The Master of Winterbourne Read online

  Henrietta sighed as Alice fastened her cuffs in place. Her maid might have convinced her that what she was feeling was entirely natural, even to be desired, but it didn't make it any less dangerous. If she gave her heart to this man who only wanted a dutiful housekeeper then heartbreak would surely follow. She would wait in vain for signs of an affection he could never give her. And if he discovered the secret she was hiding from him, that she was still dealing with the Royalist faction, he would never forgive her. Not he, who spoke so vehemently for Parliament and called her opinions disloyalty.

  Aunt Susan's hurried entry cut across her confused thoughts. ‘Henrietta, are you nearly ready? The others are gathering in the Long Gallery.’

  ‘How well that blue becomes you, Mistress Clifford,’ Alice remarked as she put the last pin into Henrietta's hair.

  ‘Thank you, my dear.’ The older woman stooped to prink in the mirror. 'It is my second-best gown… but never mind about me. Henrietta, let me look at you.’

  She took Henrietta’s hand and raised her from the low stool before stepping back to regard her maternally. ‘Lovely! That amethyst colour strikes just the right note. We must not forget your poor little brother, or leave off our mourning just yet, yet we cannot be doleful at your betrothal. Oh, how long have I dreamed of this day… Why, I nearly forgot why I came in. Your father's ring – fetch it from the casket, Alice.’

  ‘What for?’ Henrietta took the heavy plain gold band that had so recently been returned to her with Francis's effects from the Low Countries.

  ‘To exchange with your betrothed, of course.’

  ‘Aunt, am I truly doing the right thing?’ Rings and contracts were giving a frightening reality to the proceedings. ‘Could it be I am betraying Winterbourne, my people? Would my father and James approve? Matthew has no knowledge of our country ways, of how to govern an estate like this.’

  ‘Yes, but he is a man of affairs, of experience and learning. Lawrence tells me he is well regarded, with friends in high places.’ She paused to look at her niece with affectionate exasperation. ‘Henrietta, my dear, I do not know what your head is full of today, but your thoughts are certainly distracted.’

  Alice giggled softly behind her hand. Henrietta glared at her. She wouldn't put it past her to blurt out exactly what Henrietta's thoughts were full of.

  ‘Come, Alice, I think we are ready,’ she said with dignity, gathering up her skirts to reveal the heavily embroidered underskirt beneath.

  The three made their way in silent procession along the passage from Henrietta's room to the long gallery. At the door Henrietta and Alice paused, allowing Mistress Clifford to enter the room first. It was very quiet. Henrietta could hear the sparrows squabbling in the eaves outside, the crackle of logs in the grate, the rustle as someone shifted their feet among the split lavender stems that strewed the polished oak floor.

  She took a deep breath and stepped inside, looking round the room. At the far end the household servants stood in a silent group in their best clothes, the youngest girls nudging each other at the first sight of their mistress in her finery. Robert stood next to Lawyer Stone, wearing his best blue linen doublet, one empty sleeve pinned up. Next to the fireplace, on the other side of the great table, Matthew was flanked by his clerk Nathaniel, his aspect more crabbed and dour than ever.

  The branches of beeswax candles guttered in the draught as Alice closed the door behind them. Only then did Matthew turn and look at her as she came slowly to the end of the table to face him down the length of the richly patterned table-carpet. As he stood there under the portraits of her father and grandfather she saw the family resemblance for the first time in the straight nose, the firm chin, the uncompromising green gaze.

  But his colouring was darker than that of the Wynters, his hair, curling on the fine white collar of his green doublet, was almost black, as were his brows. His features were set, his eyes assessing as he regarded her without speaking.

  Why can't he smile at me? Give me some sign that he really wants this, wants me, not just any wife, she thought helplessly, then ventured a curve of her lips. She was instantly rewarded; his face was transformed by a smile that softened his lips and warmed his eyes like sun on the sea. The breath caught in her throat as desire mingled with a deep fear that he could make her feel like this, so defenceless and vulnerable.

  Chapter Eight

  Matthew moved forward to take her hands in his. ‘Your beauty takes my breath, madam.’

  Henrietta sank down in a deep curtsy. ‘You are gallant, sir.’

  ‘If you could both approach the table.’ Lawyer Stone fixed his eye-glasses firmly on his nose, shuffled his papers, cleared his throat. ‘Henrietta Lucy, do you accept this man, Sir Matthew Nicholas Sheridan, as your future husband to love and obey in all things? Do you accept the terms of the marriage settlement here before you?’

  ‘I do accept both Sir Matthew and the settlement.’ She found her voice, strong and clear, in the high-ceilinged room.

  ‘Matthew Nicholas, do you accept this woman, Henrietta Lucy Wynter, as your future wife to love and cherish in all things? Do you accept the terms of the marriage settlement here before you?’

  ‘I do accept both Henrietta Lucy and the settlement.’

  ‘If you would now both sign the document, Master Weldon and I will witness it.’

  Mr Stone dipped a quill in the standish, handing it first to Matthew. Henrietta watched his steady hand as he signed with bold strokes of the pen, then took the quill and signed below his name. Nathaniel stepped forward to sand the wet ink, the expression of disapproval still fixed on his face, then stood aside for the witnesses to sign in their turn.

  Matthew drew the amethyst from his finger and took her hand in his. ‘Henrietta, I plight thee my troth, accept this token of my promise to be your husband.’

  As she felt the warm metal circling her finger she felt her heart sink. How could she promise to be governed by Matthew in everything, to be his true and faithful wife, when she would begin their life together tied to the secret James had entrusted her with? She had sworn an oath to her dead brother, now she had to balance these conflicting loyalties and could not see how it could be done.

  She had to speak out now, before she sinned irretrievably. Henrietta opened her mouth and heard herself say calmly, ‘Matthew, I plight thee my troth, accept this token of my promise to be your wife.’ As she spoke she slipped her father's plain gold ring on to his finger.

  ‘In this company and before witnesses you have plighted your troth, either to other, and have declared the same by the giving and receiving of rings. I therefore call on you to name the day when this marriage shall be solemnised.’

  ‘The second Wednesday in July if you should agree, madam?’ Matthew raised a dark brow.

  ‘That is acceptable to me.’

  ‘Don't just stand there, Sheridan,’ the old lawyer hissed. ‘Kiss the girl, then we can get on and drink your health.’

  Henrietta raised her face, expecting a chaste token, trying not to remember the last – the first – time Matthew had kissed her. He took her firmly in his arms, bent his dark head, and claimed her lips with an intensity and passion that left her breathless and dizzy. When he finally released her, her heart was beating against the tight lacing like a bird in a net and there was an audible sigh from the assembled maidservants.

  ‘Hurrumph!’ Lawyer Stone cleared his throat and polished his eye-glasses on his kerchief. ‘I think we could all do with a glass of Canary after that.’

  ‘Lawrence,’ Aunt Clifford whispered. ‘I do think that might have been more delicately put.’ She raised her voice. ‘Mary, see the household is given ale and cider in the hall. Alice, pour the wine here, if you please.’

  Matthew still held her left hand in his. ‘Sir, my hand,’ Henrietta protested.

  ‘Mine now.’ He smiled down into her eyes, keeping her fingers trapped in his.

  Alice brought two Venetian glass goblets, bobbing a curtsy as she offered
them. As she turned away from Henrietta one eyelid fluttered into a wink.

  Henrietta tried to calm her fluttering nerves by sipping the sweet wine, but all she was conscious of was the imprint of Matthew’s lips on hers and the warmth of his fingers interlaced with her own.

  ‘… and the consequences of the Bill set before Parliament last week will be far-reaching, I'm sure you will agree, Sheridan. Those of us who live outside Town will need early intelligence to advise our clients to their best advantage.’

  Matthew nodded, his face serious as he guided Lawyer Stone to the window embrasure to continue the conversation.

  ‘Well, my dear,’ Susan said drily, watching their retreating backs, ‘I suspect we are both about to discover there are penalties attached to marriage with a lawyer.’

  ‘Business certainly claims their attention at the least opportunity,’ Henrietta found she was nettled. It wasn’t that she wanted to talk to Matthew all evening, but even so…

  ‘Men are all the same, Henrietta, whatever their calling or station. I recall the afternoon you were born – your father was pacing the floor in this gallery when word came from Lord Willoughby that he had received some news or other from Court. Your father was off like a greyhound after a hare, and not back home till near midnight, two hours after you were safe delivered.’

  ‘Poor Mother.’

  ‘In truth, she told me it was a relief to be left in peace and know he wasn't fussing. Men are little help and much hindrance on these occasions. But I cannot stand here reminiscing when there is supper to be got. Those giddy girls will be flightier than ever after all this excitement.’

  Left alone, Henrietta glanced across to where the two men still stood in earnest conversation, dark head against grizzled. Matthew seemed to be winning some point, driving it home with emphatic movements of his long hands.

  Once again she was struck by the quality of his intelligence. How was she to keep the secret of the hidden casket from him? She wasn't used to dissembling, for in all her life she'd had no need of anything but the truth.

  Matthew caught her eye and smiled, a fleeting caress across the room, then turned back to his argument. Henrietta swallowed hard, wondering how he could look at her like that, yet continue exchanging dry legal anecdotes with Lawyer Stone. Now he had her would he trouble to woo her at all? He desired her, that much was plain in his eyes, his kisses, the touch of his fingers. And she might as well be frank with herself – she desired him too. But she wanted to get to know him, to have him understand her and Winterbourne. Her parents had shared a deep friendship as well as a marriage but there seemed little likelihood that she and Matthew could lay the foundations of that before the wedding day.

  But however close they did become she must not allow that to blind her to the truth or her duty. She was a loyal servant of His Majesty, he a follower of the usurper Cromwell. The longer that casket lay hidden in the priest's hole, the greater the danger that she would unwittingly betray its existence. If only there was someone to tell her how much damage would be done if the contents of the casket were revealed.

  Henrietta turned in a swirl of skirts and left the room. Neither man acknowledged her going and she thought they had not noticed. The staircase and hall were empty of servants and she gained the parlour unseen, snatching a branch of candles as she went. The empty room was shrouded in shadows flickering in the candle-light. She closed the door quietly behind her and leaned against the panels, collecting her thoughts.

  What to do with the casket once she'd removed it from its hiding-place? She couldn't give it to Robert – that would be to put her burden of responsibility on his shoulders. Nor dared she risk burning the thing, there were too many people in the house, too many questions might be asked about a fire lit on a warm summer's evening.

  Then the answer came to her with the memory of Sim and his mud-splattered breeches that morning: she would throw it in the carp pond. The farm workers always claimed the mud in the depths of it was bottomless, and frightened impressionable kitchen maids with tales of what lurked in its murky deeps.

  She had pushed back the carpet and hooked her little finger into the knot-hole to lift the board when she heard a firm step outside the door. Swiftly she tossed back the covering, then tugged off one pearl drop from her ear. When Matthew entered the carpet was back in place and she was on her knees seemingly searching under the window-seat.

  ‘Henrietta?’

  ‘Oh, Matthew, my earring…’

  ‘You would do better to have light on the matter,’ he said drily. ‘Come, get up, you will mark your gown. Where did it fall? On the carpet here?’

  ‘No! I mean, I thought I heard it roll under the window-seat. But I dare not look there.’ She cast down her eyes. ‘Alice saw a mouse in here yesterday and I am stupidly afraid of them.’

  ‘A very fierce mouse to cause you such emotion.’ She saw him take in her flushed cheeks, the rise and fall of her bosom, in one comprehensive glance, then he dropped to his knees, a candle in one hand.

  So, once more, the feminine wiles she had employed on Marcus Willoughby and his like deceived this man too. But even as she employed them she despised herself for doing so. Matthew must think her a foolish, fluttering female.

  ‘Here.’ He held out the shimmering teardrop on his palm. ‘Sit on the window-seat and I will restore it to its rightful place.’ His fingers were warm and dry on the sensitive flesh of her lobe. They lingered and she shivered, conscious of his closeness. ‘I claim a kiss for valour against man-eating mice,’ Matthew said, his breath fanning her throat.

  ‘I do not believe there was a mouse under there at all.’ Henrietta shifted away from him along the seat, heart thudding against the tight lacing of her bodice.

  ‘Not a whisker of a mouse,’ he admitted. ‘But I was not to know that when I undertook the endeavour. There could have been an army of mice. Come, Henrietta.’ The laughter died out of his voice. ‘You must not be afraid of me.’ He drew her gently to him, tipping up her chin, compelling her to meet his eyes.

  ‘You are mistaken, I am not afraid,’ she managed to say. She despised herself for the sensations he was evoking in her. Surely a well-bred young lady should be more in control?

  ‘Then what is it? Why have you run away to this parlour to avoid me? That you are not adverse to me I know from your kisses. Is it my political beliefs?’

  That was too close to the mark for Henrietta's raw conscience. ‘You know my feelings, Matthew.’ Her voice shook and she got to her feet to put distance between them. ‘Sacrifices such as my family have made cannot lightly be set aside. My father, my brothers…’

  ‘I am one of your family,’ he reminded her gently.

  ‘Distantly. And you think that makes your treachery any easier to tolerate?’ she bit out. Her own conscience was hurting badly with the realisation that she had been on the brink of breaking her vow to James by throwing away the responsibility he had laid upon her shoulders.

  ‘Treachery?’ He was on his feet too, the angry colour high in his cheeks. ‘We stood for King and Parliament until the King betrayed us and our liberties. He would be King now if he had not sought to rule absolutely, as a tyrant without Parliament.’

  ‘And so you murdered him?’ Henrietta gathered up her skirts and swept out. As she closed the door behind she saw the anger drain from his face, leaving it cold, implacable and unreadable.

  *

  ‘Which nightgown, Mistress?’ Alice fussed around the bedchamber, twitching the hangings, stirring the fragrant pot-pourri.

  ‘Why, the cambric as usual, what's the matter with you?' An uncomfortable evening of stilted conversation and over-rich food had left Henrietta's already frayed nerves in tatters. After a few minutes Matthew had rejoined her in the long gallery and neither had spoken of her last, unforgivable words. He had not looked at her again, but her eyes had followed him all evening and the scene refused to leave her tired brain.

  ‘I thought the new French lawn might be more to your
liking this evening.’ Alice shook out the diaphanous garment, a present from Lady Willoughby that Henrietta strongly suspected had been smuggled from France to evade the duty.

  ‘Why?’ Henrietta was in no mood to acknowledge Alice’s veiled hints. After the way she'd parted from Matthew in the parlour he was the last person she expected to find on her threshold that evening. It was a wonder, she reflected, that he had not repudiated the betrothal.

  ‘Mistress.’ Alice shook her head. ‘The master will come to you tonight for sure. He's hot for you and after that kiss at your betrothal, how can you doubt it? Don't you want him to come to you?’ Her voice was frankly incredulous now.

  ‘We are not yet wed.’ Henrietta ignored the flimsy nightgown, pulled the concealing cambric over her head and climbed into bed.

  ‘But it is the custom. No one would think any the less of you now you are betrothed.’

  ‘I can assure you, miss, he will not come to my chamber tonight, nor would I admit him if he did.’ Even as the words were spoken there was a light scratching at the door. ‘That will be my aunt, let her in.’

  The tall figure in the doorway was unmistakably male. With a triumphant glance over her shoulder Alice slipped past him into the darkness of the corridor.

  ‘Alice! Come back this minute!’ It was too late. Matthew closed the door behind him, turned the key in the lock and pocketed it.

  ‘Now, madam, no one will disturb us.’

  Henrietta clutched tight the neck of the plain cambric nightdress as he approached the bed. ‘No!’

  ‘Oh, yes, Henrietta. Oh, yes.’

  Chapter Nine

  ‘I neither know nor care what licentious habits prevail in London, sir, but I told you in the garden this morning – do not presume on our betrothal. You are not my husband yet.’ Despite her fighting words Henrietta was cornered, her back against the bulbous carving of the bedpost. In spite of all Alice's hints she had not truly expected Matthew to come and now he was here she was totally unprepared.