Anne O'Brien - Marriage Under Siege

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.