The Master of Winterbourne Read online

  ‘On the contrary, far from being licentious, the Puritan influence grows daily in London. The frolics taking place in your kitchen at this moment would not be tolerated there.’ Matthew stopped a few feet from her, the candlelight shining on the whiteness of his shirt sleeves, casting a shadow at his throat where he'd discarded his lace and pulled open the drawstrings. He stood before her in shirt and breeches, disturbingly male, disturbingly close.

  ‘How dare you come to my chamber uninvited and half-dressed?’ She wondered what would happen if she screamed. ‘And if the servants are misbehaving, why do you not discipline them? They are your household now.’

  He quirked a dark brow. ‘You are even more undressed than I, madam. And as for the servants, why should I spoil their fun? I did not say I disapproved. There is no need for the whole household to be miserable because their mistress is out of temper.’

  It was he who was out of temper, Henrietta could see plainly. There was colour on his taut cheekbones and no humour in his eyes as he watched her. In the candlelight, his hair disarranged on his shoulders, he seemed saturnine, dangerous. Henrietta remembered his remark about stirring the beehive and knew she had gone too far in provoking him that evening.

  ‘Indeed, you surprise me.’ Attack seemed the only defence. ‘I would have thought their innocent pleasures would offend your Puritan sensibilities.’ Henrietta scrambled out of bed and edged round the post, realising too late that she'd trapped herself between the four-poster and the wall.

  ‘I do not think innocent is the word I would apply.’ Matthew sat on the edge of the bed, his back against the carved post and regarded her levelly. 'Tell me, Henrietta, why do you persist in calling me a Puritan?’

  ‘Because you obviously are one.’

  ‘You have an imperfect understanding of the word. Do you assume all supporters of Parliament to be Puritans? I can assure you that is far from the truth. Every shade of opinion other than rabid Royalists are with us. Or is it because I do not dress like a popinjay as your young suitor Willoughby does? I am a lawyer, I dress to suit my profession, although my preference for fine cloth and lace earns me no admiration from my stricter colleagues.’

  Henrietta perched on the opposite corner of the bed, holding a pillow defensively against her thinly-clad body. If she could keep him talking of politics and religion she might yet succeed in distracting him from his purpose, which was certainly not conversation. ‘But you make no secret of your support for Parliament.’ Her chin came up as she challenged him, ‘How far did that support go in the late war?’

  ‘The past is behind us, Henrietta. Raking over cold ashes will not help us rebuild for the future.’

  ‘You are evasive, Matthew. Why? Are you ashamed of your actions?’

  ‘You are attempting to anger me, Henrietta,’ he said levelly. ‘But you will not deflect me from my purpose in coming here so easily. ‘We were discussing religion, I believe.’

  ‘If that is what you prefer. Your clerk is a Puritan but you tell me you do not share his religious beliefs?’

  ‘Nathaniel is a loyal servant, an old family retainer. I make no claim to direct his conscience, or his life.’

  ‘In that case, may I assume you will afford me the same courtesy?’

  ‘Do you mean I should consider my wife as an equal to my servant?’ He raised a quizzical eyebrow.

  ‘That is not what I meant. You are playing games with my words.’ Henrietta began to relax. This was altogether safer ground, and Matthew seemed almost to be enjoying bandying words with her. ‘I meant I am an Anglican, and nothing you might do or say will stop me worshipping God according to my conscience.’

  All his amusement vanished in a flare of anger. Matthew sprang off the bed, wrenched open the hangings at the foot and regarded her through the gap, his face taut with frustration. ‘Do you never listen to what I say to you or do you deliberately misunderstand me? These last ten minutes I have been telling you I am not a Puritan. What do you think I am? An Anabaptist? A Roman Catholic? I am an Anglican like yourself; our religious views are in accord.’

  He raked his fingers through his dark hair. ‘What would you have of me, Henrietta?’ She shook her head dumbly, her pulse so loud in her ears that she was sure he would hear it too. ‘I am giving you my protection, the chance to remain in your home, the chance to bring up your children in safety. Does none of this weigh against your dislike of me?’

  Dislike? Surely he knew the effect he had on her? If only he'd offered her sweet words instead of talk of security and religious tolerance he would be beside her on the big bed now.

  She was so tired of anger and mistrust. Why could he not woo her, be gentle with her inexperience and confusion? For a second she felt her lips tremble and bit down on the lower one to hide the sign of weakness, but he must have seen, for his anger seemed to evaporate.

  Slowly Matthew skirted the end of the bed and seated himself once more, just out of arm's reach. ‘You must learn to give up this burden you've been carrying. It was thrust upon you by fortune but you can relinquish it. I am here now.’

  She would gladly give him the burden of the estate for he would be a good master, she sensed that now. But the other weight round her neck was impossible to renounce, her promise chained it to her.

  He reached out his left hand and touched her bare foot, exposed by the hem of her nightgown. Henrietta gasped and quivered at the intimacy of the caress as his warm palm stroked over the skin, but her treacherous body would not move to escape him.

  Matthew seemed to take her stillness for consent and moved closer to her on the big bed until he could reach out and hold her by the shoulders. Her breath constricted in her throat and she swayed towards him.

  ‘You are grieving still for your little brother, but I will give you children of your own to ease the ache in your heart,’ he murmured.

  How could she be so weak as to soften to him like this? The shame burned in Henrietta’s veins, driving out every vestige of desire. His words touched the raw nerve of her grief for her family, of everything she had lost. And he thought once he had her with child nothing else would be important to her, that she would forget?

  ‘How little you know of me if you think your children would be enough to replace my brothers in my affection,’ she flared as she jerked free of his embrace. ‘You have the legal right to Winterbourne, of that there is no dispute. But do not think I will accept you as a replacement for my brothers and father.’

  She had underestimated how strong the anger within him was. There was a sudden flurry of movement and she found herself pinned against the pillows, his fingers strong through the thin stuff of her gown, his eyes fixing her with the force of his will. She should be afraid, but she sensed that, however angry she made him, he would not hurt her. Not physically.

  ‘And I am not such a fool, Henrietta, as to believe you will give me anything which is not legally binding on you. Yes, you acknowledge me master of this estate, yes, you will marry me. But that is duty. For some reason you dislike and mistrust me and that overrides any other emotion you may feel towards me.’

  ‘I do not dislike you.’ His words hurt her more than the pressure of his fingers on her shoulders. His closeness disturbed yet excited her and despite her inexperience she could tell his mood was not entirely anger. ‘But how can I give you all you ask when…’

  ‘When you are already in love?’ he demanded, as though she had forced him to voice his suspicions at last. ‘Deny it, Henrietta. Let me hear it from your lips.’

  ‘In love?’ she stammered.

  ‘Do you think I am blind? I know you for a passionate woman, you cannot hide that from me. Why should you shrink from me, unless your love is already given to another?’

  She could only shake her head dumbly in denial, her mass of unbound hair tangling on the heaped pillows behind her.

  ‘At least tell me it's not that puppy Willoughby,’ he ground out.

  ‘Marcus? No, of course not, that is ridiculous. Matthew
, please listen to me.’ Of all the accusations he could have thrown at her this was the most unexpected but the most difficult to disprove. Her protestations of innocence died on her lips. What can I tell him? That there is no other man? But he knows I am hiding something from him… Henrietta bit her lip as she searched for the right words, wary of plunging even further into a web of deceit, even as she realised her silence looked like guilt.

  ‘No, lady, you listen to me.’ And he stopped her protests and explanations with his mouth.

  Pinned into the yielding goose-feather mattress by Matthew’s implacable weight, Henrietta struggled to free her lips, her confusion overtaken by a sudden flame of anger. Why should he demand love from her when he wouldn't, couldn't, show any in exchange, only desire for her body? But he was too strong for her, her fists beat impotently on his broad back but it made not a whit of difference.

  His mouth was warm and pliant on hers, his tongue a sweet invasion – and then he eased back, looking down at her. Suddenly she was no longer angry, her hands no longer beat on his back but spread, compelling him closer again. She desired this man, and if he wouldn't believe her when she told him there was no other man, then she would convince him with her body.

  Matthew's hands no longer gripped her shoulders. One was buried in the mass of her hair, the other stroked the sensitive hollow at the base of her throat where the strings of her nightgown had come undone. Henrietta let her hands travel, guided by instinct to the hem of his shirt, slipping trembling fingers under the soft cloth until they discovered and stroked the hot flesh of his hard-muscled back.

  Matthew's lips moved across her temple, into her hair, his breathing almost a groan, a demand.

  ‘No, kiss me again,’ she demanded fiercely in her turn and he did as she asked, his mouth hard and urgent.

  His hand moved over the soft stuff of her gown to outline, mould, the swell of her breast. This was sensation beyond her knowledge, her expectation and her dreams. So, this was the mystery Alice had hinted at, the pleasure between two lovers. There was no longer any holding back, no shame at being with him like this. He was her betrothed, would be her husband in a few short weeks.

  ‘Matthew.’ His weight shifted, his mouth and hands left her and she waited, eyes closed, trembling with expectation for what must surely follow. Nothing happened. 'Matthew?' Her eyes flew open in disbelief.

  Matthew Sheridan sat, his back against the far bedpost, regarding her enigmatically. Only his ragged breathing was not controlled. ‘Now, madam, when next you see the beribboned gallant who has your affections, think of me and of what has just passed between us. And I warn you, Henrietta, I have no intention of being a complaisant husband. I will kill any man I find you with, you have my word on it.’ He swung his legs off the bed, unlocked the door and left without a backward glance.

  *

  As dawn broke Henrietta gave up all attempts to sleep. She padded across the waxed oak boards and threw wide the casement and stood letting the crisp early morning air clear her fuddled head. Below there were the first subdued sounds of the household wakening and from the fold of the hill behind she could hear the shepherd's lad whistling up his dog.

  Ribbons of mist threaded themselves between the trunks of the apple trees in the orchard and in the park a small herd of deer cropped the short turf, nervously alert to the slightest hint of danger.

  Henrietta retreated back to bed, collecting the scattered pillows as she did so. She lay back, gazing out of the window at the house martins swooping past, and tried to order her thoughts in daylight.

  Matthew believed she was in love with someone else. All her evasions and her guilty conscience had made him suspicious. She'd been right to think him acute, sensitive to her mood. Henrietta realised her fingers had strayed to the broken string of her nightgown and she felt the flush suffuse her face at the recollection that evoked.

  How could she have let herself melt into his arms, anger and bitterness banished by the touch of his lips on hers? How could she have responded so wantonly? She had no knowledge of men, of the arts of love, only the words of poets to hint at the mystery. Matthew was playing on that innocence, using his own experience to bend her to his will, despite her reluctance to marry him.

  Suddenly angry both with herself and him, Henrietta sat up straight and threw the pillow at the bedpost as if Matthew still lounged there. Now she knew what he was about she could guard her own feelings. She would have to accept this marriage and with it the loss of all she held dear to a stranger, but he would never have her true self.

  This suspicion that there was another man could perhaps be turned to good use, however painful it was, she mused. At least if he suspected her of having a lover he was hardly likely to be on the watch for political intrigue.

  None of this rational thought was any comfort while the papers were in the casket. For the first time Henrietta saw them as a source of real, life-threatening, danger. The moment she attempted to pass them on, but then she would be a spy in the eyes of the present government, and in Matthew's. He thought her wary of him because she had a lover, but in truth she was afraid he would think her a traitor.

  She had almost dozed off when Alice bustled in carrying a ewer of hot water and fresh towels. ‘Another fine morning, Mistress.’ The smile on her freckled face faded and died as she took in Henrietta's appearance. ‘Mistress… Henrietta… what happened?’

  ‘Nothing, Alice.’ How could she begin to explain? ‘I don't know what you mean.’

  ‘But the master was here for over an hour last night. Surely he… you – ’ She faltered into silence.

  ‘We talked. We have a lot to discuss.’

  ‘He had not the look of a man who had come for conversation. And the strings of your nightgown are broken.’ Alice leant forward and straightened the neck of the garment.

  ‘He kissed me.’ Henrietta managed to make it sound like a brotherly goodnight kiss.

  Alice gave her the hand-glass. ‘Look at your mouth, the marks of his evening beard on your neck.’

  Henrietta regarded the silvery reflection. Outwardly the face that looked back at her was unchanged, but inside nothing was as it had been. After only three days Matthew he had turned her existence upside down, changed her in ways she couldn't begin to calculate.

  Alice perched on the edge of the bed. ‘Are you saying he didn't lie with you?’

  ‘He did not.’

  ‘You wouldn't let him?’ Alice asked, incredulous.

  Henrietta opened her mouth to rebuke her, then fell silent as the scalding blush spread up her skin. Her new self-knowledge was hard to live with.

  ‘He didn't want to? What on earth did you do or say to anger him so?’

  ‘I called him a Puritan.’

  ‘But he is not, surely? Not in his dress, nor his ways, nor his speech. Now that clerk of his with his nasty, weasely ways - he's a Puritan if I ever saw one.’

  ‘We both lost our tempers. I don't want to talk about it any more, Alice, and I don't expect to find you've been gossiping in the kitchens about this. I shall get up now.’

  Alice sniffed, radiating hurt at the rebuke, but did as she was told, shaking out a light grey silk gown while Henrietta washed. After a while she broke the silence and began to chatter again. Alice never sulked for long. ‘Mistress Clifford was saying that Sir Matthew and Lawyer Stone will be leaving after breakfast.’

  ‘Leaving?’ The man was baffling. He had only just arrived to claim the estate. Had she angered him so much or, having laid down his authority, did he feel secure enough to return to London until the wedding?

  Yet his absence might be to her advantage, she realised, biting her lower lip in thought as she twisted up her hair. It would give her time to dispose of the papers, then when he returned she would have nothing on her conscience to prevent her being a good and faithful wife. But how long would it take to contact the Royalist agents and get the casket safe away?

  Chapter Ten

  Lawyer Stone was alone in th
e hall when Henrietta came down. He sat at one end of the long table, scowling as he cut himself a wedge from a great wheel of Cheddar cheese.

  ‘Do you have all you need, sir?’ Henrietta asked politely. ‘Sufficient ale, bread? Have they not brought you the cold beef?’

  ‘Girl's just gone for it. Thank you, Henrietta, your aunt has seen to it that I have ample. Your young man is in the garden, wouldn't stay and have a decent meal. I don't know what ails him, but perhaps you do?’ He fixed her with a gimlet eye under a bushy brow and Henrietta realised that his mind was sharp as a steel trap under the bluff exterior he liked to present to the world.

  Without answering she dropped a small curtsy and escaped into the warm sunshine. There was no sign of Matthew in the orchard nor in the knot garden so she crossed the carriageway and entered the walled herb garden.

  The space was alive with the hum of insects and heady with the scent of the herbs, each rising distinctly as the hem of her skirts brushed against them. Matthew was standing with his back to her by the furthest brick-edged bed, listening while Aunt Susan chattered on.

  ‘… excellent for congestions of the lungs. I think I have a bottle or two in the stillroom from last year. You must take some, sir, and promise me to try it. London Town is unhealthy at any time, but when the weather warms… Ah, Henrietta, my dear child. I was just telling Matthew about the benefits of comfrey. He was most interested.’ She cast a sharp glance at the two of them and picked up her basket and scissors. ‘Now I must see how Lawrence is getting on. I'm sure his housekeeper doesn't feed him properly.’ She bustled off, muttering about the unfortunate Mistress Partridge.

  ‘Really, I do not think she has ever clapped eyes on the poor woman,’ Henrietta said with an attempt at lightness.

  ‘Did you sleep well?’ Matthew ignored the quip.

  ‘Did you?’ she challenged, although she didn't need to ask. The shadowed eyes and tight lines of tiredness she'd seen in her own face in the glass were mirrored in his.