Anne O'Brien - Marriage Under Siege

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.’

‘There is no need, my lord.’

He would have pulled her closer still, to transfer his kiss from her wrist to her soft lips, so close, so tempting … He had never even kissed her, he suddenly realised! Even when she had promised to be his bride. Struck uncomfortably by the omission, he would have lowered his mouth to hers. But she pulled back and escaped his loosened hold, colour deepening in her face.

‘I will have food brought when you are ready, my lord.’

His eyes followed her speculatively as she hurried from his room.

Within the week the Reverend Gower was presiding over another service in St Barnabas’s Church at Brampton Percy. He had expressed his opinions over such a speedy remarriage of the Widow as forcefully as he dare. Most unseemly, of course, in the circumstances, Lord Edward being dead less than a month, even if the Bishop of Hereford saw fit to issue a special licence. What was the world coming to when the dictates of God and Crown were held in such disrespect what with the law and order in the countryside going to rack and ruin and no honest man able to travel except in fear of his life? And now the new lord treating the laws of God in such a cavalier fashion and Lady Mansell herself willing to be a party to his schemes … But as the incumbent of a church in Lord Mansell’s gift, even God’s servant must be aware that it would not pay him to voice his disfavour too strongly if he valued his living.