Marriage Under Siege Read Online Free PDF Page B

all gone at
last. Honoria, Lady Mansell, stood with her back to the smoking fire, listening
to the silence around her. Absently she stroked the coarse shoulders of
Morrighan, the wolfhound, who pressed close. Now what? Until this moment there
had been so many necessary tasks for her to supervise or undertake, so much to
fill her mind. Now there was nothing—until the business dealings with Mr
Wellings, Edward's lawyer, on the following morning. No one had taken up the
offer of hospitality. How would they, in all honesty, wish to stay in this
dismal castle, the very air redolent of despair, of hopelessness. Even Sir
Joshua had gone to pack his' few possessions prior to making the short journey
to Ludlow before night fell. What should she do now? Her brain seemed to be incapable
of coming to any sensible decision. All she wished to do was retire to her room
and sleep for a week. Or weep from the relief that she was no longer governed
by Lord Edward's demands. But she would not! Tears solved no problems.
    The great door at the end
of the Hall opened to admit a blast of cold air and the new lord. He hesitated
for a moment as he saw her there and then, as if reaching a difficult decision,
walked slowly towards her, eyes intent. She lowered hers. It would not do to
increase her vulnerability by a show of emotion or uncertainty. Or weakness. If
she had learnt anything at all in her short life, it was just that.
    She remembered him vividly
from their first encounter at Whitehall.
    He had not remembered her,
except as a vague acquaintance—indeed, how should he? She was not a noticeable
person, would not draw a man's attention in a crowd. Her hair, her face, her
figure were all acceptable, she supposed, but really quite commonplace.
Certainly not attractive enough to catch the eye of a man such as Francis
Brampton, as he was then styled. But she remembered him.
    And she remembered his
wife. His betrothed as she had been then in the final months of 1640.
Katherine. A lively, laughing sprite of a girl. A vibrant beauty with slender
figure, tawny hair and jade green eyes, a young girl experiencing the pleasures
of Court for the first time—the allure of the masques, the songs, the dancing.
And they had so clearly been in love. A glance. A touch. A smile. Such small
gestures had shouted their passion to the roof timbers. So much promise for
the future of their marriage together. With an effort of will, Honoria closed
her eyes to blot out the memory and governed her mind against the envy that had
engulfed her and still had the power to bruise her heart. How could her own
experience of marriage have been so empty of love, so painful and humiliating?
    But, after all, what right
had she to complain? Katherine was dead.
    Honoria saw Mansell now
when she raised her eyes once more, her control again securely in place, her
lips firm. Not a courtier, in spite of his appearance at the sophisticated
Court of Charles and Henrietta Maria, but rather a man of action. A soldier,
perhaps. She knew that he was a younger son and so had been prepared to make a name
for himself as a soldier or, more likely, politician. But then his elder
brother had died, in a minor, meaningless skirmish against opposing forces near
their estates in , Suffolk, thus thrusting Sir Francis, as he became, into the
role of head of family, into the elite of county society.
    Honoria studied him. He was
tall and rangy, well co-ordinated with long, lean muscles. Hard and fit, he
carried no extra weight, his black velvet coat emphasising his broad shoulders
and the sleek line of waist and thigh. She could imagine him being equally at
home in the saddle or wielding a sword in battle. He walked towards her with
long strides, with a natural grace and elegance, of which he was probably
unaware.
    He was not conventionally
handsome, she decided—his features were too strong for that. But striking.
Definitely not a man to be ignored in any circles. His hair, which waved to his
shoulders,