The Master of Winterbourne Page 3

  Lawyer Stone cleared his throat portentously. ‘The entail under which the estate passed from your father to your brother James, and from him in the absence of sons to your younger brother Francis, still stands. You are of course aware of those terms, Henrietta. We discussed them on the melancholy occasion of James's death.’

  Henrietta nodded. ‘I remember. And I remember too how the threat of sequestration hung over us then because neither Francis nor myself would pledge our allegiance to Parliament. Does my godfather's influence with Parliament still protect us from the danger of confiscation?’

  ‘Indeed, it would do so, if you still needed such protection.’ The lawyer exchanged a sharp glance with Sheridan, then dropped his gaze to the papers before him. 'I am happy to say you no longer need Sir Andrew's influence.’

  ‘If that means that this pernicious persecution of those whose only crime is loyalty to their sovereign lord the King is at an end, then I am glad of it, although I shall always be grateful to my godfather.’

  Aunt Susan stifled a slight yawn. It had grown warm in the long gallery and her mind was doubtless half on the preparations for dinner.

  ‘So with that threat lifted I am free to continue to manage Winterbourne and its estate? There are many decisions I need to discuss with you – ’

  ‘Wait.’ Lawyer Stone brought his hand down heavily on the table, making Aunt Susan start guiltily. ‘As you know, the estate is entailed in the male line.’

  ‘Indeed, yes. When I have a son he will inherit,’ Henrietta stated, surprised this needed repeating.

  ‘No, what I mean is that the nearest male relative of your father inherits.’ His eyes were fixed on her face, resolution and a strange pity in them.

  ‘But there are none. My father had no brothers.’

  ‘Your great-grandfather had.’

  ‘But surely long dead. My father never spoke of great uncles.’ Henrietta smiled at him, wondering if the Canary wine or increasing age was affecting him, making him pedantic.

  ‘Yes, but not dead without an heir. Your great-grandfather had but one son by his first wife, but he married again and had another, a half-brother to your grandfather.’ The words fell like stones into a room suddenly silent.

  ‘Then why have I never heard of these relatives?’ Henrietta demanded. ‘Are you telling me some impostor has emerged hoping to benefit from my bereavement?’

  ‘My grandfather was estranged from his family over his choice of wife, so much so that he forswore the name of Wynter, adopted his mother’s name, moved to London and took up the profession of the law.’ Matthew's cool voice was like a douche of water, knocking the breath from her lungs.

  ‘Your grandfather?’ she managed to whisper, although the room was tilting before her eyes. ‘You are my cousin?’

  ‘Yes, distantly, of a sort. My grandfather was your grandfather’s half brother.’ Suddenly there was concern in his look. ‘Mistress Wynter, you look faint. Nathaniel, fetch wine quickly!’

  ‘No.’ Henrietta shot the clerk a look of loathing, ignoring Matthew as she turned vehemently to her lawyer. ‘Be plain with me, sir. What does this mean?’

  ‘It means that Matthew Sheridan, Sir Matthew Sheridan, is heir to Winterbourn.’ Stone removed his eye-glasses and patted her hand. ‘When you have had a moment to compose yourself, my dear, you will realise what a relief it will be to have this heavy burden of responsibility lifted from your frail womanly shoulders.’

  Chapter Three

  Henrietta rose to her feet, her fingers gripping the silken edge of the table carpet for support. ‘Do you tell me,’ she managed to ask, ‘that this man, this Parliamentarian, is the true heir to Winterbourne?’ She held the lawyer's gaze, refusing to look at Matthew Sheridan, although from the corner of her eye she could see he had pushed back his chair and made a move towards her.

  ‘That is what I said.’

  ‘You have seen the proof? There can be no doubt?’ she persisted.

  ‘I would not be here with him else.’ Mr Stone's professional dignity was affronted but for once she could not care about anyone else’s feelings. ‘Here, read for yourself.’ He pushed a small pile of papers towards her.

  Henrietta waved them away. ‘If you say so, then I believe you.’ She bit her lip, trying to order her thoughts, her words. ‘Is there no way it can be set aside?’

  Lawyer Stone turned sharply, wincing as he hit his gouty leg against the table. ‘Henrietta, for Heaven’s sake, consider what you are suggesting. It would be exceptional for an unmarried girl to inherit in any case, and certainly not where there is an entail in force. An entail can only be set aside with the agreement of the adult heir in the lifetime of his father.’ He subsided and mopped his reddened face. ‘As a single woman you could never have governed this estate and you should be thankful the Lord has sent a fit and worthy man to relieve you of this unwomanly burden.’

  When she simply stared at him, he added more gently, ‘You are now free to fulfil your proper role in life – marriage, the raising of children. And you will soon have a husband to govern and guide you in all these things.’

  Only pride and a stubborn refusal to break down in front of Matthew Sheridan kept her on her feet and her voice steady. An hour ago she would have welcomed the thought of a husband, someone to help her with Winterbourne, someone to build a life with. Now the idea of a husband guiding and governing her made her want to break things. ‘I shall leave you now, sir. You must have legal matters to discuss with the new master here. I thank you for your counsel. Please send for my… for the steward whenever you are ready for him.’

  She had to go before that man reached her side as he seemed intent on doing, because she did not think she would be answerable for her actions if he touched her. Stiffly she curtsied to Lawyer Stone, then, head high, walked through the door, closing it with great care behind her.

  Her dignity lasted for three steps beyond, then she lifted her skirts in both hands and fled pell-mell down the stairs, her high heels clattering on the wooden treads and then across the flags of the hall. She had the briefest impression of the look of surprise on Alice's face as she passed her, then she was out into the warm spring air.

  Where to go? Henrietta paused, irresolute, on the gravel. She needed to be alone, away from the questioning looks of the servants, from Lawyer Stone's dry legal advice, Aunt Susan's fussing. There weren't even any household tasks she could immerse herself in. In any case, none of it was her responsibility now. The bunch of keys that always hung at her waist like a badge of office weighed like lead. Henrietta snatched it off and flung it on to the stone steps.

  A bee bumbled past her cheek on heavy wings and she remembered one duty she must still perform. The bee skips stood in orderly rows in the orchard, their inhabitants busy in the sun-warmed blossom. The bees must be told of the change of master, it was one of the many rules she had been taught for looking after them. Country lore held that the bees were told of every death, of every major change, otherwise they would die themselves or fly away to seek a new master.

  Henrietta picked her way through the long grass under the fruit trees, brushing aside the low branches heavy with flowers. When she reached the plaited straw skips she sank down and watched the worker bees buzzing in and out of the entrances, their back legs laden with pollen. Winterbourne belonged to Sir Matthew Sheridan. If Mr Stone said it was so, it must be so, and all that which had been hers this morning, her home for eighteen years, now belonged to a stranger.

  For five years the sole purpose of her life had been to keep this place alive and flourishing for her brothers and the household which was their responsibility. She hadn't wanted it when Francis had died for the position or the wealth that went with the estate, but because it was all she knew. There were no male Wynters left, but their blood flowed through her veins too. She loved Winterbourne as they had done. It was her life.

  She knew her duty. Resolutely she stood up, her back to the house, and addressed the hives clearly, as if she
were addressing her assembled household. ‘Winterbourne has a new master. His name is Matthew Sheridan.’ Her voice shook and she rubbed the back of one hand angrily across her eyes, daring the tears to flow. ‘You…you must be loyal to him and work hard and you will continue to be safe here.’

  ‘All of Winterbourne will be safe with me,’ a voice said behind her.

  Henrietta wheeled round to confront him, stumbling on the tussocky grass. ‘Leave me alone. Surely you have enough to do without persecuting me?’

  Matthew Sheridan cocked an eyebrow. ‘Am I persecuting you? I came to see all was right with you.’

  ‘Why should you care how I am, sir? I am not your responsibility.’ How could he stand there, so composed and watchful and ask if all was right?

  ‘But you are. Or don't you believe what you have just told the bees? I am master here now.’

  ‘You are neither my father nor my brother nor my husband. You bear no responsibility for me, nor do I claim it.’ Henrietta knew her cheeks were burning unbecomingly, but she did not care.

  ‘Walk with me, Henrietta.’ He held out one hand to her.

  Bitter words sprang to her lips, then the years of Aunt Susan's rigorous training asserted themselves. She was a lady, schooled to restrain her emotions, behave with an elegant deference to the men in authority over her, however much she might wish to flout them, to upend a bee skip over their heads. ‘If you wish, sir.’ She ignored his hand and turned to pick her way through the rough orchard grass to the bank of the old moat where a weeping willow overhung a small pond.

  ‘I am sorry this has come as such a shock to you. I too was unaware I had distant kin in Hertfordshire until Lawyer Stone sought me out.’

  It seemed to her he was attempting to be conciliatory, but Henrietta moved through the orchard contriving to keep her face averted from him.

  ‘Your father left Stone sealed instructions should anything befall your brothers. The rift between our grandfathers was so great, a matter of religious conscience at root, as well as the question of the marriage, that neither spoke of the other again. My grandfather's change of name made even an accidental meeting a remote possibility.’

  His concern, his assumption that she needed explanations for comfort, hurt her pride. ‘I need neither your apologies, nor your explanations, sir.’ Henrietta ducked beneath a low bough of the willow, putting its gnarled width between them before she turned to face him at last. He made no attempt to follow her, leaning instead against the trunk, his eyes on the startled gyrations of a pair of coots on the pond.

  She needed to be alone, come to terms with what was happening. And think what she could do now Winterbourne was no longer her home. She could not think with Matthew Sheridan there. Why was he haunting her footsteps? Now he had what he'd come for, why couldn't he leave her in peace?

  ‘No doubt you will wish to look over the estate after dinner. I will send Robert Weldon, the steward, to you. Aunt Clifford will show you the house whenever you desire.’ Why wouldn't he look at her? She turned her back on him deliberately, hoping her cold formality would discomfort him.

  ‘I had hoped you would show me both the house and the estate yourself.’ Matthew Sheridan was not so easily dislodged.

  Henrietta turned back, feeling her temper fray. ‘You are cruel, sir. I have acknowledged you, a complete stranger, master in my brother's place. You cannot expect me to act as your guide when every room, every field and ditch holds memories for me of what I have lost.’

  Her composure was in shreds, her dignity with it. Any moment now there would be shameful tears. She bit the inside of her lip and told herself that a Wynter never wept. Matthew swore softly under his breath, ducking under the low branch to envelop her in his arms. Henrietta stiffened, pushed and found he was to strong for her.

  ‘Hush. If you do not want to show me the estate I shall not force you. You have had a heavy burden to carry far too long. Weep if you must, there is no one to see you.’

  Except you, Henrietta thought confusedly, then gave in to the comforting strength of his arms, as he pulled her head down to rest on his chest. No man had held her since the last embrace her brother had given her when he rode off to war, and now, her cheek against Matthew's heart, Henrietta realised how much she'd missed that strength, how solitary she'd been in the company of women.

  It must be the shock making me so weak, she thought hazily, as she let him hold her closer still, the warm cloth of his shirt absorbing the tears she had not realised she was shedding. Then his hand began to stroke her curls and his breath was warm on her forehead. Beneath her cheek the rhythm of his heart quickened and suddenly the embrace was no longer brotherly, her own responses no longer those of a sister. Henrietta pushed him away sharply, more angry with herself than him.

  ‘Sir, this is not seemly.’

  She saw laughter in his eyes, heard it in his voice. ‘May I not comfort my distant cousin?’

  ‘That was not… comforting.’ Henrietta dropped her gaze in the face of the responsive twinkle in his eyes.

  ‘Hear me out, Henrietta. I would help you,’ he said persuasively, still too close for comfort.

  ‘What can you do to help me? Winterbourne is yours now. It was never mine at all. You heard Lawyer Stone, the entail cannot be broken.’

  ‘With your help it can. My heir could break it.’

  ‘Your son, if you have one, cannot yet be of an age to consent.’ She paused, puzzled. ‘And besides, what can I do?’

  ‘My heir is as yet unborn.’

  What did he mean? Then she saw the question in his eyes and understood. ‘You…you want… you're asking me to..?’

  ‘We can call the oldest boy Wynter if you like,’ he offered.

  ‘Do I understand you aright? You are asking me to marry you?’

  ‘Any other arrangement would be highly irregular, madam. I am shocked you should suggest it.’ The mobile mouth quirked with amusement.

  Henrietta knew she had gone white. The wretch was laughing at her. ‘And I am shocked you should jest so. What makes you think your suit would be in any way acceptable to me?’

  ‘You must marry someone,’ Matthew replied reasonably, dropping to the short-cropped turf at her feet. ‘Please, come and sit and let us discuss this while we have privacy. You were frank enough with me in the long gallery about your need for a husband. Why then are you now so coy?’

  She stood for a moment looking down at his dark head, at the long booted legs sprawled easily on the bank. Perhaps it would be better to humour him, at least while she formulated her rejection. Henrietta did as he bid, sinking down in a billow of silk. ‘Indeed I must marry, but I have no shortage of suitors, as you have seen. Why should I accept your suit?’ She was pleased she sounded so calm when all she wanted was to dent that arrogant assumption that she was just another chattel of Winterbourne, his for the taking.

  ‘You had no shortage when you were an heiress, although as I recollect you were not happy with the choice. You may find you are less troubled now.’ Matthew crossed his booted ankles, apparently giving all his attention to his somewhat dusty toe-caps.

  Henrietta shot him an angry glance. This was not how she had imagined a proposal would be. ‘I may no longer be heiress to Winterbourne, but I still have my name and my portion.’

  Matthew leaned back on his elbows, watching a fish rise from between narrowed lids. ‘I am sure that if your father and brothers had lived they would have seen you well endowed as befits your station,’ he agreed, ‘but there is no such provision in the will.’

  ‘I have nothing?’ Henrietta stared at him.

  ‘Nothing I do not choose to give you.’ He swivelled on one elbow to watch her face. ‘But if you are my wife you will want for nothing.’

  For a long moment he held her eyes while Henrietta felt the unpalatable truth sink in. She would not give in to him. ‘I shall go to the Low Countries, to my aunt and uncle. They looked after Francis, they will give me shelter.’ She forced a smile to show a confi
dence she did not feel. ‘I am not without friends, Sir Matthew.’

  ‘And how do you intend finding the money to travel?’

  ‘Surely you would not deny a kinswoman the means to establish a new life?’

  ‘I am offering you a new life – as my wife. You can remain mistress of Winterbourne, and your son will inherit it in his turn. You told me this morning that was all you desired, so why turn your face against it now?’

  There was a long, perilous silence. Henrietta let herself be drawn into the deep green gaze and be held there. Her breathing slowed and the warm air seemed to thicken.

  Matthew raised one hand and touched the back of it to her cheek. ‘Am I so unacceptable to you?’ he murmured.

  He is no fool, Henrietta thought indignantly. He knows the answer to that as well as I do. He is eminently eligible, physically very attractive and he has what I want most in the world. But he needn't think that by inheriting Winterbourne I am his for the taking. I want wooing, she thought resentfully.

  Any young woman would. Marriage for people of their rank was a duty, the formation of an alliance, but it should not be a cold business arrangement. ‘And what do you gain by this? You have the estate and house already. And besides,’ she added, ‘why at your age are you not married? You must be all of thirty.’

  ‘I am twenty eight. And I was married. My wife is dead.’ For a moment all the humour was gone from his face, and Henrietta recognised the memory of a grief as deep as her own. ‘It is time I remarried, and you will bring me all your knowledge of this estate and its people. Besides, I know my duty as your kinsman, your sole male relation however remote, and that is to protect and shelter you.’