The Lord's Forced Bride. Anne Herries

Her husband was long dead, and he knew that Henrietta hoped for a match between them. At times he had thought to oblige her, for she was a sweet bed companion—but marriage was more than a night’s work and as yet he had not made up his mind. He liked her well enough, but there was something in her nature that gave him pause and made him hesitate to offer for her.

      He had thought his sweet country lass might be less modest as she had watched the wrestling and he had seen passion in her eyes, but she was clearly not for dalliance, and it was unlikely that they would meet again.

      He turned back to his horse, swinging up into the saddle. He would try once more to see Melford, then he must return to London and the court, for he had been expected some days ago.

      

      Catherine’s heart was racing as she walked away from the man. How could he say such things to her? She knew that he must have been laughing at her for her innocence, but what must he think of her to offer her such an insult? It was because she had stopped to watch him wrestling, of course. He had mistaken her for one of the village girls, and thought that it would pass a little time if she would allow him to seduce her.

      Her cheeks were hot with shame. Her mother would be so angry if she knew that Catherine had stopped to speak to a complete stranger. She had been warned of the dangers often enough as a child!

      But no harm had come from it, after all. Her pulses returned to normal as she took a detour to call in at the parson’s house. The parson’s wife was a friend to all the family, and Catherine felt the need of a warm, familiar face. Perhaps by the time she left Goodwife Mills the stranger would have departed from the village. Besides, she needed a little time to calm herself before she returned home.

      She had never met anyone like the stranger before, and she could not account for the odd feelings his banter had aroused. She ought to have been angry, but for one moment she had felt as if she would like to go with him to the landlord’s best parlour and be kissed—but that was immodest and wicked! She must put all thought of him from her mind and forget the traitorous leap of her heart when he had smiled at her!

      

      Robert Melford frowned as his steward announced that the Earl of Gifford had returned and craved an audience with him. So many years had passed since the war that had caused the quarrel between the Gifford family and his that he had pushed it to the back of his mind; it was almost forgotten and he hoped that Gifford did not wish to bring it all up again.

      ‘Very well,’ he said as his steward stood waiting. ‘Ask the earl to come in, if you will.’

      Rob glanced through the ledgers on his trestle table. His accounts were in order and his vast estates prospered, much of his wealth earned by his own industry. It was true that the sale of the Gifford lands had brought him a decent sum, but he had increased his fortune several times since then. He could, had he wished, have made further reparation to the Giffords, but having made some at the time of the sale, he saw no reason to do more. Gifford’s estate had come to him as a gift from the King and he was not obliged to do anything for the family. Especially after the way the late earl had behaved towards Rob’s beloved wife, Melissa.

      He closed the ledger and stood up as the present earl entered, feeling surprised at his appearance—this was not a man struck by poverty, as the wife of the late earl would have them believe. He was well dressed, of good appearance, a handsome young man with a pleasant smile.

      ‘Good morning, Gifford. I bid you sit, if you will. May I offer some wine?’

      ‘Thank you, I will take a cup with you,’ the earl replied.

      Rob nodded to his steward, who left to carry out his unspoken order. He sat down on the chair he had been using, indicating that the earl should sit in the other at the opposite end of the board.

      ‘What brings you so far from London, sir? I thought you were often at court these days?’

      ‘His Majesty has been pleased to give me offices that I have carried out as best I may,’ Andrew replied. ‘I took leave on the occasion of my stepfather’s funeral, and it was in part to tell you of his death that I came.’

      ‘Thank you. We had heard of it,’ Rob replied. ‘You may know that there was no love lost between Harold of Meresham and my wife. Although she once thought him her half-brother, she never cared for him. In all honesty he was a brute.’

      ‘I know little of what happened at that time, for I was a child,’ Andrew said and frowned. ‘But I believe there was much bad blood between the families?’

      ‘It is an old story and best forgot,’ Rob said. ‘If it is in the matter of reparation that your mother claims is due—’ He was silenced as Andrew held up his hand. ‘No? Then I do not understand.’

      ‘I came to make peace if I can,’ Andrew told him. ‘I do not ask for anything.’

      ‘Reparation was made years ago. Lady Gifford knows that I had no need to give her anything, but I did.’

      ‘I have heard naught of that.’ Andrew’s eyes snapped with annoyance. ‘I have told her that she is entitled to none, but she is bitter and does not listen. I hope that now Meresham is dead, she will cease to petition his Majesty.’

      Rob was silent for a moment, then, ‘For myself I would shake hands and end this feud here and now. My wife suffered greatly at that time, and your father played his part in it. She does not speak of it, but I think it must still linger in her memory. I cannot invite you to dine as it might offend her—but let there be no more enmity between us.’ He stood and offered his hand. Andrew came forward and took it. ‘If we should meet at court in future, we shall be at least civil to one another, sir—though Lady Gifford may not feel the same.’

      ‘My mother is unlikely to be at court. The King has no patience with her endless complaints, and I have told her she must remain on her estates and be thankful Henry does not see fit to imprison her.’

      ‘As you said, perhaps now that her husband is dead, she will be less bitter, for I know he hated both my wife and me.’

      ‘He would have done you harm if he could,’ Andrew said, ‘but in later years he had become a surly drunkard and was no use for anything.’

      ‘Your family is well rid of him, then,’ Rob said. He paused as the steward brought wine in a gilt ewer. ‘Come, drink with me, Gifford, and we will seal our truce.’

      

      Catherine was upstairs at the window of her chamber, looking out at the yard when the man left the house. She knew that her father had a visitor, and that her mother was a little disturbed by it, but she gasped in surprise as she saw the man she had spoken to in the village earlier that day. He looked thoughtful as a groom brought him a horse, and he glanced back at the house, his gaze moving upward to her window. She stepped back hastily, not wanting him to see her watching.

      ‘Catherine, have you decided on the style of your new gown?’

      Catherine turned guiltily as her mother entered the room. She was supposed to be deciding on a pattern for the dress they were to cut out downstairs in the parlour.

      ‘I think I should like it to be similar to my blue,’ she said, laying the garment on the bed for her mother to see. ‘I would like the waist a little higher, but a squared neckline suits me well.’

      ‘Yes, it does,’ Lady Melford said and glanced out of the window. ‘So he is leaving at last. He spent more than two hours with your father.’

      ‘Who was Father’s visitor?’

      ‘He is the Earl of Gifford,’ her mother said and frowned. ‘I did not care for his father, but his mother was kind enough once—though I believe she grew bitter later in life.’

      ‘Why did you not like his father?’

      ‘It is an old story, Catherine. Forgive me if I do not tell you. It pains me and I do not care to remember the war.’

      Catherine was silenced. She knew that something had