Marriage Under Siege

‘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?’