could she resist such an offer? And yet she was afraid. Lord Edward had taught her well that … And how could she possibly tell Francis Brampton of her fears?

She is actually thinking about it? His smile had a sardonic edge as he waited. Finally he gave up.

‘If I lacked for self-confidence, my lady, you would just have destroyed it utterly. Would you reject me as being unsuitable? Do you dislike me so much that you could not consider matrimony with me?’

She shook her head, flushing vividly. ‘No, my lord. Never that. But I cannot imagine why you would show such concern for my future. There is really no need.’

As she spoke, the answer came to her with all the clarity of a lightning strike. Think, you fool. Don’t be lulled by a masterful face and imperious eyes. Think of how he would assess the value of Ingram House and Leintwardine Manor. Of course he would not turn his back on such a gain, offered to him on a silver platter, at so little cost to himself. Of course marriage would be acceptable to him! Even marriage to me! Perhaps he is no different from Edward after all and simply sees me as far too valuable an asset to be allowed to go free.

‘It is my thought that I could do no better for a bride. I would be honoured if you would accept my offer.’ He tried for a persuasive tone.

‘Perhaps you have not considered, my lord. Perhaps you would not choose to marry again so soon after your sad bereavement.’ There, she had said it. Poor lost Katherine. She awaited his reply, her breath shallow, barely stirring the bodice of her gown.

Mansell considered his reply for a long moment. ‘It is now more than a year since Katherine’s death. I have grieved for her. And the son I never knew.’ The lines around his mouth were deeply engraved as he frowned down at the tankard in his hands, but his words were gentle enough. ‘But you must not think of her as an impediment to our marriage, a shade who will tread upon your heels at every step. She does not govern my future decisions, as Lord Edward must not influence yours. Is that what you wish to hear?’

‘I think so.’

‘Then will you accept my offer? Will you give yourself into my keeping, Honoria? Together we will hold the estates of Brampton and Laxton secure, against all comers?’

At least he had not made empty protestations of love. She knew exactly where she stood. A desirable mate to bring power and wealth to the union of two important families. As an heiress she had expected no more and no less. And yet it was very tempting. Could she really take the risk? Her eyes searched the flat planes and firm lines of his features as the warnings of her mind struggled against the desires of her heart.

He stood with impatience, driven by her silence so that he strode around the table, taking her hand in his and drawing her abruptly to her feet before him. He was instantly aware of Morrighan lifting her head, the low growl in her throat.

He chose to ignore it. ‘Well, Honoria? Shall we make the bargain?’

Honoria looked at him for a moment, head angled to one side, expression unreadable. Then, ‘Very well. On one condition, my lord.’

‘Of course. If it is within my power.’

‘Will you give me free rein to improve this … this house?’ This terrible monstrosity!

His brows rose at her unexpected request and his quick smile released the tension between them.

‘Lord Edward refused to consider any changes,’ Honoria explained, ‘even those that would bring comfort. Apart from this room, which he gave me for my own.’

‘I see. I have no objection if you wish to take on such a Herculean task. I admire your fortitude.’ Mansell grimaced at his surroundings. ‘The solar shall remain yours, of course. And, as long as you do not beggar me with French fashions and Italian works of art, I will give you the free rein you desire. God knows, the place needs some improvements. So, yes—I will give you free rein, with my blessing. But in return I too have a request, my lady. No, not a request, but a demand.’

‘Which is?’ The instant suspicion on her face almost made him laugh, if the flash of fear in her eyes had not shocked him with its immediacy.

‘If you agree to marry me, my lady, I will accept on no condition that you wear black!’

‘But I am in mourning!’ She smoothed her damp palms over her silk skirts. Why should it matter to him how she looked, what she wore? He was not marrying her for her beauty!

‘You have mourned Lord Edward long enough, I think. If you marry me, you are a bride again. I will not have a bride who looks like a crow. And an unhappy one at that!’

Honoria’s shoulders stiffened at this slight to her vanity, however well deserved it might be. No one, after all, was more aware than she that she did not look her best. But that did not mean that she must accept criticism from this arrogant man who had just turned her world upside down. ‘As my betrothed I expect that it is your right to express an opinion!’ She raised her chin in challenge to such a right. ‘I suppose that I must accept your less-than-flattering observation.’

‘But will you obey it?’ His lips twitched at the flash of spirit in her eyes, the challenge in her voice. There was more to this lady than his first impression.

‘I …’ She dearly wanted to refuse him. But … ‘I will agree with you on this occasion, my lord. I will not wear black.’

‘So. Will you wed me?’

‘Very well, my lord.’ She took a deep breath in a vain attempt to calm her erratically beating heart. ‘I will.’

He looked at her for a long moment, pale skin, gold-flecked eyes, recalling the emotion that had stretched taut between them not an hour ago. It had touched him, moved him, disconcerted him with its intensity. Then he raised her hand to his lips, pressing his mouth against her soft fingers, holding her hand tightly when she would have pulled away. He would not allow her to withdraw physically now, whatever thoughts, whatever doubts, were in her head. They were committed to this unexpected union. And he was still unsure of his motives—unless it was simply to support and protect a lady who appeared to be beset by a multitude of faceless but vicious personal demons.

Finally he released her and with a formal little bow turned towards the door. He pulled it open and then halted to turn back towards her still figure. ‘We shall make it work, Honoria.’

‘Yes, my lord.’

‘Francis.’

‘You are very determined, my lord.’

‘I believe it is in my nature to be so. Does it disturb you?’

‘Perhaps. I do not know you well enough.’ She raised her chin a little. ‘I will consider it.’

He smiled at her solemn pronouncement. ‘Then whilst you consider such a momentous matter, I must inform Lawyer Wellings of our decision before he leaves. And I think that I shall invite Josh Hopton for the occasion. He can give me some much-needed support in this den of Royalism! It should be soon. Would next week be acceptable to you, if I arrange for a special licence from the Bishop of Hereford? More expedient than calling the banns in this instance, I think.’

‘Yes, my lord.’ Honoria felt as if she were being swept along by an irresistible force, against which she was helpless.

‘And I will suggest that Josh bring his youngest sister with him. Perhaps you might value some female companionship. Mary is close to your own age, I would think. Would it please you?’

‘Why, yes. I think it would. I … I am very grateful.’ She failed to hide her surprised pleasure at his thoughtfulness.

‘Then I will arrange it.’ He was intrigued at her low opinion of him—or perhaps it was of men in particular. It would be interesting to learn.

‘Thank you, my lord.’

‘It is my pleasure. I believe I have one more request of you. Notice my choice of words!’ He grinned, a sudden flash of pure charm that lit his stern features and forced Honoria to take another deep breath. ‘I would be grateful if you could persuade that animal, which guards your every step, that I am not the enemy. I sometimes feel that it would enjoy me for breakfast, particularly when I touch you. She is well named as the fiercest of battle goddesses. I hope that both you and the dog would come to an understanding that I intend you no harm.’

As he left the room, he actually heard her laugh, a soft, pretty sound that lifted his heart. He had been wrong. The widow could indeed laugh. So there was one victory.

What have I done? Honoria pressed her hands to her mouth, excitement warring with anxiety, anticipation with fear, causing her stomach to churn and her pulse to race. Will I regret it?

She pressed her lips against her fingers, to the exact place where his mouth had burned against her skin. She could find no answer.

Francis Brampton, in his new authority as Lord Mansell, rode hard and fast over the following days. Sometimes alone, more often accompanied by the estate’s agent, Jonathan Leysters, underemployed by Lord Edward, now much in demand and grateful for it. The new lord learned little that was not already obvious to his keen eye and inquisitive mind. The land that he had inherited provided good pasture, fertile soil for grain and a wealth of timber. It should bring in a high yield and high rents, but the neglect was shameful. The land was underused, weeds rife, wooded areas overgrown and neglected, hedges and roads allowed to decay; tenants lived with leaking roofs, crumbling walls and voices raised in complaint against a landlord who demanded much and gave nothing in return. Nothing good was to be heard about the old lord.

The weather was chill and changeable, but Mansell was not to be deterred from his self-imposed task. Sometimes he spent a night away from Brampton Percy. More often than not he returned wet, muddied and more than a little depressed to refuel, catch a night’s sleep and set off again next morning. He would see the extent of his new possessions, their strengths and weaknesses, and make himself known as a landlord who would be involved in the well-being of his estate.

The manor of Leintwardine was much as he expected and had been warned, a pretty timbered manor house with gardens and substantial outbuildings. No wonder Honoria remembered it with pleasure, he mused, enjoying a sweep of snowdrops beneath the bare beech trees. But there was no hope of protecting it against serious hostile intent. Buckton, Aylton and Eyton were even worse, lacking defences and investment. In the event of an attack from his neighbours, Mansell knew that he must leave them to take their chance, removing the servants to Brampton Percy at the first sign of danger; in effect, handing the property over to the Royalists. It was not a decision that sat well with him, but what choice did he have without an army at his back?

Leysters made no excuses for the neglect, pointing out the worst of it with blunt honesty, but neither did he shoulder any blame. Lord Edward had been content to collect the rents, albeit sporadically, but he refused to listen to pleas for assistance or sink any money into the estate. At least the servants who tried to hold the scattered, dilapidated manors were pleased to see agent and lord working together. Perhaps the news of Mansell’s largesse at Brampton Percy had spread, and presumably lost nothing in the telling.

A rapid ride through the crown land at Kingsland proved that it could be used to better purpose than its present fallow state. Then a long journey up to Clun. The sheep from the vast flocks were spread over the common land, but the elderly shepherd, who assessed Mansell with a critical eye and all the confidence of seven decades, assured him that they were in good heart and would have a fine stock of lambs to sell to the local markets in late spring, if they were all still alive to enjoy the profits. Mansell agreed, promising to do his best to ensure that they were, then turned wearily for Ludlow to spend a night at the Brampton town house.

Here there was much to raise his spirits. He discovered it to be an extensive property set in an excellent position in Corve Street, its panelled rooms and plastered ceilings warm and pleasing to the eye. He immediately had a vision of Honoria putting it to rights and making it a home again. She would enjoy it, he thought. If she were willing to expend her energies on the castle, how much more rewarding it would be to take this more manageable property in hand. He must convey her to his estates in Suffolk, he decided, as he walked through the sparsely furnished rooms. And to see his mother in London, of course. A twinge of guilt assailed him as he realised that he had failed to communicate his intentions to his family. And then shrugged. It could wait. There was simply so much to do.

Nevertheless, he found the time to pay a visit to the Hoptons, to make his request to Sir Joshua. Here he was made welcome with food and wine and pleasant conversation by the older Hopton generation and enjoyed the freedom of not having to defend his views against a critical audience. His private conversation with the son of the household was less comfortable, being met first with outright disbelief and then irrepressible humour.

‘So you have succeeded where Rudhall of Rudhall failed.’ Joshua did not try to hide his delight.

‘It seems so.’

‘He will be less than pleased. He had high hopes of a connection. All I can say is, Thank God! Do I congratulate you?’

‘You might.’

‘Are you going to tell me why?’

‘No.’

‘Hmm. Not very communicative, Francis. Do I detect a mystery?’

‘Definitely not. But will you come?’

‘Assuredly. I cannot wait to experience the delights of Brampton Percy once more. When?’

‘Next week.’

Josh’s brows rose. ‘I see.’

‘I doubt it.’ Mansell looked across the room towards the rest of the family, gathered round a table to play cards with loud enthusiasm, seeking out the lively younger sister with dark curls and an open, friendly manner. ‘Would Mary accompany you, do you think? Would your parents allow it?’

Josh laughed. ‘She would need no persuading. Women’s talk and weddings. And I don’t see why she should not travel with me. The roads seems quiet enough. But why?’

‘My lady needs someone to talk to.’

‘So she isn’t talking to you?’ Josh looked at his friend with interested speculation.

All he received was a flat stare. ‘Not yet.’ And with that he had to be content.

Satisfied with the outcome of the visit, Mansell set out for Wigmore. Any lingering pleasant thoughts were quickly driven out of his mind at Wigmore, a towering fortress on a rocky outcrop, guarding the route from Hereford to the north. Another medieval stronghold, able to withstand any attack, as the steward there was quick to inform him. No enemy could creep up undetected and they could easily be repulsed by the heavy walls and towers.

‘But we need manpower, my lord Mansell. How can we hold off even the smallest force with only a handful of elderly servants and the kitchen maids?’

Mansell did not know the answer. And Brampton Percy was in no better state, notwithstanding the strength of its manmade fortifications.

He turned his horse’s head wearily for home, deciding against a courtesy call at Croft Castle. He did not feel up to fielding questions from Sir William about his proposed marriage and his alienation from county sympathies. He would go home. And marry Honoria, for good or ill.

Meanwhile the lady of Brampton Percy had spent her time equally profitably, hiring in girls from the village to tackle the more immediate problems. If she regretted her newly affianced lord’s absences from the castle, she did not admit it. Not even to herself. Instead, since escape to Leintwardine had been deliberately put to one side, she poured her energies into the deficiencies of her personal nightmare. Changes gradually became evident at the castle, most dramatically when her lord returned from a wet and trying day spent in assessing the distant acres of the manor of Burrington. Foxton and Honoria were engaged in directing Robert, who was perched on a precarious ladder with a mop, in cleaning cobwebs from the ceiling in one of the darker passages leading from the Great Hall. Surrounded by dust and spiders, they were unaware of their lord’s return until disturbed by a distinctly male and angry outburst from somewhere in the upper regions of the house.

‘Perhaps I should …’ Foxton turned nobly to discover the problem.

‘No.’ Honoria sighed a little. ‘I will go. After all, I initiated the problem, whatever it is. I think I can guess.’

She trod the stairs, Morrighan at her heels, to find her betrothed at the head of the staircase, still clad in boots and cloak, dripping puddles on the floor from a sodden hat clenched in one fist, glowering at one of the new serving girls who was speechless in terror at being accosted by the master of the house in an uncertain temper. Mansell immediately rounded on his lady, eyes full of temper, his hands fisted on his hips in a gesture of true male arrogance.

‘Perhaps you could explain to me, my lady, why the bed and window hangings have apparently disappeared from my room!’ He did not wait for an answer. ‘The chests and the clothes press are empty and it is as cold as the very devil in there with no fire laid, much less lit. There seems to be no one available to bring ale and food … and yet I seem to be falling over housemaids at every step, silly girls who tremble as if I would beat them when I ask a civil question. What is happening around here?’ The wolfhound stiffened and growled at the implied threat in his lordship’s raised voice. ‘And I am beset by this animal. Quiet!’ Morrighan dropped to a crouch beside Honoria’s skirts, hackles still raised, the growl subsiding to a low rumble. She continued to watch Mansell with narrowed eyes.

Honoria waited for the tirade to end, struggling to hide a smile. Then, as he ran out of complaints, she risked a glance at his face. Amusement drained away. All she could see was the imprint of weariness and strain, the grey eyes dark and troubled. And she felt inadequate to help him.

‘The room you have been occupying was not suitable, my lord. Far too small and cramped. I have changed it. You should be more comfortable in the future.’ It was all she could offer to assuage his anger.

He was not to be mollified. ‘You have changed it. I see. You might at least have asked …’ He glared at Morrighan, but to no effect. Her lip lifted in a snarl. He huffed out a breath and gave up.

‘You gave me the freedom to do as I wished, and I have done what I thought right. I am sorry if it does not please you. If you would come with me.’ Honoria turned her back, thus shutting out his fierce glare, not sounding sorry at all. ‘I have put you in the lord’s room, as is fitting.’

‘I think I would rather stay where I was.’ Unpleasant memories of Lord Edward rose before him.

‘The rooms have been cleaned and put to rights,’ she assured him, understanding his reluctance. She pushed open a door on her left. ‘If you would but see. If you do not approve, I will make any changes you wish, of course.’ She stood back for him to enter and, taking pity, shut Morrighan out.

The room was a haven, warm and welcoming. Furniture polished. Hangings beaten and cleaned, glowing in their true colours of blue and gold. Bed made up with fresh linen and a coverlet to match the hangings. A fire in the grate, spreading its comforting warmth. Candles already lit, a flagon of ale on a court cupboard with pewter goblets. His possessions were no doubt put away in the chests and presses. She could not have done anything better to soothe her lord’s frustrations.

‘There is a dressing room through there,’ Honoria indicated. ‘And the door connects with my rooms. As you see, we were expecting you. One of the servants will bring you hot water immediately. And food-perhaps you would wish to eat here tonight as it late. I regret any inconvenience.’ She turned to hurry out before he could respond.

‘Honoria.’

She stopped but did not turn back. He felt the weariness and unwarranted anger drain away, to be replaced by an uncomfortable sense of shame that he should have allowed such a reaction to take control. And a reluctant ripple of humour as his mind replayed the ridiculous scene in the corridor.

‘Forgive me, lady. I have no excuse for such behaviour.’

‘You are wet and tired and your inheritance is a burden. It is understandable.’

He frowned at her rigid shoulders. He found her compliance disturbing. ‘If I can help in any way …’

‘Why, yes.’ She turned back now, head cocked, almost a mischievous smile on her lips.

‘I mistrust that look, lady.’

‘So you should. You should not have asked.’

‘So what is it?’

‘If you would arrange for the digging out of the drainage in the inner courtyard—it is blocked with leaves and debris after the winter rains. You must know that it is disgusting—ankle deep in stagnant water, and with the promise of warmer weather the smell will be wellnigh intolerable. It would also improve the atmosphere in the rooms that overlook the courtyard. They are prone to damp and mildew, as you must be aware.’

I definitely should not have asked. But nevertheless he was drawn into an answering smile at her resourcefulness in seizing the opportunity his casual comment offered.

‘Before or after our marriage?’

‘Whatever is convenient to you, my lord.’

‘Is that all?’

‘Oh, no. But the rest will keep.’ Honoria folded her hands before her, eyes downcast, lips curved in a demure smile, all complaisance again.

‘You are enjoying this, are you not?’

‘Why, yes. I suppose I am.’ He laughed aloud at the faint look of surprise on her face as she considered his observation.

‘It seems you have a talent for it. I expect I shall find more changes tomorrow.’

‘Undoubtedly.’

He grunted. ‘Before you go, I have a present for you.’

He hefted his saddle bags to the bed and searched through one of the pouches. ‘Mistress James from Eyton sent this for you with her best wishes. Made by her bees last year. I think it has not leaked—at least it does not feel sticky.’ He lifted it gingerly.

Honoria took the little pottery jar of honey, ran her fingers over its smooth surface. ‘How kind of her. I do not even know her. I have never been to Eyton.’

‘Oh, yes, and also this.’ Mansell searched in his pockets to finally extract a flat but uneven packet, well tied and sealed, which he handed over. ‘I know not its contents, but Mistress James suggested that you speak with Mistress Brierly, the cook, about it. Women’s matters, I presume.’

Honoria sniffed at the pleasantly spicy aroma that came with the package and fingered the bulky outlines beneath the paper. ‘I have no idea—perhaps some herbal remedies. I know nothing of such things, so I will follow Mistress James’s advice. But as for the honey … If you care for mulled ale, my lord, I will use it now.’

‘Thank you.’ He hesitated a moment. ‘Why do I get the feeling that I do not deserve your kindness?’ He took hold of her wrist, pulled her gently towards him, and searched her face closely. And why do I get the feeling that I am being managed, along with the rest of the house? It pleased him to see a hint of colour in her cheeks and less anxiety in her eyes. He also took note of the cobweb adhering to one of her ringlets and the dust that clung to her cuffs and the hem of her gown. It struck him that she was dressed more in keeping with his housekeeper than the Lady of Brampton Percy.

‘Don’t tire yourself,’ he advised lightly, unsure of her reaction. ‘It is a major task you have undertaken. Let Foxton and Mistress Morgan take the burden.’

‘But they do. Mistress Morgan is the most efficient of housekeepers and the servants are most willing.’ Honoria stood quietly, more than a little aware of the light clasp of his fingers. She swallowed carefully against the rapid beat of her pulse, trying to keep her voice even. ‘I think that they welcome a change of lord, although they would not say so to me.’

Mansell shrugged. ‘I would like to take you to my home in Suffolk. You would not have to work hard there.’

‘I should like that.’ She smiled shyly up at him, touched by his thoughtful concern for her well-being.

Brushing away the cobweb, he bent his head to press his lips to her wrist. She did not pull away this time. But he felt her pulse pick up its rhythm beneath the warmth of his mouth. He lifted his head. ‘Thank you, Honoria. I like the changes you have made. I apologise for my boorish humour.’

‘There is no need, my lord.’

He would have pulled her closer still, to transfer his kiss from her wrist to her soft lips, so close, so tempting … He had never even kissed her, he suddenly realised! Even when she had promised to be his bride. Struck uncomfortably by the omission, he would have lowered his mouth to hers. But she pulled back and escaped his loosened hold, colour deepening in her face.

‘I will have food brought when you are ready, my lord.’

His eyes followed her speculatively as she hurried from his room.