Puritan Bride

by Anne O'Brien

  The door opened again almost immediately. ‘The lady says she’s seeing no one, m’lord. I can do nothing for you.’

  Before it could be closed on him again, Marlbrooke put his shoulder to the door and pushed so that it smacked back against the wall. The servant retreated hurriedly. Marlbrooke advanced.

  ‘Be so good as to tell the lady that I do not leave this place until I have seen her.’

  From her concealment in the parlour, amidst the dusty neglect and bunches of herbs, Kate listened to the potent exchange. She would have to see him, but what would she say? The muscles in her throat tightened at the prospect. She felt torn apart. She longed to see him, to feel the touch of his hands, to hear his voice—just to be in his presence. But, engulfed with guilt and remorse, what would she say to him that would make any sense and that he would understand? She must pay for her pride and wilfulness. Perhaps the price was too great to be borne—how would she exist if she never saw him again? She loved him so much, yet she had damned them both with blood and she would have to live with it. For the first time she knew some of the torment that kept Isolde from her grave.

  Gathering her courage, Kate stepped from the parlour into the hall. ‘There is no need for Crofton to carry your message, my lord. I am here.’

  Marlbrooke’s frustration remained, but his anger evaporated at the sight of her. She looked so drained and vulnerable. Her eyes were wide with apprehension and something that he could not name. He wanted nothing more than to take her in his arms and smooth away all her fears, kiss the shadows beneath her eyes, but he could not. There was too much between them, an invisible barrier, impossible as yet to breach.

  ‘Katherine.’

  She stood back so that he might enter the parlour. She followed, but remained at some distance, a stretch of oak boards between them.

  ‘What do I say to you, Katherine?’

  ‘Why, nothing, my lord. I do not blame you for what happened, but rather myself. Because of our marriage and my determination to pursue the claim of the Harley family, two people are dead. Whether it is your fault or mine I truly know not. But I carry their deaths on my heart.’

  ‘Will you let their deaths come between us, then?’ He placed his hat and gloves carefully on the table beside him, thinking rapidly of any argument that would carry weight with her in her distress.

  ‘I feel that they are between us whether I wish it or no.’

  ‘My love for you is not enough?’ It was as if he were fighting his way through an impenetrable mist that held his limbs captive and allowed no progress.

  ‘Your love is magnificent, but I have repaid it with murder.’

  ‘Then will you let me comfort you?’ He wanted to hold her, just to touch her but could not. What was he to do? ‘Do you return my love?’

  ‘I love you. But there is no comfort and I cannot talk about it. Not yet. The guilt is too strong. What right have I to be happy when I have caused such distress? Richard and Gilliver dead. Mason lost somewhere. Simon wrapped in grief. Why should I take my happiness at their expense?’

  But what about my happiness? The response echoed in Marlbrooke’s head, yet he chose to remain silent. Such a question would merely compound the issue.

  ‘Kate—I can do nothing to help you.’ She was such a slight figure to carry so much burden on her own. But he could not fight her resistance. He turned to pick up his hat and gloves from the table. He hated to leave her alone at Widemarsh with her memories. ‘Would you at least come to the Priory with me?’

  ‘No.’

  He bowed in acknowledgement—but vowed that he would not leave her unprotected. He would send some of his own people to keep watch. He took possession of her hand and raised it to his lips. It was cold, so cold. He could find no words to ease her heart or his own. He bowed again and strode out.

  Kate remained in the parlour. She refused to watch him ride away, but stood, tears once more coursing down her cheeks, unable to decide what to do next, now that she had wilfully destroyed her one true hope of happiness. And she did not know how much will power it took for him not to bundle her into a cloak and carry her off to the Priory.

  The gulf between them was vast.

  ‘What do you want me to say?’ the Viscount demanded of his mother. ‘You know the situation! When I forced the issue I could not get through to her. It was as if there was an unbridgeable chasm, with the bodies of Gilliver and Richard between us. And since then she refuses to see me. Even to open the door. I have been to Widemarsh three times since, but short of battering down the door I cannot force her to come out. I will admit that I am tempted to do just that. God save me from stubborn females—and managing ones!’ He returned his mother’s placid smile of triumph with a wry grimace.

  ‘Is there nothing you can do? She is probably as unhappy as you are.’

  ‘Unhappy! Ha! You do not know the half of it!’ He surged to his feet again and took a hasty turn about the library. ‘Short of standing on the gravel beneath her window and shouting my requests for all the world to hear, I can do nothing. What is she thinking? Is she able to sleep? Is she eating?’ As he turned to look at his mother, hands clenched in frustration, she realised the true depth of his concern and impatience at his forced inaction. ‘I feel helpless!’

  ‘She is hurt. Do you remember her words as she ran from the room?’

  ‘Of course I do. They are engraved on my soul.’ He turned his back on her. ‘And the horror in her eyes when she looked at me with Richard’s blood on my sword.’

  There is so much blood. I cannot bear it!

  ‘And so she sees her cousin’s blood on my hands,’ he continued, spine held rigid beneath the soft velvet coat. ‘This is no basis for marriage. Her husband guilty of killing the man she loved.’

  ‘Marcus—’ Elizabeth’s voice might be gentle, but the tone was strong with conviction ‘—Kate did not love Richard.’

  ‘No?’ His tone was bleak. ‘Probably not. But his blood is still on my hands.’

  ‘She told me that she did not. Affection, yes. Family loyalties, of course. And a lifetime of upbringing when they saw much of each other. She thought she did—I believe it was a strong case of hero worship—but it is many weeks since she believed that she loved him.’

  ‘How can I know that?’ He could barely disguise the hint of desperation as he raised his eyes to his mother’s. ‘How can I know what to do?’

  ‘Don’t forget, Marcus, she deliberately destroyed her father’s will. If she had wanted Richard, wanted her father’s wishes to be carried out, why not simply hand the document over to Simon as he demanded? She had the choice, and chose not to, but to destroy it.’

  ‘Yes. Of course.’ He sat again, some semblance of calm restored. ‘It breaks my heart to think of her alone at Widemarsh.’ Their eyes met and held. He remembered Kate’s recognition of Elizabeth’s grace and generosity in spite of all she suffered. And marvelled at it.

  ‘Do you want me to interfere?’ Elizabeth asked finally. Anything to heal the hurt buried beneath her son’s carefully controlled features.

  ‘What’s this? Are you asking for permission?’ His smile at last was one of genuine amusement. ‘I do not believe it!’

  ‘Of course. I have an idea.’

  ‘Will I approve?’

  ‘Not at all! But sons do not have to approve their mother’s actions.’

  ‘I mislike the tone of this.’

  ‘Leave it to me!’

  A comfortable travelling coach pulled by four matched bays drew up before Widemarsh Manor. There was only one occupant. Jenks jumped down from the box to open the carriage door and give his strong arm to the lady who descended with careful steps. She shook out her skirts, pulled her cloak around her, and nodded to her coachman with perfect equanimity.

  ‘Knock on the door, if you please, Jenks. Loudly.’

  Thunderous knocking from the haft of Jenks’s coaching whip echoed round the courtyard.

  No answer.

  ‘Knock agai
n.’

  Jenks complied.

  ‘Katherine. Open the door. It is Elizabeth Oxenden.’

  The shortest of moments passed and then the came the sound of keys and bolts. The door swung back.

  Kate stood there in the doorway. Her face was pale but composed, her emotions well in hand.

  ‘You will not see my son,’ Elizabeth explained. ‘I can understand that. But will you allow me to enter?’

  Without a word, Kate stood back and led the way into the parlour.

  There they stood and looked at each other.

  ‘For you to make such a journey, matters must be very grave.’ Kate’s voice was a little husky, strained with frequent tears and disuse over the past days.

  ‘Of course they are grave, my dear and foolish child! When the two people I care about most are so clearly unhappy, it is of the gravest!’

  The mild endearment and Elizabeth’s exasperated smile were Kate’s undoing. Despite her best intentions, she covered her face as tears began to slide down her cheeks. She could do nothing to stem them.

  ‘Come here. Dearest Kate. What is so terrible to make you cry so?’

  Kate sobbed uncontrollably in her arms as Elizabeth guided her to the settle before the fireplace. They sat and Elizabeth continued to hold her, stroking her hair, allowing her to weep.

  ‘What distresses you so? There is no need.’

  ‘My own mother would not come to see me.’ Kate gulped and sniffed. ‘But you did.’

  Elizabeth was stricken, reduced to silence, now aware of the depth of Kate’s isolation.

  ‘She never even sent a letter with Simon. I know I left Downham Hall without her knowledge, but I thought she might have written …’

  ‘There, now. Perhaps she did not know that Simon planned to come. I have come instead.’ Such meaningless words in the circumstances. Elizabeth held Kate as the tears still racked the slight body, murmuring more empty words of comfort, but giving her the solace of her enfolding arms. When the sobs began to abate, she produced a handkerchief, dried her cheeks and fetched a glass of wine from the court cupboard.

  ‘I am so sorry.’ Kate sniffed, now embarrassed. ‘I did not intend to inflict myself on you in such a way.’

  ‘Nonsense! Who better to dry your tears. Now.’ She gave her the glass of wine again and watched as Kate sipped obediently.

  ‘Better? Good! Then let us try to put everything to rights. When are you going to see my son and allow him to talk to you?’

  Kate had not expected such a direct approach, but decided on honesty after all. ‘I do not know that he wishes to see me,’ she explained simply, her eyes on her fingers clenched in the handkerchief in her lap.

  ‘Of course he does not want to see you! He has only been here—how many times in as many days?—and returned home in a temper with you and himself when you have barred the door. Of course he does not wish to see you! At this moment he has gone rough shooting and is pretending that he is enjoying it! He snarls and snaps and drinks too much. He is perfectly happy!’ Kate had to smile at the heavy irony. ‘Do see him, dear Kate. It will make life better for all of us. I have never known him be so concerned about the affections of a woman before. You have made quite an impression on him!’

  ‘I do not know what to say to him. My family have so much to answer for—he may have decided that he could achieve a better marriage after all.’ Kate continued to sniff at the doleful prospect.

  ‘We do not choose our families, dear Kate.’

  ‘No. But murder. Lies and deceit. If I had not started this quest, would Gilliver still be alive? And Richard! I cannot bear to think of it.’

  ‘You must not blame yourself.’

  ‘But I encouraged Richard to believe that I would marry him. He thought that I loved him. I am not guiltless in this.’

  ‘No, but his actions went far beyond anything you could be held responsible for.’

  ‘But he is dead. My cousin is dead!’ She held tight to Elizabeth’s hands as tears threatened to fall again. ‘I know that he probably killed Gilliver, but I cannot forget his kindness and companionship to me as a child.’

  The two ladies sat in silent grief and, although Elizabeth inwardly winced at the fierce grasp of her hands, she would not have loosed that hold for the world.

  Eventually, sensing a restoration of calm to Kate’s overwrought emotions, she took control of the situation again. ‘So, when are you going to put my son out of his misery? You realise that he thinks you hold him to blame him for your cousin’s death?’

  ‘No. Never!’ She shivered with the return of vivid memory. ‘I know that Marcus had no choice but to defend himself. If he had not, Richard would assuredly have killed him.’

  ‘But he blames himself. He needs you to help assuage his guilt.’ Elizabeth raised a hand to touch Kate’s cheek in a gentle caress. ‘Surely you know that he loves you. That he adores you.’

  ‘He has told me so.’

  ‘And do you believe him?’

  ‘Yes.’ Kate’s reply was unhesitating, but little more than a whisper, as if she hardly dare admit it to herself.

  ‘Well, then.’ Elizabeth smiled. ‘Tell me what is in your heart, Kate.’

  ‘I wish we had met in different circumstances. Then we could have loved freely without the horrors of deception and violence.’

  ‘But can you love him at all?’

  ‘Yes. Oh, yes.’ Kate smiled at last, her face transformed by joy at the recognition of what was indeed in her heart.

  ‘Good.’ Elizabeth nodded, satisfied at last. ‘Then I will tell him to come.’

  * * *

  Elizabeth made ready to leave. ‘You should know. My son has arranged for the burial of Gilliver.’

  ‘Where will she rest?’

  ‘At the Priory, of course.’ Elizabeth understood Kate’s anxieties here and answered gently. ‘With the rest of the Harley family. She has always thought that the house was hers, so it is right that she should return there at the end.’

  Of course. Kate bowed her head in acknowledgement of the news she wished to hear. He would think of that. And carry it out quietly and efficiently. She should have expected no less.

  ‘Does Marlbrooke know you are here?’ Kate asked finally as she accompanied Lady Elizabeth to the door.

  ‘No. He does not.’ Elizabeth answered Kate’s shrewd question with a bland smile.

  ‘And Felicity?’

  ‘Certainly not!’

  ‘What a devious lady you are.’ Kate managed a chuckle. ‘I think I might be surprised to learn how often you get your own way without anyone realising it!’

  ‘I have had considerable practice!’ Elizabeth leaned over to kiss Kate’s cheek, but then frowned down at her gloved hands. ‘One thing before I go. I believe it might help you if you realise that we all have difficult families, to some degree or other.’

  Kate registered her surprise.

  ‘Shall I tell you who poisoned me? Not really intending to give me enough to kill me, you understand, but enough to frighten me and lay a trail of guilt to you.’

  ‘I thought it was Gilliver. She said not—but I think it was not easy to know what was truth and what was justifiable deception in her mind.’

  ‘I know who did it. It was Felicity.’

  ‘Felicity? Did she tell you?’ Kate was shocked at Elizabeth’s calm acceptance of her companion’s duplicity. ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘I am very sure. And, no—she did not tell me. She did not need to. I know she was guilty, from her manner, from her reaction to me, and to you, after I recovered.’

  ‘But why? Why would she do something so outrageous? I thought she was devoted to you.’

  ‘I believe she is. But that made her jealous of you. What better way to get rid of your influence over me—as she saw it—than to make it seem that you had poisoned me with one of your potions? I shall tell no one of this and I would be grateful if you too remain silent. Felicity and I understand each other very well. She is a sad perso
n, but she has given me her time and her patience when I have been intolerant and thoughtless towards her. I will not turn her off. And I know that she will never do such a thing again. So, you see, you are not the only one with relatives you wish you need not lay claim to!’

  Chapter Seventeen

  Kate dressed herself with utmost care for Marlbrooke’s visit. She was in no doubt that he would come. Nerves tingled through her body, bringing a flush to her pale cheeks and a delicious sparkle to her sapphire eyes. For the first time for days her mind was dominated by something other than the memory of her cousin’s lifeless body and Marlbrooke standing with blood dripping from his sword. And her uncle’s anguished cry as he had fallen to his knees beside his son, regardless of the agony from his stricken joints. Instead the Viscount’s tall, elegant figure, his night dark hair, his striking features, all filled her mind with nervous anticipation.

  She scolded herself for foolishness. Yes, he would come. Lady Elizabeth had said that he wished to see her and doubtless she would know. But they would simply talk. And decide whether to complete the contracts with a marriage ceremony. There was no need for her to be so flustered. And to shiver with longing when she remembered the slide of his hands over her breasts and the heat and demands of his mouth on her skin. And the hard planes of his body as they held hers in submission, luring her into such responses that shocked her with their intimacy … No need to think about that at all! All they would do was have a sensible discussion.

  Nevertheless she dressed carefully and made her preparations.

  She bathed and washed her hair in fragrant rosemary and lavender, grateful for Gilliver’s stores of dried flowers and herbs. Then she chose one of the gowns given her by Elizabeth, although as before she doubted its previous ownership. By now she not only suspected, she knew without doubt that Marlbrooke could be amazingly devious in his methods. This was no gown sewn by a local seamstress for a comfortable evening at home—it had all the marks of London and high fashion stamped on it. The separate bodice and skirt were made of the most extravagant, and beautiful, cream silk and silver tissue trimmed with applied bands of costly Venetian point lace. It was a dress, Kate decided in all honesty, she could not resist. And her Puritan uncle would surely disapprove of it with forthright comment on the pursuits of the devil. The bodice was tightly laced with rigid boning, emphasising Kate’s slight bosom. The low neckline, low enough to reveal her shoulders and a considerable portion of her bosom, made her blush, but the deep lace collar was very beautiful. The skirt was full and rustled delightfully over the layers of petticoats needed to do justice to the gown. The elbow-length sleeves were also trimmed with a fall of lace to draw attention to Kate’s slender arms and fragile wrists. It was far too formal and extravagant for a quiet evening at Widemarsh Manor, but Kate had no hesitation in choosing to wear it. And if beneath it she donned a particular chemise with roses and honeysuckle embroidered in rose pink silk, no one but herself would be aware. She would not contemplate any other possibility! A pair of matching brocade shoes decorated with pretty rosettes completed the ensemble.