Marriage Under Siege

‘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.’