by Anne O'Brien
When he finally released her he stepped away, his grey eyes dark and watchful, flickering over her stunned expression, her softly parted lips. He raised her hand to his mouth and pressed his lips to her palm.
‘You should know, Mistress Harley—the written contracts for our marriage are complete and I now have them in my possession.’ Kate shivered a little at the calm determination in his face.
‘So you have everything you want.’ He detected a hint of sadness behind the defiance and felt a need to soothe it, but sensed her withdrawal from him.
‘I do not need the legality. I have possession.’ There was an edge to his voice now. ‘I want you. And I learned in past years that you hold closely to what is yours. Do you remember what I said to you on the way to Widemarsh?’
‘Yes. I remember.’ I love you.
‘You did not believe me.’
‘No.’ Her eyes were wide and locked on his. A challenge again. ‘How should you love me?’
‘I will prove it.’ He knew it had been a gamble from the first, but he would risk it. For the first time in his life, when the cards were stacked against him, he would take the chance—to win this entrancing girl who fired his blood and possessed his mind and heart. He would risk the possibility of hurt and rejection. ‘There are three things that I find I want from you, Mistress Harley. I want you in my arms and in my bed. That’s the first. Second, I want you to carry my heirs.’
‘Then the contract is a victory for you, my lord.’ There was no softening in her. ‘You will get all of that.’
‘Does the will matter so much? The legal recognition? You will live here at the Priory and your children will claim it.’
‘Yes, it matters.’
‘Very well.’ He released her shoulders abruptly, turned from her and stooped to pick up the keys. ‘I will allow you to do as you wish, search the house for any hidden documents, if that is what you wish, but I will not give you the keys to my house—yet. I will keep these.’ He tossed them lightly in the air, catching them, eyeing her with a narrowed stare, before dropping them into a pocket.
‘That is exactly what I would have expected from you!’ If her upbringing had not been so strict and ingrained, Kate would have stamped her foot. She hissed in frustration like the kitten he had called her when she recognised defeat for her intentions in the implacable grey of his eyes. She turned her back on him and tried for dignity as she marched down the Gallery She did not see the quick grin on his face or the softening of the light in his eyes as he noted the hint of a flounce when she swept towards the door. With a few strides he caught up with her.
‘You have not asked me about the third thing, my dear Viola.’
She clenched her teeth at the laugh in his voice. ‘So, what is the third thing, my lord?’ She fought hard to keep her tone uninterested.
Marlbrooke took her arm in a gentle clasp and drew her to stand before him. ‘Why, nothing of great importance.’ His eyes mocked her, but not unpleasantly. ‘I merely would have you love me. I want your heart, Viola.’
This time the flounce in her step was unmistakable as she pulled her arm free and made good her escape. But she could not quieten her feverishly beating pulse, just as she could not eradicate his words as they echoed hauntingly in her mind and her heart.
The Viscount watched her go, making no further attempt to detain her, his eyes a little pensive and the ghost of a smile touching his hard mouth. He was not dissatisfied with the outcome, sympathetic to the contradictory emotions that tore at her and left her uncertain and insecure. Resist him she would—but not for ever. He turned to retrieve his hat and gloves, haunted by the memory of a soft mouth and reluctant surrender in his arms.
In the following days Kate made the short journey between Widemarsh and the Priory on a number of occasions. She was allowed free rein to continue her explorations of the house and always found time to spend with Lady Elizabeth. She found that she began to look forward to her visits, particularly, if she were honest, with the prospect of exploring her difficult relationship with Marlbrooke. Sometimes he was there, welcoming her with wry amusement in his smile. Sometimes he was engaged on estate business, when she was disappointed and felt that some of the brightness had dimmed from the day. Her mind returned again and again to the central problem. How could she find so much pleasure in his company, in his acerbic wit, the occasional touch of his hand on hers or the brush of his lips against her fingers? How could she desire above all things to be in his company, when she had vowed never to come to terms with the Oxenden family in general and the Viscount in particular?
She was forced to accept that she was not immune to his charm. As she was forced to accept two other important facts. In spite of her diligent searches, Kate found no trace of family papers or her father’s will. And as for Marlbrooke, he made no mention of his love for her again. Either his fleeting attraction had dissipated as speedily as it had developed, or he was giving her the space to consider and question her own feelings as she came to know him better.
‘Kate.’ Marlbrooke held out his hand in greeting as Kate dismounted one morning and handed her horse over to Jenks. ‘Come and walk with me.’ He drew her hand through his arm to compel her agreement. He did not need to do so.
‘So Mistress Gilliver continues to allow you to return to this Royalist pit of sin and depravity.’ His glance was cool and bland, hiding the humour. ‘I fancied that she might lock you in at Widemarsh and so effectively thwart our marriage arrangements.’
‘No.’ Kate smiled a little at the not-too-extreme likelihood of Gilliver taking such action. ‘But I admit she has been brutally outspoken on the subject.’
‘Who do you suppose Mr Adams was?’ Marlbrooke mused, taking Kate’s hand to lead her along one of the gravelled walks. The box hedges in the knot garden were beginning to put on spring growth with bright new leaves.
‘I have no idea. I do not remember his being mentioned in the family.’
‘Whatever he was, he was without doubt a brave man.’
‘Brave?’ Kate bent to pick a sprig of lavender, its scent warming with the sunshine.
‘He would have to be to tie himself to Gilliver.’
‘All I know is that he is dead.’
‘He would be.’
Kate could not suppress a laugh at the Viscount’s dry tone. The breeze whipped colour into her cheeks and her eyes sparkled. Marlbrooke watched her with pleasure as she relaxed in his company, crumbling the aromatic leaves between her fingers.
‘Does she, do you suppose,’ he asked idly, ‘dabble in the black arts?’
‘I think not.’ Kate took up the point in all seriousness. ‘But the only room in the Manor without a layer of dust is the still-room—it is so neat and well ordered I do not like to set foot there without her permission. Everything is labelled and in its place. The rest is a very poor apology for housekeeping, and she does not seem to notice when mice run across the hearth in front of you. But she undoubtedly has great knowledge and skill in the use of herbs and plants.’
‘Against my better judgement, I must acknowledge my gratitude to Mistress Gilliver! My mother continues to find relief from her potions. But it is hard to accept that she will never be restored to full health.’
‘I know. My uncle—Simon Hotham—is also afflicted with rheumatic pains, brought on by a badly attended wound. His joints become severely inflamed in damp weather. He finds it hard to tolerate his infirmity, I believe. My mother says that it has had a detrimental effect on his temper—indeed, on his whole personality.’
‘I remember him as a soldier. He earned a considerable reputation—at the Battle of Worcester he was instrumental in the victory for Cromwell’s New Model Army.’ Perhaps this was not a suitable topic for light conversation on a bright morning, particularly with a lady who was still a little reserved, conscious of the burden of the past and so reluctant to relax in his company. Marlbrooke adroitly changed the subject. ‘You will be gratified to know that your salves and potions�
��or Gilliver’s—have given my mother so much ease and made her life so tolerable again that she is considering a total refurbishment of the Priory—with mention of the beating of tapestries and the clearing out of attics. Mistress Neale is, of course, in close collaboration. It makes my blood run cold to think of it. I could believe that perhaps that was your intent from the beginning, my devious child.’ He raise an expressive brow as he looked down at her.
‘Really, my lord?’ She smiled innocently, but the he caught the instant mischief in her eyes.
‘Really, Mistress Harley! Should I thank you or damn you for disturbing my comfort, do you think?’
‘If I were you, I would thank God for Lady Elizabeth’s improved health—and find as many opportunities as possible for business at the far ends of the estate!’
‘I will bear that in mind. What a managing person you are. I had not realised.’ As they walked a little in silence, his clasp on her hand where it rested on his arm was warm and companionable, calming her uncertainties. Kate found herself having to fight the desire to trust this man, to open up her guarded thoughts and feelings to him, to lean on his strength. It would be so easy—and so dangerous.
She took the rosemary that Marlbrooke had casually plucked and now held out to her, and raised it to inhale the fragrance, contemplating it with a slight frown.
‘What is it, dearest Kate?’
‘I was just thinking. My uncle is so bitter, so angry, driven by nameless passions. My mother says that the pain has crippled his mind as well as his limbs, that it has destroyed his clear judgement and pushes him to extremes. I think his wife—my aunt Lucy—finds life very difficult with him.’ Now she raised her eyes to Marlbrooke’s. ‘And yet, your mother, Lady Elizabeth—she is so full of courage and joy. The pain has not robbed her of her warm heart or her loving spirit to any degree.’
‘A loving spirit.’ Marlbrooke smiled down at his intended bride. Her sensitivity held great charm for him. ‘You have the truth of it. And I agree. She has all my admiration, although it would not do for me to tell her so.’ They turned to retrace their steps towards the house before he continued, somewhat pensively. ‘It concerns me that some days my mother finds it difficult—well-nigh impossible—to walk far and so rarely leaves the house, even to stroll in the gardens. She loved the gardens at Glasbury, I believe, although I was too young to pay much heed to such things. It must be a great loss to her.’ It was as if he were speaking to himself, voicing a deeply hidden concern.
‘Have you thought of …?’
‘Of what?’
‘No matter.’ Kate turned away towards a naked arbour that would soon be a riot of roses and honeysuckle, suddenly reluctant to interfere in matters that some would think were not her concern. ‘I am sure you have considered all possibilities for Lady Elizabeth’s comfort. I would not presume to suggest otherwise.’
‘Yes, you would. Damn it! Why are women so difficult?’
‘I am not difficult!’
‘You are perverse—and quite delightful! Tell me, dearest Kate, what is it that you are quite sure that I have not thought of—but are unwilling to voice in case you step on my supremely sensitive toes?’
But the opportunity was gone as Verzons appeared at their side.
‘My lord. You have a visitor who requests speech with you. The Reverend Peters. He appears to be in some degree of agitation and claims a matter of great urgency for the whole community.’ Verzons’s mouth bore a sceptical twist. ‘Do I say that you are unavailable?’
Marlbrooke’s brows rose. ‘The Reverend Peters? No, Master Verzons, I will come. If you would show him into the library and provide him with some refreshment, I will be there shortly.’
‘What have you done to upset the local clergy in your short residence here?’ Kate glanced up at him with a sympathetic twist to her lips. ‘Refused to attend church services, perhaps?’
‘To my knowledge, I have done nothing. I expect it is the problem of footpads and robbers on the Common—they seem to be spreading like a very contagious rash. The Reverend Peters will expect me to take action. God and the lord of the manor against the devil and all his works, or something of that nature. This is not an interview I anticipate with any joy. Would you care to accompany me and help to soothe his ruffled feathers?’
‘Certainly not! I think you will deal with it admirably without me. What will you say?’
‘That I will communicate with Moreton, the local Justice of the Peace, and together we will take suitable action. That should satisfy him—indeed, it is a problem that must be looked to and it is within my jurisdiction. Meanwhile, I will leave you to consider the means of helping my mother that you will not discuss with me.’ He took her hands, linking her fingers with his, and turned her to face him.
‘Do you mean that you are willing to give me a free hand, my lord?’ His eyes were full of light and laughter as he considered her request, trapping her own into a union of more than hands. Kate felt her limbs grow weak at the warmth of the bond developing between them.
‘That sounds dangerous. I know that I might regret it—but very well. As long as you promise me that it will involve neither Isolde nor Gilliver.’
She laughed. ‘I promise. But it might involve Jenks!’
‘You are a revelation, my love. Will you not tell me?’
‘Never!’
He kissed her hand and then her lips, lingering a little as he tasted their sweetness. ‘Then do your worst, dear Viola. I know that you will find enjoyment in it!’
Kate remained for a long moment as he left her, enjoying the graceful elegance of well-tuned muscle with which he mounted the steps to the terrace. A faint smile warmed her eyes and softened her lips as she was forced, even against her better judgement, to acknowledge the pleasure that she could find in his company and conversation—and the disturbing heat that fanned her blood when his mouth touched hers. Such a light caress, and yet her hands clenched involuntarily at the sharp memory. Her fingers bruised the rosemary leaves that he had given her until their fragrance surrounded her and filled her senses, as his kiss had done.
And then, with a little shake of the head, she turned back towards the stables, to speak with Jenks about the little matter of a chair.
Chapter Nine
London!
Marlbrooke had suddenly announced, with typical arrogance and lack of consideration for the occupants of Winteringham Priory, that they would go to London. The King had decided to hold a celebration—he forgot for what reason—but then Charles did not need a reason other than his own pleasure. Kate frowned at the Viscount’s highhandedness. The fact that Elizabeth, and even Felicity in her dour way, responded to the prospect with unconcealed pleasure irritated Kate even more.
‘When shall I expect you to return, my lord? Or perhaps it is your intention to remain in London.’ Kate stood before the Viscount in his library, shoulders braced, her tone light with casual interest. He would not know of the sudden disappointment that gripped her at the news.
‘No, Viola. It is not my intention to remain in London.’ His face betrayed no amusement. ‘A week. Perhaps a little longer. It will depend on how much shopping my mother wishes to do. Or how soon she can drag herself away from old friends.’
‘I know that she looks forward to it.’ Kate’s lips felt stiff when she tried a smile. I will refuse to admit that I will miss you!
‘London has much to offer.’
‘So I am told.’
‘And you, dear Kate …’ he relented ‘… so that you will do more than know of its attractions secondhand, you will accompany us.’
‘No!’ Was it shock, surprise? Horror, even? ‘I cannot.’ She would certainly not admit to the quick burn of excitement in her stomach.
‘Why not? You will make your curtsy to his Majesty and allow your Puritan soul to be revolted by all the excesses of the Court and the depravity of the capital. You will enjoy it above all things.’
He watched her carefully, her attempts to hide
the leap of pleasure. And then he saw her lips part. His response was both accurate and immediate.
‘Don’t say it! Don’t argue with me. It will do you no good. I have decided.’
After which there was no more to be said, and nothing to do but pack her meagre belongings and inform Gilliver of her destination.
* * *
Her aunt’s response was colourful and predictable, but Kate found in herself the ability to ignore what she did not wish to hear. She listened patiently to biting comments on the likelihood of her selling her soul to the devil, the relationship between sow’s ears and silk purses, and the perils of visits to the Thrice-Damned Den of Iniquity which was the capital.
‘Don’t let him turn your head.’ Gilliver ended her tirade. ‘He is still the enemy, and it will behove you not to forget it! You owe some allegiance to the Harley name, my girl, even though it seems to me that you seem to have forgotten that small fact. Allowing your head to be turned by a handsome face and a pocket of gold! You should be ashamed of yourself.’
But she relented enough to gift her one of the remarkable diamond brooches that adorned her person. ‘This is suitable for a Court appearance.’ Unpinning it, she rubbed the tarnished metal on her shawl, but with no noticeable effect on the lustre. ‘You can return it to me when you come home.’
Kate thanked her and eyed its massive brilliance askance. She could imagine no occasion when she would wear it, but meekly thanked Gilliver for her generosity and promised not to be seduced by the pursuit of pleasure.
For Kate, London was an experience for which nothing in her sheltered life at Downham Hall had prepared her. The crowded streets with their mass of humanity, the constant bustle, the squalor and the filth. From the moment of her arrival in Marlbrooke’s comfortable travelling coach she was both enthralled and repelled, in equal measure. The shops with their wealth of goods beckoned seductively to a girl brought up strictly with no regard to fashion or luxury. The beggars who struggled to live in the lowest degradation contrasted uncomfortably with the comparative luxury of her own childhood—even when her dress had been threadbare and not of her choosing, she had lacked for nothing. The smart streets that housed the rich made sharp and appealing contrast with life in the depths of rural seclusion. Elegant Palladian façades with pillars and friezes, created from Inigo Jones’s designs, entranced her. But the refuse in the streets, with its rank smell and threat of disease, and the ragged children who swarmed in the gutters, without food and without hope, appalled her.
