The Master of Winterbourne

by Louise Allen

  Henrietta watched Alice and Robert disappear through the back door with a sinking heart. She cast round for an excuse to leave and, finding none, was forced to comply when Matthew offered her his arm and said, ‘Walk with me, Mistress. Can we get to the gardens through this gate?’

  ‘If you don't mind crossing the drying lawns.’ Henrietta rested her fingertips on his sleeve and allowed him to lead her out of the yard and across the close-clipped turf where two laundry maids were spreading out sheets in the warm sunshine. The girls straightened up, bobbing curtsies, giggling and blushing at their first sight of the new master.

  ‘A cheerful collection of servants you have here,’ Matthew remarked drily as he opened the wicket gate into the knot garden. ‘Everywhere I go I'm greeted with smiles and blushes.’

  ‘They are a pack of silly wenches who will giggle at any personable man, whatever his station,’ Henrietta retorted without thinking.

  ‘So you consider me personable? I thank you, Henrietta, for that compliment at least.’

  ‘You have a mirror, I presume, sir? You do not need me to flatter you.’

  Matthew's lips twitched but he didn't rise to the bait, bending instead to pick a clove-scented pink. ‘On the subject of servants, cousin, is Weldon betrothed to that maidservant of yours? Because, if not, the sooner they are, the better.’

  Henrietta stared at him blankly. How could he know about Alice and Robert?

  He misinterpreted her puzzlement. ‘I assume the child she is carrying is his?’

  ‘How did you know?’

  ‘My wife had the same look about her when she was carrying our son.’

  ‘But you said you had no children,’ Henrietta blurted out, then stopped at the sight of his face.

  ‘Matthew, forgive me, that was clumsy. Did he… did he die too?’

  ‘She died bearing him. He lived a scant two days longer.’ His face showed no emotion, but his clipped voice, the vicious jerk with which he threw the crushed pink from him, told her everything she needed to know.

  ‘I should have spent more time with her at our home in Highgate, but I was too concerned with business matters in Town and I did not see how much she needed me.’

  ‘I am so sorry.’ It seemed a woefully inadequate thing to say. ‘You too have had your losses…’

  ‘It is in the past.’ He cut off her stumbling sympathy but his very abruptness underlined the pain in his eyes.

  ‘They are betrothed.' Henrietta retreated to the safer ground of someone else's marriage. ‘But Alice would not leave me before I was married.’

  ‘There would be no need for her to leave you. I have no intention of supplanting Weldon as steward. The man is obviously able and the affairs of the estate are in good order. I suggest you make arrangements for their wedding as soon as maybe.’

  ‘Yes, I will do so. It will be a weight off my mind. Does this mean you have reconsidered your threat to dismiss all my people?’ She had to make certain.

  ‘Do you believe I would have done that? You were living a fantasy, thinking you could go to the Low Countries and I had to focus your mind, that is all. You called me Matthew just now,’ he added. Henrietta couldn't tell from his tone if he was teasing or reproving.

  ‘I am sorry, it was forward of me,’ she began stiffly, swallowing her resentment that he had tricked her but knowing he was right, then broke off as he took her gently by the shoulders.

  ‘I liked it, Henrietta. Why are we wasting our time discussing other people's betrothals when we can think about our own?’

  Henrietta felt the world go still and silent around her, conscious only of the warmth of his palms cupping her shoulders, the nearness of his body, the promise in those deep green eyes.

  ‘Tonight Lawyer Stone shall draw up the papers and witness our promise. And then, my dear Henrietta, we will be bound by an indissoluble vow.’

  Listening to his voice, suddenly husky, feeling the tension in his body, Henrietta was aware of her own instinctive response to him. She knew many couples regarded betrothal as tantamount to marriage and that to all but the most strait-laced Puritan it was no shame to anticipate the wedding night. And that, she had no doubt, was precisely what Matthew was about with these soft words. He didn't love her, of course, but he did desire her, that was plain.

  He had no need to marry her to get Winterbourne for it was already firmly in his hands. He didn't even need to marry her to protect her position, he could give her enough money to join her aunt and uncle in the Low Countries and everyone would consider he had discharged his duty. But he was a man with a man's needs and marriage to her was an uncomplicated way of fulfilling his desires for a wife in his bed and a son to inherit Winterbourne.

  He would tolerate her Royalist sympathies because he desired her, not because he wanted to please her, or even cared what she thought. And she had already tasted his cold displeasure when she'd tried to stand up to him.

  ‘Very well, sir. We will be betrothed tonight as you wish. But I must tell you,’ she swallowed hard and managed to formulate the words with as much dignity as she could, ‘I do not consider myself promised in anything but name until the marriage ceremony is performed.’

  Matthew looked down at her heated face and let his hands drop from her shoulders. ‘As you desire, madam.’ There was more in his face than displeasure at her coldness, there was a measure of suspicion too. She felt his scrutiny on her stiff back as she returned to the house across the sunny garden. Henrietta knew instinctively that few people succeeded in keeping secrets from Matthew Sheridan for long.

  Chapter Seven

  ‘There you are, Henrietta. Where have you been? Dinner is almost on the table and we have much to do before this evening.’

  Henrietta blinked, accustoming her eyes to the cool gloom of the hall after the brilliant morning sunshine outside. Her aunt paused just inside the hall screens, her buxom figure positively quivering with excited impatience.

  ‘This evening?' What could Aunt Clifford mean and why was she in such a ferment? She and Matthew had scarcely agreed things between.

  ‘The betrothal, of course. Surely Sir Matthew has spoken to you this morning? Do not tell me you have been avoiding him after that foolish dispute last night. Indeed, you put me out of all patience with you, provoking him so.’

  ‘Aunt, I have just left him in the garden, where we have been talking this past half-hour and we have agreed to be betrothed this evening. But – ’ She broke off at the sight of a small group of house maids waiting behind her aunt and unashamedly eavesdropping. ‘How could you know of it so soon when we have only this moment parted company?’

  ‘A moment, my love, there are too many idle hands and long ears here.’ Aunt Susan turned to the gaggle of girls behind her. ‘Mary, Mathilda, away to the long gallery and sweep it thoroughly. Jane, go to the stillroom and collect fresh strewing herbs, Letty will give you the key. And don't gossip, I will be up directly. Go on, go on…’ She flapped her hands at the giggling group and turned back to Henrietta. ‘Sir Matthew told me last night that it was to be this evening. He is all impatience, which is so flattering to you. I have been up since five making preparations and Lawrence is even now finishing drafting the papers with Sir Matthew's clerk.’

  So, her agreement – her submission – had been taken for granted, the whole matter no doubt neatly arranged in Lawyer Stone's chambers before he left Hertford with Matthew. It had probably never occurred to the two men that she might refuse.

  Those few intimate moments in the knot garden when she'd thought Matthew was asking her to make a free choice had all been part of his tactics to ensure her acquiescence. No doubt a halfway-willing wife would be less trouble to him than a reluctant one.

  ‘I suppose I should be grateful he even bothered to inform me of this evening's events in advance.’ Her anger was giving way to something close to panic. She was nothing but a cypher in Matthew Sheridan's plans for Winterbourne with no more say in events and decisions than a portrait on a wall
. In every way, legally, physically, he was stronger than she. ‘I have no choice in this matter but to comply with everything he wishes, it seems.’

  Aunt Clifford patted her cheek, tidying a wayward curl back behind Henrietta's ear. ‘I understand your natural fears, my love, but you must not allow your apprehensions of the wedding night to make you seem shrewish. I am sure if you think calmly you will see that is all that lies behind your uncertainty. Now, wipe that frown from your face. Such marks of discontent are most unbecoming to the complexion and will not endear you to your husband.’

  ‘Aunt, he said something just now about his late wife.’

  ‘Sarah? Yes, Lawrence has been speaking of her too. They married young, apparently, and, according to Lawrence, were a byword for married devotion. Doesn't that speak well of Matthew as a husband? He was quite stricken when she died, and then of course the war… Now,’ she became brisk again, ‘run and find Sir Matthew and Mr Stone and tell them dinner will be on the table directly.’

  No one understood, Henrietta thought despairingly as she walked slowly in her aunt's wake through the screens to the foot of the stairs. How could they, when she didn't understand herself? What more could she ask of Matthew than that he make her his wife, be a good master to Winterbourne? I am fortunate, she chided herself. If he had come courting me I would not have believed my luck. In every way he is so perfect. In every way, save that he was not her free choice. And he supported Parliament. She was marrying him for duty and duty alone.

  Where would the men be? She heard the murmur of voices from the door to her left and pushed it open. In the centre of the chamber Matthew and Lawyer Stone bent over a drift of papers on the wide table. ‘I am more than satisfied with the provision you are making for Henrietta. Indeed, it is most generous,’ the older man was saying. ‘Now we must consider the matter of the children, who God willing, will be many and healthy.’

  ‘God willing, indeed.’ The set of Matthew's mouth was as hard as his tone. He glanced up towards the door and saw her hesitating on the threshold and his expression changed and softened. ‘Were you looking for me, Henrietta?’

  Henrietta found herself smiling back. ‘I was looking for both of you. My aunt sent me to say dinner will be served in the hall shortly, if you are ready?’

  Lawrence Stone pushed back his chair with alacrity. ‘Excellent! Your aunt promised me a baked carp, and after this morning's work I intend to do full justice to it.’

  ‘From what I saw earlier the price of your carp was a well-tanned kitchen lad.’ Matthew's eyes glinted with amusement. ‘Wait.’ He laid a restraining hand on her arm as she made to follow the hungry lawyer. ‘A moment, please, Henrietta.’ He drew her close, his voice gentle. ‘You must not be afraid of me. It is right that you should be apprehensive – I would expect nothing else from a maiden – but it is a husband's duty, and pleasure, to soothe those fears.’

  Hot colour flooded into her cheeks with embarrassment at what he was saying.

  Matthew's warm, sure hands cradled her face. ‘Let me show you how it can be.’ Before she could protest his lips were on hers, capturing, stifling her instinctive denial with a gentle insistence which became a demand as his hands dropped to her shoulders, pulling her close.

  Her own hands came up to his chest to push him away, but she found they would not obey her. Instead of pushing, her fingers spread, tentatively exploring the breadth of his chest, the warmth of his body through the fine linen.

  No man had ever taken her in his arms like this, no man had ever kissed her mouth. Her whole being was concentrated on this man, alive to his body where it touched hers, to his mouth moving on her own. The male scent of him filled her nostrils, beneath her now-questing fingers the muscles were taut and hard, and when his lips left hers to explore the soft angle between neck and shoulder she was conscious of the slight roughness of his cheek.

  ‘Matthew.’ It was meant to be a protest but it came out like a supplication. At any moment someone might come in, this was all wrong, they were not even betrothed yet, but every touch of his body on hers sapped her will. Matthew's hands encircled her waist while his mouth grazed slowly down the slope of her bare shoulder revealed by the low-cut gown.

  His heightened breathing found an answering echo in her own as she felt her eyes closing, her legs weakening along with her will. If he were only to take her up in his arms, carry her to the big bed above them she would be his now, at this moment, betrothal or no. And it was wrong, all wrong. She scarcely knew him.

  ‘Henrietta,’ he said gently, still holding her trembling body against his. ‘We are are anticipating what can be ours tonight. Your beauty and your innocence lead me astray, and the others will be wondering what has become of us.’ Matthew's lips briefly brushed her forehead before he released her.

  Shakily Henrietta preceded him through the library door. As she paused at the foot of the stairs to smooth the tumbled lace at her neck Letty scurried through from the servant's quarters with a dish of sallets and through the gap in the screens she could see the others standing by the dining table in the hall and heard her aunt say clearly, ‘We must allow for her youth and innocence, Lawrence. Perhaps I have been too impatient with her.’

  Matthew turned to look for her, his gaze shuttered, and with a sinking heart she realised that to have reached the library from the knot garden he would have passed through this way while she and her aunt were talking. He must have heard Susan speak of her fears of the wedding night and set out to rouse desire in her before she could take fright and deny the betrothal.

  How well he had succeeded. She could still feel the heat of his kisses on her throat, her heart was knocking against her ribs. How easy he must think she was to bend to his will, in this as in everything else.

  *

  The shadows were lengthening in the orchard and a group of villagers made their weary way home past the gatehouse in the wake of a lumbering farm wagon, their labour finished for the day. Henrietta scarcely saw them as she gazed distractedly from her chamber window, her copy of the marriage settlement Lawyer Stone had spent the last hour explaining to her clutched in her hand.

  ‘Mistress? Which petticoat?’ It was obvious from Alice's tone that it was not the first time she'd enquired.

  'Oh, any. Whatever comes to hand. Do not fuss so, there is no urgency.’

  ‘The master has been dressed and gone from his chamber half an hour since.’

  ‘Alice, have you been staring into his room? What will he think of us?’

  ‘That we are interested in him,’ Alice replied with some asperity. ‘As indeed you should be. In a half-hour you will be betrothed to him.’

  ‘Which reminds me, miss,’ Henrietta riposted crisply, glad to turn attention from her own affairs. ‘He has noticed your condition. I had to tell him you and Robert were already betrothed, so I suggest you do not make me a liar, but swiftly name a day.’

  ‘Robert intends to speak to the Master this evening after the ceremony,’ Alice announced demurely.

  ‘Will you stop calling him the Master?’

  ‘But he is, Mistress.’ Alice looked pained. ‘What would you have me call him?’

  ‘Oh, fetch me the petticoat with the French lace, Alice. You'll make me late with this nonsense.’

  Alice looked as though she was about to say something but instead went over to the large oak press and shook out the fine cambric petticoat.

  Henrietta tossed her robe on to the bed and stood while the underskirt was dropped over her head. Why was she the only one who found Matthew's sudden possession of Winterbourne difficult to accept? Everyone else behaved as if he'd been here for years, instead of a scant two days. They had been without a master for three years, since the death of James at the Battle of Preston, and she'd believed she had filled his place, but it seemed she was mistaken if the household welcomed Sir Matthew so warmly. Or perhaps it was simply because he was a man. Henrietta sighed at the injustice of it.

  ‘That's right, breathe in, Mis
tress.’ Alice pulled, then knotted the laces, fastening the full amethyst silk of the overskirt before helping Henrietta into the whale-boned bodice.

  ‘Ouch! That pinches,’ Henrietta protested at the tight lacing. She had a shrewd idea her maid was paying her back for her sharpness earlier.

  ‘But you want him to admire the grace of your figure,’ Alice replied slyly, giving an extra tug to the lacing at Henrietta's waist.

  ‘That is tight enough. I don't want to faint in the midst of the ceremony. Find me my mother's best lace collar and cuffs while I put up my hair.’

  Alice's deft fingers settled the heavy cream lace collar and pinned it in place. ‘I think you need a little powder on your neck, just here.’ She lightly touched the place where Matthew's lips had kissed. ‘You must tell him to be more careful how he shaves, Mistress.’

  Their eyes met in the looking-glass. Alice's blue ones alive with teasing laughter, Henrietta's dark with embarrassment. ‘Alice… is it usual..? She faltered, unsure of how best to phrase her question. ‘He kissed me, and I felt… on fire. In that moment I wanted nothing more than to be in his arms, in his bed. And we are not yet betrothed. I do not even know if I truly wish to marry him and yet… What is happening to me? Marcus Willoughby never made me feel like this.’

  Alice didn't attempt to hide her scorn. ‘Marcus Willoughby is a spotty boy. It will be years before he'll make a woman's pulses race. Now, the Master, he's a real man – you only have to look at him. Every maid in the house is hot for him and green as grass with envy for you.’

  ‘Alice! I should be turning my thoughts to being a dutiful wife and mother to his children, not to being… hot for him.’

  ‘And how should your children be got?’ The maid dropped her voice still lower as she bent to dust the powdered orris root on the flushed skin. ‘They do say conceiving comes easier if the pleasure is shared. That's what the goodwife told me when I asked her why I'd fallen so quickly. And I do believe it to be true.’ She smoothed the apron over her stomach with pride.