Conspiracy Of Hearts. Helen Dickson

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Conspiracy Of Hearts - Helen Dickson Mills & Boon Historical

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dark wings of her eyebrows and twin orbs of her vivid green eyes were both captivating and bewitching. When she smiled her soft lips curved upwards, betraying the sensuality of the woman she had become.

      ‘You will take care, won’t you, Andrew?’

      ‘I will. But Father worries me. He follows the dictates of his religion and his conscience too rigorously for my peace of mind. He’s never slow to voice his opinion—which may lead to trouble. In this time of renewed persecution against the Catholics in England—since King James has not the slightest intention of tolerating the old faith—he must be diligent.’

      ‘I know. But ever since the king ordered all priests to be put to death, and imposing severe fines for recusancy once more, there is little wonder Father is angry. Nowhere in England can the Mass be celebrated. If a priest is caught saying Mass, his punishment is death by the most gruesome means. Small wonder priests live under aliases, not only to protect themselves but also their families.’

      ‘Which is why I am returning to Rome. There are many priests in England being forced to live in a twilight world, but their presence does enable you to maintain those rituals which are important to the faith.’

      ‘With great danger to all involved,’ Serena replied. Like many other Catholics who attended Church of England services as required by the state, she secretly went to Mass in one or another of their recusant friends’ houses. ‘The mood of optimism that prevailed when King James came to the English throne is not what we hoped,’ she said bitterly. ‘Indeed, he is proving to be as harsh a monarch as Queen Elizabeth was before him.’

      Coming to the fork in the road where her brother would leave her, Serena halted her mount and looked at him, her lovely eyes troubled. ‘But why speak of it now, Andrew?’

      ‘Because I’m going away and I worry about you both alone at Dunedin Hall.’

      Serena cocked her head sideways, giving him a suspicious look. ‘And do you know something that gives you cause to worry?’

      ‘Nothing for certain, only rumours that have been bandied about in Rome. But ever since the king introduced the bill in April classing all Catholics as outlaws—and the signing of the Anglo-Spanish Treaty in August, dashing all hopes of Spanish intervention to aid the Catholic cause—it has caused a great deal of unrest.’

      ‘Are you saying there are those among us who would conspire against the king?’ Serena asked in a shocked voice.

      ‘If so, it will not be for the first time. I suspect that something ugly is about to manifest itself, but I must stress that that is all it is—suspicion. I will not reveal the source of my information. The less you know, the safer you will be.’

      ‘I respect your concern for my well-being, Andrew, but if something is afoot I’d rather know about it. I suspect your information comes from a reliable source, otherwise you would not have come all this way to warn Father. That is your reason for coming to England, isn’t it?’

      Looking into her questioning eyes, Andrew began to regret speaking of so grave a matter which would only trouble her. ‘I came because I wanted to see you and Father. I miss you both greatly. The information I have is not all that reliable. Indeed, what is these days?’

      ‘But how did you learn that something is afoot in England when you live in Rome?’ Serena asked, determined to glean as much information from her brother as she could before he left her.

      ‘The king’s chief minister, the Earl of Salisbury, has an energetic network of spies everywhere—not only in Flanders and Spain but also in Italy—so we do hear of the occasional conspiracy being hatched in England. The treacherous intriguers abroad provide a rich source of information for Salisbury in exchange for pardons and their own advancements. There are Catholics in England who hold on to the hope of liberalisation in the wake of the treaty with Spain, but there are those who are impatient and will not be quiet and will do whatever they can to bring about change.’

      ‘And would you have them be quiet?’

      ‘Yes. England and Spain were at war for many years and now we have peace. The diplomatic solution must be allowed to prevail over the Catholic situation in England. I believe we should trust in God to bring about toleration in His own good time. Be vigilant, Serena. Should you hear of any conspiracies being hatched, I beg you to persuade father to distance himself. If not, then I fear that he and any conspirator will be crushed and not escape with their lives.’

      After bidding him a fond farewell, Serena, deeply troubled, watched her brother go on his way. There had been a deep concern in his eyes, a warning when he had told her to be vigilant.

      Eliza Nugent, the housekeeper at Dunedin Hall, which was a rambling rose-coloured brick house situated on the outskirts of the village of Ripley, between Stratford-on-Avon and Warwick, threw her arms up in despair when she caught Serena sneaking out of the house when it was almost time for Sir Henry’s guest to arrive.

      In the five years since her mother’s death, Serena had changed in a way that worried Eliza. Her wilfulness would lead her into trouble one day if Sir Henry didn’t set about finding her a husband soon. Perhaps if he’d spent as much time guiding her along the path of goodness and beating the waywardness out of her, as he did on religious matters and travelling across to Flanders to see young James, then perhaps she would have turned out as her dear departed mother would have wished.

      ‘Upon my soul,’ Eliza scolded, ‘where do you think you’re off to? Your father wants you here when the marquess of Thurlow arrives.’

      Serena threw Eliza a cross look, which relaxed into a sweet, disarming smile as she set about trying to placate her. Eliza would be outraged if she knew the reason that drew her towards the village. The ageing housekeeper would go directly to her father with the information, who would be equally outraged and order Serena to her room immediately.

      ‘Don’t fret so, Eliza—and please don’t lecture me,’ Serena complained with a toss of her lovely head. ‘The marquess should have arrived hours ago and I will not sit about waiting for him any longer. I won’t be gone very long, I promise.’

      ‘But it’s almost dark.’

      ‘I’m going to the stables. I want John to saddle Polly first thing in the morning. It’s hoped that the marquess will buy two of our horses, and I suspect that he and Father will be in the saddle early to try them out before leaving for Woodfield Grange. Lord Payne has invited them to take part in the hunt, and it’s expected that a large party from nearby Coughton Court—which Sir Everard Digby has rented for a few weeks—will attend.’

      Horses, after his religion, were her father’s abiding passion. Possessing some prime horseflesh, he was immensely proud of his large stable, which was envied and praised by many in the surrounding counties. He was also an expert horseman, who adored his gun dogs and his falcons.

      Sir Henry was also a devout Catholic who had led an eventful and troubled life, having frequently wielded his sword during the reign of Queen Elizabeth in the hope of improving the Catholic lot. This and being a leading recusant—a man among many others of his faith who refused to submit to the authority of, or comply with, the Protestant religion—had resulted in hefty fines and frequent spells of imprisonment; on one occasion when he was confined in the Tower, torture was applied.

      However, his spirit remained undimmed, and his crusade for toleration and liberty for Catholics to be allowed to practice their religion openly in England went on. Serena wished he would take Andrew’s advice and be more acquiescing, trusting

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