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daughter in what is expected of her?’
    ‘Well … of course, Henry, but … I haven’t … that is to say …’
    ‘I understand only too clearly, madam! I hoped that I could rely on you in matters concerning the welfare of this family. It seems once again that I was wrong. Is it too much to ask?’
    ‘But indeed, brother—’
    Kate intervened to save her mother from any further distress.
    ‘My mother did not have the opportunity to inform me of your wishes, sir. I have been engaged with the housekeeper this morning.’ She risked a quick glance at her mother to plead her compliance with this obvious lie, but received no recognition. ‘But whether I was aware of your plans or not,’ she continued, ‘I will not comply.’
    ‘Indeed. It is high time you were married with a husband to teach you obedience and good manners since your lady mother has so clearly failed. You will acceptMarlbrooke’s offer or I will have you locked in your room and whipped until you do.’
    Kate’s eyes flashed with anger, her usually pale cheeks washed with a delicate colour.
    ‘How dare you! I have been obedient to your wishes all my life. But this is a different matter. My father fought for Parliament against the King and served the cause loyally.’
    ‘I am well aware of your father’s unwise commitment.’
    But Kate refused to be deflected by the sly slur on her father’s memory. ‘He gave up his life for his beliefs at Naseby. How can I tarnish his memory by marrying a popinjay of a Royalist? A courtier who concerns himself with nothing but pleasure.’
    ‘You know nothing about him, girl! How should you? As for the rest, it is all history and must be buried with all speed. It will do us no good to hang on to past loyalties.’ Sir Henry might be too well aware of Marlbrooke’s reputation, but he had no intention of acknowledging it before his wilful niece. The less ammunition she had against this marriage, the better.
    Kate turned to her mother in despair. ‘My father would not have wanted this. Would he?’ She sank on her knees beside her mother’s chair in a swish of blue velvet skirts. ‘Have you nothing to say to support me in this?’
    But Lady Philippa refused to meet her eyes or respond to her daughter’s anguish. She simply sat, continuing to pleat the lace edging of her handkerchief, and ignoredKate’s grasp on her arm. Kate watched her in exasperation, wondering not for the first time how she could have so little in common with this nervous, faded lady who had given her birth. Her face was still unlined and her figure had the trimness of youth, but her soft brown hair, severely confined, and her blue eyes had faded with time as if she might slowly disappear from view. Even her grey damask gown added to the illusion that it was her wish to become invisible, to merge with the furniture and hangings. Widowhood had not treated her kindly. She needed love and support to bolster her self-esteem: her brother’s blustering spirit caused her to wince and cower. Even now she turned her face away from the intense emotions expressed around her.
    ‘Your father is dead,’ continued Sir Henry as if Kate had not interrupted him. ‘As your uncle, your marriage is now my affair. The war and your father’s death ruined us. We must restore our fortunes—and this is the obvious opportunity.’
    Kate rose to her feet and swept round to face her uncle, seizing the obvious weapon for attack, to Sir Henry’s dismay. ‘I have been told of the state of our family fortunes since childhood. Surely the chief cause of our ruin was Viscount Marlbrooke himself? And now you wish to marry me into the Oxenden family. His son, I presume? I find the logic of this beyond belief and it smacks to me of hypocrisy.’ The sarcasm was heavy on her tongue andher direct gaze issued a challenge to Sir Henry. He picked up the challenge immediately.
    ‘Your memory is perfectly sound. Marlbrooke took possession of Winteringham Priory in 1643