Marriage Under Siege (2 page)

Thus Mansell turned his
attention to the lady, but with cursory interest. A relative? A female
dependant? Clearly not a servant, not even the housekeeper, as now indicated by
the style and quality of her raiment.

She stood quietly before
him, waiting for Foxton, or Mansell, to take the initiative. She was dressed
completely in black from head to foot with no decoration or redeeming features,
no jewellery, no lace, but her gown was of the finest silk and the fashioning
spoke of London. Her brown hair was neatly and severely confined at the nape
of her neck, without curls or ringlets to soften the impression. An oval face
with clear hazel eyes, well-marked brows and an unsmiling mouth. Her skin was
pale, with delicate smudges beneath her eyes, the severe colour of her dress
robbing her of even a reflected tint that might have been flattering. She
looked, he thought, on the verge of total exhaustion. She was young, but yet
not a girl. Not a beauty, but with a composed serenity that had its own
attraction. Serene, that is, until he noted her hands, which were clasped
before her, but not loosely. Her fingers, slender and elegant, were white with
tension. And he could see a pulse beating rapidly in her throat above the high
neckline of her gown. He returned his gaze to her face, his brows raised in
polite enquiry. The lady simply stood and waited. He had the impression—why, he
was unsure—that she had been standing in the shadows of the room since his
arrival, watching and listening, making her own judgement. A finger of disquiet
touched his spine.

Mansell had no idea who she
was. And yet, there was perhaps something familiar about her... He cast a
glance at Foxton to help him out of this uncomfortable situation. Before the
steward could speak, the lady curtsied and spoke. Her voice, as before, was
calm and soft, quite confident, confirming that she was no housekeeper.

'We have been expecting
you, Lord Mansell. You must be weary after your journey.' There was not even
the faintest smile of welcome to warm the conventional words. 'And your
travelling companion. I have arranged for food and wine in the solar, if that
will please you. It is the warmest room.'

'Thank you. Foxton has so
directed us. Mistress...?' He saw the quick glance pass between Foxton and the
lady.

'I see that Lord Edward did
not see fit to inform you, my lord.' She met his enquiring gaze without
shyness, her composure still intact. It ruffled him that he was the only one to
feel in any way compromised by this situation.

'Inform me? I am not
sure...' Impatience simmered. His brows snapped together in a heavy frown,
usually guaranteed to provoke an instant response. Josh saw it and awaited the
outcome with interest.

'My lord.' Foxton came to
his rescue. 'If I might be permitted to introduce you.' He bowed towards the
still figure at his side, his face enigmatic, but his eyes sharp. 'I have the
honour to introduce to you Honoria, Lady Mansell. The wife—the recent bride—of
Lord Edward. This gentleman, my lady, is Sir Francis Brampton, a distant cousin
of Lord Edward and, as heir to the title, now Lord Mansell. And Sir Joshua
Hopton, who travels with him.'

The lady sank into a deep
curtsy as the two gentlemen bowed. Sir Francis took the opportunity to attempt
to marshal the jumble of facts and impressions that assailed him. This was not
what he expected when he had received the news of Edward's sudden death. This
could probably provide him with an unnecessary complication. He forced his mind
to focus on the most startling of the developments.

'Edward's wife? I was not
aware...' He fixed the lady with a stark stare as if the fault were hers. And
then frowned as he took in her neat hair and clear features. 'And yet...I
believe that we have met before, my lady.'

'We have, my lord, but I
did not expect you to remember. It was more than two years ago—in London,
before the outbreak of hostilities.'

'Of course.' He failed to
hide the surprise in his voice. 'You are Mistress Ingram, the
Laxton
heiress, if I am not mistaken. You were at Court in
the autumn of 1640. At Whitehall. I was there with Katherine...'

'Yes. I am—that is to say,
I was Honoria Ingram.'

'Indeed, we were introduced
at one of the Queen's masques. One of
Inigo
Jones's
extravaganzas.' There was the merest hint of distaste in his voice.

'I was there with Sir
Robert Denham, my guardian, and his family.'

'I know Sir Robert, of
course. But my cousin's wife! I had no idea...'

'How should you, my lord?'
She watched his reactions with some detached interest, but without emotion,
without involvement.

'Lord Edward had always
given the impression—to my father— that he had chosen not to marry and never
would. We were given to believe that he did not hold women and the state of
matrimony in very high regard.'

'As for that, my lord, I am
not in a position to give an opinion.'

The lady before him grew
even paler, if that were possible. Lord Francis groaned inwardly at his clumsy
choice of words and his thoughtless lack of tact. There was no excuse for it.
Sir Joshua's inelegant attempts to cover a laugh with a fit of coughing
irritated him further and elicited a fierce glance in his direction before
Mansell turned back to his cousin's widow in a hopeless attempt to mend a few
fences.

'Forgive me, my lady. That
was unwarranted. I did not intend any discourtesy. My manners appear to have
gone begging after four days of travel in adverse conditions. Will you accept
my apology?'

The lady gave her head a
little shake. 'It is not necessary, my lord. Your assessment of the situation
is most percipient and quite correct. I believe that it was certainly not Lord
Edward's intent to marry until very recently. The prospect of a fortune in land
and coin, however, can make even the most obstinate or the most jaundiced of
men change his mind.' The pause was barely discernible. 'And Lord Edward was,
without doubt, both.'

'How long ago—since you
were married?' Mansell could not mistake the bitterness in her tone, however
much she might try to conceal it, as she exposed the reason for the marriage
with such terrible clarity.

For the first time the lady
hesitated a little before she replied, perhaps disinclined to reveal more.
There was the ghost of some emotion in her clear gaze, a mere shadow, but it
was too fleeting for him to interpret. Her face remained impassive and her
voice, when she finally answered, was without inflection as if explaining a
matter of no account.

'Four weeks ago, my lord, I
was a bride. Now, I am a widow. I believe that it is Mr
Wellings's
intention—Lord Edward's lawyer from Ludlow, you understand—to discuss your
inheritance and my jointure with you on Thursday, the day after the funeral.'
She turned away towards the staircase, effectively masking any further reaction
to his questions and hindering any attempt on Mansell's part to pry further.
'Now, my lord, perhaps you and Sir Joshua would care to leave this extremely
draughty hall for a place of a little more comfort. My solar is at least warm
and relatively draught free. I am afraid that you will not find Brampton Percy,
as you so astutely commented, very conducive to either comfort or
convenience.'

Chapter
Two

Wednesday, the day of Lord
Edward Mansell's funeral, saw a continuation of steady rain and high winds. It
seemed to the new Lord Mansell most apposite to be standing beside a coffin in
a gloomy churchyard in such dire conditions. It matched his mood exactly. The
trees, some such as the towering horse chestnuts with the merest hint of spring
growth, were lashed without sympathy as the rain drummed heavily on the surface
of Lord Edward's coffin and on the small crowd of mourners who had turned out
to mark his passing. There was a collective sigh of relief as Lord Edward's
earthly remains were finally carried into the church where they would be laid
to rest in the family vault, allowing everyone to get in out of the rain.

Few of the local families
had chosen to attend the passing of the old lord. The war was beginning to
stretch the traditional ties of local loyalties and Lord Edward had never been
a popular member of the county elite. Too irascible, too penny-pinching,
reluctant to extend even the basic needs of hospitality to his neighbours. And,
more often than not, downright unpleasant. Therefore, given the state of the
roads and the possibility of enemy action, even on a small local scale, many
had elected to stay at home.

There was no sign of
Viscount Scudamore of
Holme
Lacy, although it was
true to say, even by those who disliked his youthful flippancy and lack of
respect for convention, that he would have the furthest to travel. But also
absent was any representative of Fitzwilliam Coningsby of Hampton Court near
Leominster. Or Henry Lingen. But some had made the effort. Henry Vaughan was
present, as well as Sir Richard Hopton. And Mansell was conscious of Sir
William Croft's brooding presence at his shoulder throughout the burial
service. There was family connection here, through history and marriage, but
the new lord did not relish the forthcoming conversation with his powerful
relative. Sir William, major landowner in the county and owner of Croft Castle,
had a reputation as a staunch Royalist and had, without doubt, more than a
little influence in county politics.

The family retainers from
Brampton Percy were present in force, of course, and some tenants from the
village cottages and surrounding farms—but they had braved the weather more to
get their first sighting of the new Lord Mansell, he mused cynically, than any
desire to pay their last respects to Lord Edward.

The Reverend Stanley Gower
droned on through the service, his nasal intonation increased by a heavy cold,
as damp and chill rose from the stone floor and walls and the congregation
coughed and shuffled.

'For as much as it hath
pleased Almighty God of his great mercy to take unto himself the soul of our
dear brother Edward here departed...'

Mansell sighed silently,
doubting that any of those present regarded Lord Edward Mansell in the light of
a dear brother. He kept his gaze fixed on the scarred boards of the old box pew
before him, effectively masking his own thoughts. Sir Joshua sat at his side,
gallantly lending his support—as he had cheerfully explained when he postponed
his journey to Ludlow, the prospect of enjoying the explosion of temperament
when Croft was made privy to his new neighbour's political leanings was too
good an opportunity to miss. Mansell had expressed himself forcefully and
succinctly, threatening to banish Josh from the proceedings and send him on his
way if he dared say one word out of place but, indeed, he appreciated the solid
presence beside him in the grim atmosphere.

Alone in the old lord's
pew, the worn outline of the Brampton coat of arms engraved on the door, sat
Lady Mansell. It had been her own choice to sit alone. Mansell had every
intention of lending his support to the widow, but she had chosen otherwise.
She had absented herself from the company until the last moment, deliberately
isolating herself in her lord's pew. He turned his head slightly to assess her
state of mind, intrigued by this unlooked-for influence on his inheritance.

Honoria Brampton remained
unaware of his regard. She sat perfectly still, gloved hands folded in her
lap, the hood of her cloak pushed back from her neat coils of hair. No
shuffling, no fidgeting, she looked straight ahead towards the distant altar.
Lord Mansell could detect no trace of tears, no obvious distress on her calm
face, her eyes somewhat expressionless and unfocused. He frowned a little, but
had to admit that after their single encounter he would have expected no less.

On the previous night she
had arranged for the provision of food and warmth and then simply withdrawn
with instructions to the servants to ensure their comfort. She had made no
effort to entertain, to explain the death of her husband, to enquire after
their journey. All was competently and capably ordered, but Lady Mansell was
personally uninvolved. And yet not, it would seem, from overwhelming grief.
Mansell shrugged his shoulders in discomfort within his sodden cloak and shuffled
his booted feet on the cold flags. It was, of course, difficult to judge on
such slight acquaintance and it would be unfair of him to presume.

The service came to an end,
even the Reverend Gower spurred into hurrying his words as the restlessness of
the congregation made itself felt and his cold threatened to overwhelm him. The
coffin was duly carried to the south aisle and manoeuvred, with some difficulty
and muttered imprecations, to be lowered into the vault below the stone flags
with the decayed remains of other de Bramptons.

'...dust to dust;
in sure
and certain hope of the Resurrection to eternal
life...'

The congregation proceeded
in a wave of relief out into the churchyard.

'Well, my lord.' Croft
appeared at Mansell's side and offered his hand. 'Unpleasant circumstances, I
know, but welcome to the county. I knew your father, of course. I shall be
pleased to make your acquaintance, my boy. And introduce you with pleasure to
the rest of my family on a more auspicious occasion.'

I
doubt it.
Lord Mansell kept his thoughts to himself and
returned the clasp with a smile and inclination of his head. 'Thank you, Sir
William. I remember my father speaking often of you and your boyhood
activities. He held you in great affection. I trust you will return with me to
the castle. Let us get in out of this Godforsaken rain and see if the contents
of Lord Edward's cellar can help to thaw us out.'

'I would not gamble a
fortune on it!' Sir William guffawed, raindrops clinging to his bushy
eyebrows. 'But I will willingly help you discover the flaws in your
inheritance! I am not sure that you will be successful in finding even a keg of
ale, much less anything of a stronger nature—I would definitely not bet my last
coin on it. Lord Edward did not spend money willingly. Indeed, he claimed that
he never had it to spend—but only because he could never be bothered to collect
it efficiently. I fear that your new estates will prove to be a burden, my
lord, unless you are willing to take the time and energy to whip them into
shape.'

Mansell turned away with a
shrug and a suitable comment—and was immediately conscious of Lady Mansell's
approach to stand beside him on the mired pathway. She had pulled up the hood
to hide her hair and most of her face. She looked lost and fragile, alone
amidst the groups of mourners. For one moment he thought that she swayed, that
she might lose her balance, so he stepped forward and took her arm in a strong
clasp.

'My lady,' he murmured in a
low voice, 'are you well? Do you need help?'

Her whole body stiffened
under his impersonal touch and, although she did not actively pull away, she
gave no outward appreciation of his offer of help. There was the merest flicker
of her eyelids as she turned her face to his. And a look of shock as if she had
been unaware of her surroundings until that moment, as if she were merely going
through the motions of what was expected of her. She blinked at Mansell with a
frown of recognition—and then shook her head as she pulled her arm from his
grip. He could see her visibly withdraw from him, her eyes fall to hide her
thoughts.

'Thank you, my lord. I need
no help. I have to return to the castle to ensure that the guests have all they
require.'

She turned and walked away
from him towards the forbidding gateway.

A simple repast had been
laid out in the Great Hall. Bread, meat, cheese and pasties on large platters.
Jugs of wine and larger vessels of beer were available, in spite of Sir
William's fears to the contrary. A vast table had been set up with chairs for
those who might be infirm. A fire had been lit in the enormous fireplace. It
was too meagre to do more than lift the atmosphere, but it was a gesture, and
the few who returned to the castle with Lord Mansell gravitated to its
flickering cheerfulness, steam rising from damp velvet and mud-caked leather.
The guests expressed their sympathies in suitable if not exactly honest terms
to the new lord and to Lady Mansell, the servants efficiently poured beer and
mulled wine, and the gathering gradually relaxed into gossip, family matters
and local affairs typical of such an event.

Mansell found Foxton
hovering at his elbow, an expression of some concern on his lined face.

'Is everything to your
satisfaction, my lord? We did what we could. But you must understand... Forgive
me, my lord, but—'

'Yes. Thank you, Foxton. It
is better than I could have expected in the circumstances.' He made no attempt
to cloak his knowledge of the state of the once-magnificent castle of Brampton
Percy. It was clear for all to see. A run-down estate. No money, no care over
past decades, no stores to draw on in any emergency. Where the money from the
rents went, Heaven only knew. If, indeed, they had ever been collected as he'd
been led to believe. It had taken Mansell less than twenty-four hours to see
the dire need here. And, as Josh had pointed out with delicate malice, it was
now all his. 'You have made the guests feel most welcome, Master Foxton. You
have my gratitude.' A smile of genuine warmth touched his harsh features. 'I
think that Lord Edward was not aware of the debt which he owed to your
stewardship. But I am.'

Foxton bowed his
appreciation. 'It is my duty and an honour to serve your family, my lord. As my
own father did before me. But this—' he gestured with his hand '—is Lady Mansell's
doing, my lord. She was most particular that we should be able to offer some
hospitality, and, not knowing who or how many would wish to mark the passing of
Lord Edward... If anyone wishes to stay the night, my lord, a number of
bedchambers have been made ready.'

Mansell raised his brows in
some surprise at the foresight, but made no comment other than, 'Thank you,
Foxton. I am grateful.'

He turned from his Steward
to locate the widow. There she was, almost invisible in the gloom in her black
gown, moving between the guests, exchanging a word here, supplying another
glass of wine there, listening to a whispered confidence or an offer of
condolence. The grey shadow of the huge wolfhound had emerged from its
temporary incarceration in the stables to attach itself firmly to her skirts
once more. Lady Mansell carried herself confidently, gracefully, apparently
having recovered from her momentary dislocation in the churchyard. But although
she conversed with ease there was no animation and she did not smile. Her aloof
composure struck Mansell anew. But perhaps even more remarkable, he quickly
noticed, was the care and deference of the servants towards her. They watched
her, ready to anticipate her needs, to respond to her every desire. Even
Foxton. She might only have been mistress of Brampton Percy for a bare four
weeks, yet in that time, however fickle the loyalties of servants might be, she
appeared to have been taken under the caring wing of the whole household.

How
did she do it?
Mansell mused as he watched her from a distance
and later voiced his thoughts to Sir Joshua over a mug of ale. 'She would
appear to have no conversation of any merit—or certainly no desire to
entertain. No charm. No warmth. Yet even Sir Edward's hound follows her every
step and appears inseparable from her. What is it that they respond to?'

Sir Joshua shrugged. 'I
know not. I have not seen her smile or show pleasure. I watched Thomas
Rudhall
try to engage her in conversation a little while
ago.' Joshua turned to survey the assembled group, to locate the gentleman.

'Oh? Another family
connection, I presume.'

'Yes. A cousin of yours, I
would think. And a very important one— in his opinion. And, more to the point,
a widower. There he is—the large rumpled individual propping up the fireplace,
scattering crumbs as he speaks. From
Rudhall
Park.
Poor Thomas tried very hard to flatter the grieving and wealthy widow with his
consequence and attention.'

'And?'

'She drew in her skirts as
if to avoid contamination and looked at him as if he had crawled out of the
slime in your inner courtyard.' Sir Joshua's face split in a reminiscent grin.
'Our self-important Thomas made a hasty exit towards the ale. His dreams of a
rich, youthful widow with a handsome jointure to warm his bed shattered by one
sharp encounter. I could wish to have heard what she said to him.'

'At least she has good
taste.' Mansell's lips curled as he assessed his unprepossessing relative, who
was at present waxing eloquent and loudly on the strength of local Royalist
forces and the certain defeat of Parliament. 'I imagine that the past four
weeks have not been a source of amusement for her. She might not regard wedlock
with any degree of tolerance and I wager few women would be attracted by
Rudhall's
dubious charms. I remember little of my cousin
Edward, but marriage to him must have been...a trial.' Mansell hesitated a
moment, a frown drawing together his heavy brows. 'Perhaps even worse than that
for a gently brought-up girl. Perhaps that is the problem.'