Marriage Under Siege. Anne O'Brien

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?’

      ‘My lady needs someone to talk to.’

      ‘So she isn’t talking to you?’ Josh looked at his friend with interested speculation.

      All he received was a flat stare. ‘Not yet.’ And with that he had to be content.

      Satisfied with the outcome of the visit, Mansell set out for Wigmore. Any lingering pleasant thoughts were quickly driven out of his mind at Wigmore, a towering fortress on a rocky outcrop, guarding the route from Hereford to the north. Another medieval stronghold, able to withstand any attack, as the steward there was quick to inform him. No enemy could creep up undetected and they could easily be repulsed by the heavy walls and towers.

      ‘But we need manpower, my lord Mansell. How can we hold off even the smallest force with only a handful of elderly servants and the kitchen maids?’

      Mansell did not know the answer. And Brampton Percy was in no better state, notwithstanding the strength of its manmade fortifications.

      He turned his horse’s head wearily for home, deciding against a courtesy call at Croft Castle. He did not feel up to fielding questions from Sir William about his proposed marriage and his alienation from county sympathies. He would go home. And marry Honoria, for good or ill.

      Meanwhile the lady of Brampton Percy had spent her time equally profitably, hiring in girls from the village to tackle the more immediate problems. If she regretted her newly affianced lord’s absences from the castle, she did not admit it. Not even to herself. Instead, since escape to Leintwardine had been deliberately put to one side, she poured her energies into the deficiencies of her personal nightmare. Changes gradually became evident at the castle, most dramatically when her lord returned from a wet and trying day spent in assessing the distant acres of the manor of Burrington. Foxton and Honoria were engaged in directing Robert, who was perched on a precarious ladder with a mop, in cleaning cobwebs from the ceiling in one of the darker passages leading from the Great Hall. Surrounded by dust and spiders, they were unaware of their lord’s return until disturbed by a distinctly male and angry outburst from somewhere in the upper regions of the house.

      ‘Perhaps I should …’ Foxton turned nobly to discover the problem.

      ‘No.’ Honoria sighed a little. ‘I will go. After all, I initiated the problem, whatever it is. I think I can guess.’

      She trod the stairs, Morrighan at her heels, to find her betrothed at the head of the staircase, still clad in boots and cloak, dripping puddles on the floor from a sodden hat clenched in one fist, glowering at one of the new serving girls who was speechless in terror at being accosted by the master of the house in an uncertain temper. Mansell immediately rounded on his lady, eyes full of temper, his hands fisted on his hips in a gesture of true male arrogance.

      ‘Perhaps you could explain to me, my lady, why the bed and window hangings have apparently disappeared from my room!’ He did not wait for an answer. ‘The chests and the clothes press are empty and it is as cold as the very devil in there with no fire laid, much less lit. There seems to be no one available to bring ale and food … and yet I seem to be falling over housemaids at every step, silly girls who tremble as if I would beat them when I ask a civil question. What is happening around here?’ The wolfhound stiffened and growled at the implied threat in his lordship’s raised voice. ‘And I am beset by this animal. Quiet!’ Morrighan dropped to a crouch beside Honoria’s skirts, hackles still raised, the growl subsiding to a low rumble. She continued to watch Mansell with narrowed eyes.

      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