Marriage Under Siege

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.