Puritan Bride

by Anne O'Brien

  ‘I …’ She had no idea what to say.

  ‘I think you do not know how lovely you are. That your eyes are the colour of the violets on your fan. But it is to my advantage.’

  ‘I am not like the ladies at court!’

  ‘No. You are not.’ Suddenly serious, he released her hand and captured her eyes with his. ‘But you are yourself. And you have all my love.’

  ‘I do not belong to this world.’ She could not look away or disguise the hint of panic.

  ‘Perhaps not. But you belong to me, and that is all that matters.’

  He snatched a kiss from her surprised lips—might have changed the angle and deepened it—but then stepped away from her as Felicity, returned from her dutiful visit, entered the room.

  He left her speechless.

  And even more so on the following morning when Kate rose from the breakfast table.

  ‘I think that we should spend a little time investigating the shops in Westminster Hall.’ The week had overlapped into two. Lady Elizabeth was now eager to make the most of her time before Marlbrooke announced their departure. ‘Will you accompany me? I have need of some new lace—and silk stockings, perhaps a pretty fur muff and … and any number of things that might take my fancy!’

  ‘Of course.’ Lady Elizabeth noted the slight crease which appeared between Kate’s dark brows.

  ‘Would you not wish it, dearest Kate?’

  ‘Why, yes. Only …’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘I … I have no money.’ Kate was unsure why such an admission made her uncomfortable—except that it drove home the fact that she was totally dependent on the Oxendens.

  ‘Kate!’ Elizabeth laughed gently. ‘Of course you have money. What can I be thinking of? The pleasure of spending it has apparently addled my brain. I would expect your marriage settlement to allow you considerable pin money to fritter on French fashions. You are—or will be—a very wealthy young woman. And I had forgotten.’ She rose from the breakfast table to search in the depths of an court cupboard. ‘Marcus has gone hunting with the King this morning to Richmond Park, but he left this to give to you. He knew of my intentions today.’

  Kate took the embroidered purse, noted its weight, the chink of coins and read the attached note: Viola! You are allowed to spend money and enjoy it! It is not necessarily a sin!

  The forceful hand in black ink was all Marlbrooke.

  She clutched the purse, her female heart aware of the possibilities. And if she remembered Gilliver’s warning, she hastily pushed it from her thoughts. ‘I would be delighted to go shopping with you, my lady!’

  Once more, Marlbrooke had surprised her by his thoughtful consideration, when she would have liked nothing more than to find some reason to feed her resentment against him. Would she ever understand him? She doubted it.

  But the most abiding picture, one that was to return to haunt her, was far more unsettling.

  Her experience of him at the Priory had been of the country gentleman. Now she saw him as the accomplished courtier. Well versed in the ways of Whitehall, charming and urbane, with all the grace and elegance to captivate any woman. His athletic figure, broad shouldered and long limbed, was shown to advantage in the luxurious velvets and satins of court dress, but which could not disguise the tough smoothness of muscle and latent power. His dark hair curled and tumbled to his shoulders, as thick and lustrous as the velvet on to which it curled. What woman would not wish to touch it, to feel it sift through her fingers? And the beauty of his face would trouble any woman’s dreams.

  Marlbrooke might flirt with her but, as Kate soon learned, he was also capable of flirting with others. With Mistress Alicia Lovell. Mistress Harley set her teeth.

  ‘He does not mean anything by it.’ Elizabeth had seen the direction of her critical gaze as they sat together at a Court ball. Her heart went out to the young girl beside her when she assessed the splendid tableau of the dancers. And for once Lady Elizabeth could cheerfully have slapped her adored but careless son.

  ‘Of course not.’ Kate turned her eyes from Marlbrooke’s figure, her smile bright—and false. ‘It is of no matter to me. Marlbrooke is free to dance with anyone of his choice. And as I am unable to master these difficult steps in public, I could not expect him to dance attendance on me.’ She deliberately turned her back on her betrothed, but then felt compelled to watch him lead Mistress Lovell into a dance. Compelled to watch him as he bowed with exquisite grace and flamboyant gesture over her pretty hands. As he responded to some flirtatious remark with a bent head and an engaging smile. And then proceeded to execute the complicated steps with elegant finesse. His black brows rose, his lips curved as his hands met hers in the dance …

  How dare he!

  And then Marlbrooke moved on to partner the exquisite Frances Stewart, deliciously feminine in an extravagantly low-cut gown …

  Whatever else, Kate was forced to acknowledge bitterly, he was hugely in demand.

  And equally with the King and the men who frequented the Court—to play cards, to hunt, to while away the time with tennis and fencing.

  In her bedchamber, Kate had to accept the truth of what she had seen in this short time at Whitehall. How could Marlbrooke possibly love her when the sophisticated and beautiful were at his beck and call? How could he possibly wish to bury himself in the country away from all this glamour?

  But if that were so, why had he told her that he loved her? He was contracted to marry her anyway. He did not have to love her as well.

  So why declare himself so openly?

  Kate’s mind roved over the possibilities, liking none of them. A spirit of mischief? To woo and seduce an innocent and ignorant girl from a sheltered Puritan family. Of flirtation? To while away the days of boredom until he could return to London. Worst of all, was he playing some sort of malicious game at her expense? A continuation of the Civil War hostilities between their two families?

  No, she could not think it. In all fairness, she could find it in her heart to accuse him of none of those. Marlbrooke had never treated her with such cruelty. Would never. She was sure of it. He had never been anything but considerate and thoughtful of her difficult situation. It was simply that … she did not know him. And, as Felicity had pointed out, her world was far removed from his.

  Her mind continued to be in turmoil. How could she trust him? Did she want to trust him?

  She did not know. All she knew was that she resented every moment of the time he gave to other women. And when he smiled, when his eyes glinted with humour or more difficult emotions, she wanted them to be focused on her.

  * * *

  On the return journey to Winteringham Priory, wrapped in furs against the cold, Kate took stock of the sharply etched montage of memories and impressions. Deep in thought, she realised with a sudden jolt that she had not given Richard more than a passing thought. With a sharp twinge of guilt, she instantly condemned herself as shallow and fickle. Perhaps Gilliver was right after all. She could easily be bought by a handsome face and two weeks of frivolity in the capital.

  Chapter Ten

  Ensconced once more at Widemarsh Manor, Kate expected a detailed and cynical catechism from Aunt Gilliver but received none, other than the caustic comment, ‘So, you are back at last. And worn out, no doubt, by wickedness and dissipation.’

  London, so it seemed, was not to be a topic of conversation. Kate was intrigued but not sorry. She returned the diamond brooch (unworn) and produced a packet of the much-admired knitted silk stockings. The glittering gems were repinned to the dusty bodice and the stockings were received without comment. Kate would never know if Aunt Gilliver wore them.

  Widemarsh Manor soon absorbed Kate back into its strange routines of herbal concoctions, dust and dark corners, with Mason ever vigilant.

  And the tragic story of Isolde continued to worry and fascinate her.

  On a fine morning which promised at least a few hours free from late April showers, Kate took the opportunity to don a
n old riding habit that she found stored in a clothes press and an all-enveloping cloak, equally ancient but suitable if caught in a downpour.

  ‘I know what you are planning,’ stated Aunt Gilliver as their paths crossed in the hall. ‘Isolde’s grave. Am I correct?’ Her eyes gleamed with shrewd interest. ‘I knew you wouldn’t be able to resist.’

  Kate laughed. ‘You are quite correct, my percipient aunt. Am I so transparent? And perhaps you would consider coming with me for a little fresh air?’

  Aunt Gilliver shook her head. ‘My riding days are long gone. It is my intention to send Mason into the herb garden to see if the rain and wind has left us anything we can salvage and use. It will keep us busy. But the exercise will do you good. Go on, before the sun disappears. The secret places of the Priory will not go away. You can afford a day off from your investigations.’

  Kate made her escape. It was true. Her knowledge of the Priory had widened considerably, but she had still found no secret caches, no priest holes, no hollow panels—nothing that contained anything like a will. Marlbrooke had left her to it, apart from an occasional amused enquiry as to her progress or a comment on the cobwebs that she was apt to collect in her hair, but it was all very disappointing. A collection of old recipes on yellowed pages in the still-room was the best she could achieve and Mistress Neale had refused to consider any of them, claiming them unfit for the establishment of a gentleman. But the sun encouraged her to cast off her low spirits and anticipate an exploration of the estate parkland.

  She had sent word to her aunt’s stable of her impending ride so that the elderly retainer who doubled as head groom and coachman was awaiting her when she arrived.

  ‘Morning, mistress.’ He touched his cap and gave a nod to a lurking stable lad who promptly scurried into one of the stable boxes.

  ‘Good morning, West. Will it rain?’

  ‘Sure to. Here we are.’

  ‘But that is not my horse!’

  ‘Aye, it is that, mistress. She’s been sent over from the Priory for you—since you be intent on riding back and forth so much like.’

  ‘But …’ Of course. Marlbrooke!

  ‘He says I mustn’t take no for an answer. You are to ride her.’ West’s cunning eyes twinkled as he saw that she was torn between pride, which demanded that she refuse the gift, and instant infatuation. Infatuation won with no real contest.

  The stable lad stood at the head of a pretty chestnut mare, saddled and bridled, ready for use. Her coat shone in the dancing sunbeams and she tossed her head with flighty intent. Kate rubbed her hand down the satin neck and threaded her fingers through the rough dark mane. For a long moment she was speechless with pleasure. How did he know just what would please her? Only this week she had gone to make use of the still-room at the Priory to discover that he had arranged for the thorough cleaning of the long neglected room. The window gleamed, the bench and floor had been scrubbed and she had found it restocked with jars and dishes and containers, all suitable for storing herbs and fruit. And a book to record her preserves and recipes. He had said nothing about it, of course, nothing to provoke her gratitude. He had simply done it. And now this.

  ‘But she’s beautiful,’ she managed at last. ‘Is she truly for me?’

  West bent to take her foot and give her a lift into the saddle. ‘That’s so, mistress. His lordship says you’re to ride Goldfinch here. She’s flighty—just like a woman, he says—but she’ll look after you.’

  ‘I have never owned anything so perfect.’ Kate sighed with pleasure, ignoring the adverse comment on her own sex, and gathered up the reins. The mare pricked her ears, tossed her head, eager to be gone.

  ‘His lordship knows his horses. Will you go far, mistress?’

  Kate shook her head. ‘Only to blow the cobwebs away. I shall ride across the park to the East Wood. And then I shall call at the Priory to see how Lady Elizabeth does.’ She arranged her skirts, anchored the cloak tightly around herself and prepared to encourage the mare into an active walk. ‘I will be back before the next downpour. If luck is with me.’

  ‘The lad will accompany you then, mistress.’

  ‘The lad?’ Kate looked down at West with some surprise.

  ‘Aye.’ West jabbed a finger towards the boy who was now lounging against a stable door, boredom writ large. ‘His lordship says you must not ride to the Priory unaccompanied. Too many thieves about. So Josh is to go with you.’

  ‘Nonsense! I do not need protection.’

  ‘That’s as his lordship said you’d say!’ West nodded in acceptance of the inevitable difference of opinion. ‘But he must go with you.’

  ‘But surely—’

  ‘It’s no good, mistress. I dares not cross his lordship. He would not be pleased. The lad goes with you.’

  Kate’s response was suspiciously like an unladylike snort of impatience. She did not want an escort. She would not have an escort. And certainly not today. But then, she realised, in all fairness, to refuse would bring down the Viscount’s wrath on innocent heads. She could not do it. But perhaps on this one occasion … She smiled and nodded, waiting for Josh to mount and follow her. Once outside the stable yard, she stopped and beckoned.

  ‘Today I have an errand. It will be much quicker if I go alone. Do you understand?’

  Josh merely looked confused.

  ‘Never mind.’ Kate hid her impatience to be gone. ‘Go by the main track. Wait for me at the old oak on the Common. I will meet you there and you can escort me on to the Priory … as the Viscount wishes,’ she added as Josh appeared to be about to refuse. ‘In an hour at the most! Do you understand?’

  ‘Aye, mistress. By the old oak.’

  She gave him no time to change his mind, but urged Goldfinch into a canter across the park. She would speak to Marlbrooke about this. She was perfectly safe and did not need a shadow who would report her every move back to him. She then forgot the problem in the delight of Goldfinch’s silken paces as the mare lengthened into a gallop.

  The mare headed across the open pasture in the direction of the far belt of trees. Kate was overcome with the sheer exhilaration of the moment. West was right. The mare was keen and lively, but had no vices. Owning Goldfinch was an unlooked-for blessing from her betrothal to Marlbrooke. So many surprises. Following Aunt Gilliver’s directions, she followed the edge of the park, skirting the woodland where primroses were beginning to emerge in sheltered spots. Gradually she eased the mare to a walk since the clearing she sought might well be overgrown and almost unrecognisable after so many years. She doubted that anyone would have taken on the care of Isolde’s grave. The prospect of both Widemarsh Manor and the Priory were lost to her behind a gentle rise in the ground, leaving her alone apart from the tumbling rooks and rabbits nibbling the spring grass.

  The clearing was as overgrown as Kate had feared, choked by low bushes and young saplings, but still accessible to someone with determination and agility. She dismounted, tied Goldfinch to a fallen branch where she could graze and pushed her way through the undergrowth. Brambles tore at her cloak and her habit was soon covered with cleavers and old dried seedheads, but she had little care for her old shabby clothes and persisted until she was eventually able to distinguish the outline of a weathered block of marble within a group of slender silver birches.

  The dappled shadows and the rustle of new leaves in the light breeze gave no hint of the tragic circumstances commemorated by the grey stone and the single crumbling figure of an angel, head bowed in sorrow, which kept watch over the earthly remains. Otherwise the stone was plain and crude with no attempt at carving or decoration.

  Isolde Elizabeth Harley

  Kate traced the name with her finger. No date. No cause of death. Below the name she could just decipher the only epitaph for this poor lost girl.

  Mourn her Grief

  Pray for her Soul

  God have Mercy

  Nothing more. Only a drift of delicate windflowers to mark the slight mound beneath the rough gras
s. It was a tranquil place, silent except for the birdsong and the ripple of the birches. ‘But you are not at peace, are you?’ Kate spoke quietly, pressing her hands to the eroded surface of the stone. Wherever the essence of Isolde was, racked by inconsolable frustration and grief, it was not here in this sun-warmed glade. She added a silent prayer for Isolde’s unquiet spirit and slowly retreated through the matted branches to the edge of the wood. ‘I am not sure what I expected to find here,’ she informed the indifferent Goldfinch, who nuzzled her shoulder affectionately. ‘Perhaps Isolde is destined to remain a mystery. Let us go on to the Priory.’

  Kate used a fallen tree to hoist herself into the saddle and turned to ride towards the Priory. She allowed the mare to walk slowly on a long rein, enjoying the sunshine and lost in her own thoughts. She was startled, therefore, by the sound of rapidly approaching hoofbeats, which made her uncomfortably aware of her isolation. Someone was riding through the park, and clearly in haste. She guided the mare into the protection of a young copse and turned to face the trespasser. A horse breasted the rise before her. Fears were banished and her heart filled with surprise and pleasure as the fair rider was instantly recognisable.

  ‘Richard!’ Kate lifted her arm in greeting and emerged from the shadows.

  Her cousin changed direction immediately and approached, pulled his horse to a standstill and dismounted with fluent ease.

  ‘Good morning, Mistress Harley.’ He removed his hat and swept her an elegant bow with gentle mockery. ‘I hope I find you well?’

  ‘Oh, Richard. Help me down.’ She held out her hands and slid down into his waiting arms. Too late she realised where her impetuosity had led her and she tried to push herself free, but Richard tightened his hold.

  ‘Dearest Kate.’ His smile made her heart beat uncomfortably fast inside her laced bodice. How could she have banished him from her thoughts for so long? It was so good to see him again.