decision for them both.
‘My lady, I suggest we repair to the solar to consider this new situation.’
The solar was warm and inviting if either of them had been in the frame of mind to give it more than a cursory glance. The only appreciative presence was Morrighan, banished from the legal discussions earlier in the day, but now together again with her mistress. She curled her long limbs before the fire, in pleasure at being reunited with such comfort.
The solar was well placed, deliberately so by the Norman-French de Bramptons, who had constructed the castle principally for their safety rather than their comfort, to benefit from whatever sunshine there might be in winter. Pale gold beams spilled through the windows to gild the panelling and the sparse furnishings. The room had been given a woman’s touch. Of all the rooms in the castle that Mansell had investigated, with increasing disfavour since his arrival, this was the only one to bear signs of personal occupancy and attention. It smelled faintly of herbs—lavender, he presumed. The furniture—a chest, a table, carved armchairs—was carefully chosen from what little the castle could offer and had been recently polished. A bright rug covered the smoothly worn floorboards before the fireplace, its colour warming the austere grey stone. Hand-worked cushions helped to soften a window seat that had a view out over an inner courtyard. A bunch of brave snowdrops gleamed white and green in a small pottery vessel on the table. It was clear to him that Honoria had made the room her own and enjoyed its privacy.
But now they stood facing each other across the void of the oak table, Lord Edward’s final document lying between them, the black ink stark in the sun.
‘Please sit, my lady.’ Mansell indicated the carved chair next to her. He poured small beer for them both, pushed the pewter tankard towards her and lowered himself thoughtfully on the seat opposite, hands resting on the table top. He knew that he must tread carefully. Did he really want this aloof, enigmatic lady as his bride? He was not at all certain that he wanted this responsibility along with all the other complications of his now far-flung estates, but did he have a choice? He could hardly throw her to the wolves of local politics and warfare. And there was something about her that tugged at his senses, at some chivalric instinct to protect. Perhaps her vulnerability, her isolation within the community of Brampton Percy. But marriage! He took a deep breath and a mouthful of Lord Edward’s ale, wincing in disgust as he contemplated his next words.
Honoria found herself contemplating not her future, but the hands spread masterfully on the table top. They were wide-palmed, long-fingered and elegant, but with considerable strength. She noted the calluses along the edge of his thumbs from frequent friction with sword and reins. They were hands that would take and hold fast. Was she willing to put her future into those hands? She longed for it, she admitted to herself in a blaze of honesty, but at the same time shrank from the prospect. She pushed the tankard aside and waited.
‘We need to talk, my lady—without polite pretence or dissimulation.’ Mansell’s tone was flat and matter of fact, as if embarking on a business transaction where time was of the essence, but his eyes were compelling. ‘But remember Wellings’s advice. There is no compulsion here. There is no need to feel that you are under any obligation but to your own wishes in the matter. I believe that you will value that—your freedom of choice—more than anything. Am I correct?’
‘Yes.’ She nodded. His approach and understanding put her at her ease again, she found herself able to quell the sense of panic which had begun to tighten its hold, and concentrate on the practicalities.
‘Firstly, then, it is necessary for you to tell me—is it possible that you carry Lord Edward’s child? If that is so, then the whole of the will as far as my inheritance could be invalid and we must refer again to Wellings.’
Lady Mansell’s eyes flew to his, all her composure in tatters once more, before she hid her consternation with a sweep of lashes. She looks astonished, he thought. As if she had never even considered the prospect.
‘No.’ He could not identify the emotion in her voice.
‘Are you quite certain?’ He kept his voice gentle.
‘I am certain, my lord. I am not breeding.’
‘Very well. Then tell me what you wish for. Your jointure is secure in all details. You have the manor and the London property, with sufficient income to allow you to live independently. I presume the estate is capable of raising it, if it is taken in hand. Sir William Croft seemed to think so.’
‘Yes. It is what I hoped for. And I have thought about it carefully. If I live at Leintwardine, I do not believe that I would be in any danger. My neighbours, apart from yourself, would all be Royalist and most of them connected by family to the Bramptons. And since I have no intention whatsoever of dabbling in local politics, I think that no one would threaten my peace or my safety. Leintwardine Manor is small and insignificant—hardly a key property in county affairs.’ She clasped her hands on the table, fingers tightly linked, as if her determination would make it so. ‘If there was a threat, I should know about it. Eleanor Croft, Sir William’s wife, would ensure that I be warned.’
‘You seem very sure.’ His brows rose.
‘Yes.’ Honoria chose not to explain her certainty.
‘You may be right.’ But why? He tucked the thought away, to be perused at a later date. ‘But you should consider, my lady, the alternative possibilities. What if the Royalists do not prosper? What if Parliament is able to put considerable forces into the field in the west and can overcome His Majesty? A superior Parliamentarian force might be victorious and see Leintwardine as a jewel for its collection. The garrison at Gloucester is not so far away, after all, and if Sir William Waller should bring his forces to strengthen it, well …’ He shrugged, rose to his feet and moved restlessly around the room, his tall frame dominating the space. ‘And I am not convinced that your sex or your family connections would automatically safeguard you from attack.’
‘But that is all supposition, my lord.’ She frowned at him as he purposely undermined all her comfortable planning.
‘I know. And I remember your previous words to me: that you had had enough of betrothals and marriages to last a lifetime. But consider.’ He sat again and leaned forward on his elbows, spread his hands palm up. ‘I believe that national events are likely to overtake us before we know it and we will all be caught up in the maelstrom of war and violence whether we wish it or no. If you agreed to the marriage I would give you the protection of my name, my resources and my body. Your jointure would remain as it is now, to give you financial security in case of my death. For the present, Brampton Percy would remain your home and I would do all in my power to secure your jointure estates from attack.’
It was a very persuasive argument. But I hate this place! The hatred burned in her throat, hammered in her head. But she did not, could not choose to say it aloud in the face of such a generous gesture. But did he mean it? Could he truly contemplate marriage with her rather than allow her to go her own way and so rid him of the responsibility?
‘I would not pressure you,’ Mansell persisted, ‘but there is much to recommend the scheme.’
She looked at him at last, a clear and level gaze, keeping her voice light. ‘Perhaps you have not considered, my lord. My upbringing was under the influence of Sir Robert Denham, as you are well aware. As a Baron of the Exchequer, he was unswervingly loyal to the King. And so my own inclination has been formed. Could you really believe that the marriage of a Parliamentary radical, as I understand the matter, to a Royalist sympathiser would be suitable?’ She caught the quick flash of surprise on his face. ‘Did you think to keep your political leanings secret in this house? You spoke about them to
