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‘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?’