Anne O'Brien - Marriage Under Siege

‘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.