Puritan Bride (15 page)

‘I will bear that in mind. What a managing person you are. I had not realised.’ As they walked a little in silence, his clasp on her hand where it rested on his arm was warm and companionable, calming her uncertainties. Kate found herself having to fight the desire to trust this man, to open up her guarded thoughts and feelings to him, to lean on his strength. It would be so easy—and so dangerous.

She took the rosemary that Marlbrooke had casually plucked and now held out to her, and raised it to inhale the fragrance, contemplating it with a slight frown.

‘What is it, dearest Kate?’

‘I was just thinking. My uncle is so bitter, so angry,
driven by nameless passions. My mother says that the pain has crippled his mind as well as his limbs, that it has destroyed his clear judgement and pushes him to extremes. I think his wife—my aunt Lucy—finds life very difficult with him.’ Now she raised her eyes to Marlbrooke’s. ‘And yet, your mother, Lady Elizabeth—she is so full of courage and joy. The pain has not robbed her of her warm heart or her loving spirit to any degree.’

‘A loving spirit.’ Marlbrooke smiled down at his intended bride. Her sensitivity held great charm for him. ‘You have the truth of it. And I agree. She has all my admiration, although it would not do for me to tell her so.’ They turned to retrace their steps towards the house before he continued, somewhat pensively. ‘It concerns me that some days my mother finds it difficult—well-nigh impossible—to walk far and so rarely leaves the house, even to stroll in the gardens. She loved the gardens at Glasbury, I believe, although I was too young to pay much heed to such things. It must be a great loss to her.’ It was as if he were speaking to himself, voicing a deeply hidden concern.

‘Have you thought of …?’

‘Of what?’

‘No matter.’ Kate turned away towards a naked arbour that would soon be a riot of roses and honeysuckle, suddenly reluctant to interfere in matters that some would think were not her concern. ‘I am sure you have considered
all possibilities for Lady Elizabeth’s comfort. I would not presume to suggest otherwise.’

‘Yes, you would. Damn it! Why are women so difficult?’

‘I am not difficult!’

‘You are perverse—and quite delightful! Tell me, dearest Kate, what is it that you are quite sure that I have not thought of—but are unwilling to voice in case you step on my supremely sensitive toes?’

But the opportunity was gone as Verzons appeared at their side.

‘My lord. You have a visitor who requests speech with you. The Reverend Peters. He appears to be in some degree of agitation and claims a matter of great urgency for the whole community.’ Verzons’s mouth bore a sceptical twist. ‘Do I say that you are unavailable?’

Marlbrooke’s brows rose. ‘The Reverend Peters? No, Master Verzons, I will come. If you would show him into the library and provide him with some refreshment, I will be there shortly.’

‘What have you done to upset the local clergy in your short residence here?’ Kate glanced up at him with a sympathetic twist to her lips. ‘Refused to attend church services, perhaps?’

‘To my knowledge, I have done nothing. I expect it is the problem of footpads and robbers on the Common—they seem to be spreading like a very contagious rash. The Reverend Peters will expect me to take action. God
and the lord of the manor against the devil and all his works, or something of that nature. This is not an interview I anticipate with any joy. Would you care to accompany me and help to soothe his ruffled feathers?’

‘Certainly not! I think you will deal with it admirably without me. What will you say?’

‘That I will communicate with Moreton, the local Justice of the Peace, and together we will take suitable action. That should satisfy him—indeed, it is a problem that must be looked to and it is within my jurisdiction. Meanwhile, I will leave you to consider the means of helping my mother that you will not discuss with me.’ He took her hands, linking her fingers with his, and turned her to face him.

‘Do you mean that you are willing to give me a free hand, my lord?’ His eyes were full of light and laughter as he considered her request, trapping her own into a union of more than hands. Kate felt her limbs grow weak at the warmth of the bond developing between them.

‘That sounds dangerous. I know that I might regret it—but very well. As long as you promise me that it will involve neither Isolde nor Gilliver.’

She laughed. ‘I promise. But it might involve Jenks!’

‘You are a revelation, my love. Will you not tell me?’

‘Never!’

He kissed her hand and then her lips, lingering a little as he tasted their sweetness. ‘Then do your worst, dear Viola. I know that you will find enjoyment in it!’

Kate remained for a long moment as he left her, enjoying the graceful elegance of well-tuned muscle with which he mounted the steps to the terrace. A faint smile warmed her eyes and softened her lips as she was forced, even against her better judgement, to acknowledge the pleasure that she could find in his company and conversation—and the disturbing heat that fanned her blood when his mouth touched hers. Such a light caress, and yet her hands clenched involuntarily at the sharp memory. Her fingers bruised the rosemary leaves that he had given her until their fragrance surrounded her and filled her senses, as his kiss had done.

And then, with a little shake of the head, she turned back towards the stables, to speak with Jenks about the little matter of a chair.

L
ondon!

Marlbrooke had suddenly announced, with typical arrogance and lack of consideration for the occupants of Winteringham Priory, that they would go to London. The King had decided to hold a celebration—he forgot for what reason—but then Charles did not need a reason other than his own pleasure. Kate frowned at the Viscount’s highhandedness. The fact that Elizabeth, and even Felicity in her dour way, responded to the prospect with unconcealed pleasure irritated Kate even more.

‘When shall I expect you to return, my lord? Or perhaps it is your intention to remain in London.’ Kate stood before the Viscount in his library, shoulders braced, her tone light with casual interest. He would not know of the sudden disappointment that gripped her at the news.

‘No, Viola. It is not my intention to remain in London.’ His face betrayed no amusement. ‘A week. Perhaps a little longer. It will depend on how much shopping my mother wishes to do. Or how soon she can drag herself away from old friends.’

‘I know that she looks forward to it.’ Kate’s lips felt stiff when she tried a smile.
I will refuse to admit that I will miss you!

‘London has much to offer.’

‘So I am told.’

‘And
you,
dear Kate …’ he relented ‘… so that you will do more than know of its attractions secondhand,
you
will accompany us.’

‘No!’ Was it shock, surprise? Horror, even? ‘I cannot.’ She would certainly not admit to the quick burn of excitement in her stomach.

‘Why not? You will make your curtsy to his Majesty and allow your Puritan soul to be revolted by all the excesses of the Court and the depravity of the capital. You will enjoy it above all things.’

He watched her carefully, her attempts to hide the leap of pleasure. And then he saw her lips part. His response was both accurate and immediate.

‘Don’t say it! Don’t argue with me. It will do you no good. I have decided.’

After which there was no more to be said, and nothing to do but pack her meagre belongings and inform Gilliver of her destination.

*  *  *

Her aunt’s response was colourful and predictable, but Kate found in herself the ability to ignore what she did not wish to hear. She listened patiently to biting comments on the likelihood of her selling her soul to the devil, the relationship between sow’s ears and silk purses, and the perils of visits to the Thrice-Damned Den of Iniquity which was the capital.

‘Don’t let him turn your head.’ Gilliver ended her tirade. ‘He is still the enemy, and it will behove you not to forget it! You owe some allegiance to the Harley name, my girl, even though it seems to me that you seem to have forgotten that small fact. Allowing your head to be turned by a handsome face and a pocket of gold! You should be ashamed of yourself.’

But she relented enough to gift her one of the remarkable diamond brooches that adorned her person. ‘This is suitable for a Court appearance.’ Unpinning it, she rubbed the tarnished metal on her shawl, but with no noticeable effect on the lustre. ‘You can return it to me when you come home.’

Kate thanked her and eyed its massive brilliance askance. She could imagine no occasion when she would wear it, but meekly thanked Gilliver for her generosity and promised not to be seduced by the pursuit of pleasure.

For Kate, London was an experience for which nothing in her sheltered life at Downham Hall had prepared
her. The crowded streets with their mass of humanity, the constant bustle, the squalor and the filth. From the moment of her arrival in Marlbrooke’s comfortable travelling coach she was both enthralled and repelled, in equal measure. The shops with their wealth of goods beckoned seductively to a girl brought up strictly with no regard to fashion or luxury. The beggars who struggled to live in the lowest degradation contrasted uncomfortably with the comparative luxury of her own childhood—even when her dress had been threadbare and not of her choosing, she had lacked for nothing. The smart streets that housed the rich made sharp and appealing contrast with life in the depths of rural seclusion. Elegant Palladian façades with pillars and friezes, created from Inigo Jones’s designs, entranced her. But the refuse in the streets, with its rank smell and threat of disease, and the ragged children who swarmed in the gutters, without food and without hope, appalled her.

She would not have missed it for the world.

The Marlbrooke town house in the Strand, flanked by other houses of the rich, was, of course, far smaller than the rambling wings and inconvenient corridors of Winteringham Priory, but she quickly realised that it had far more to offer in the way of luxury and comfort. It was now perfectly understandable to her why Lady Elizabeth sighed over it when damp chills settled over the Priory. And so many people were there to welcome them with warmth and easy friendship. No wonder Elizabeth found
life in London more congenial and easier to bear. Her high sprits and lively anticipation were infectious as they set themselves to wring every moment of pleasure from a week of celebration and festivity.

It was rendered even more attractive by Felicity’s decision to absent herself from the household for a few days to visit a cousin.

‘Shall we not then have the pleasure of your company, Felicity?’ Elizabeth was all concern as she pulled on a pair of fine kid gloves, turning them to admire the smooth fit. ‘I had presumed that you would accompany us.’

‘No. I have no wish to attend Court. And it is my duty to visit Cousin Mary, who I believe is unwell.’ Felicity sniffed, mouth curled in derision, as she took the opportunity to express her opinions at length. Such lewd behaviour as went on there, if only half the rumours were true! Why, she had heard—and did not doubt it for one moment—of one of the Queen’s ladies-in-waiting actually giving birth to a child in an anteroom at the New Year’s festivities! What sort of behaviour was that? She eyed Kate with ill-concealed malice. It would do well for the lady to note the society to which Marlbrooke belonged and to which he would no doubt choose to return when the inheritance was settled.

‘For after all …’ Felicity’s lips thinned even further as she warmed to her task ‘… my lord has always expressed his appreciation of the culture and sophistication to be
found here in London. The wit of clever conversation with friends, the music and dancing. The theatre. And the elegance of the fashionable company, of course. Why would he possibly wish to bury himself in the country? He will see no attraction there, I warrant, once the novelty of life at Winteringham Priory has worn off. I am sure that you will soon see this for yourself, Mistress Harley, brought up in Sir Henry Jessop’s austere household. It will be very different from your own limited experience.’ Felicity folded her hands complacently, having made her point.

Kate could make no reply. The spiteful observations were to remain with her, making for uncomfortable speculation. It was unfortunately true. This was Marlbrooke’s world, not hers. Kate closed her eyes and mind to the comments she imagined from Sir Henry on the frivolity of Charles II’s scandal-ridden Court. Or, even worse, from Simon Hotham’s bitter lips.

‘I doubt that Marlbrooke is quite as shallow as your picture paints, my dear Felicity. But we shall miss your company, of course.’ Elizabeth responded to Felicity’s words, as always, in the handling of her companion, her tone gentle and conciliatory, if a trifle dry.

Marlbrooke, later in private, was not.

‘Thank God! It would seem that occasionally the Heavens are pleased to smile on sinners! Let us make the most of Cousin Mary’s chronic ill health. She has my utmost sympathy.’ And so saying, swept them off to a
performance of
Macbeth
at the newly opened and most extravagant Duke’s Theatre. Here any concerns that Kate might have had concerning the wisdom of her visit to Gilliver’s den of iniquity were swept away by the enchantment of colourful scenery, ingenious devices and dramatic performance of Master Shakespeare’s bloodcurdling tragedy.

They attended the Royal Court at Whitehall, of course. To a ball, to a reception, to a masque. On Wednesday morning they gathered with other privileged members of London society to watch Charles and Queen Catherine dine in formal splendour. Promenades in St James’s Park enabled them to admire the avenues of trees and the expanse of water. It was indeed a round of pleasure. Marlbrooke was usually in attendance to guarantee their comfort—but not invariably so. If he gambled and wasted his fortune, Kate did not see it. If he spent his nights alone or in female company, she was not aware.
You have no right to think about it!
The voice in her head was sharp as it lectured her.
What is it to you how he spends his time?
But she was honest enough with herself to recognise the sharp twist of jealousy when she and Lady Elizabeth spent an evening at home without him.

As promised, she was taken to make her curtsy to the King at Whitehall, at a formal reception to welcome the newly appointed Portuguese ambassador. She was
nervous, understandably so when face to face with her King, unable to raise her eyes above the gold buttons on his waistcoat as she sank gracefully to the polished floor, her skirts billowing round her. But Charles was quick to put her at her ease. He had been well informed.

‘Lady Elizabeth. It is good to see you in town again and in health. And Mistress Harley. The Puritan bride. So I get to meet you at last.’

‘Yes, your Grace.’

She risked a glance, to find him smiling at her with complete understanding. Tall, taller than Marlbrooke, loose-limbed and swarthy, the lines of cynicism were already deeply engraved on his harsh face. But his smile warmed her heart: she understood at that moment why many could speak of him with such affection.

‘And are you enjoying your first experience of Court, Mistress Katherine?’

‘Yes, your Grace. It is beyond anything I had dreamed of.’ She fought against the acute embarrassment of knowing that her family had waged war against this man and rejoiced in the death of his father on the scaffold. Charles, with quick intelligence and intuition, was aware and took steps.

‘The past is over, Mistress Harley. I hold no grudges for the past. Especially against beautiful women.’ His smile illuminated his harsh features to a fleeting beauty. Kate now knew why so many women found it easy to surrender to Charles’s demands. She looked up in
consternation at his accurate reading of her thoughts, her face becomingly flushed, her deep blue eyes wide with apprehension as her King held out his hand to lift her to her feet.

‘You are a lucky man, Marlbrooke.’ Charles cast him a sly glance, a knowing grin.

‘I think so, sir.’

‘If she were not yours, I might consider giving you some competition.’

‘I would hate to refuse you, your Grace.’

‘But you would, of course. And rightly.’ His Majesty laughed with utmost good humour, touched the Viscount’s arm. ‘Come, Marlbrooke, and play a hand of cards with me for your sins. It will take us out of the reach of our Portuguese visitor with his bad English and inability to stay silent.’ He bowed to the ladies. ‘Lady Elizabeth. Until next time.’ And then, before he turned away, ‘I delight in your company, Mistress Harley. And regrettably leave you to the safekeeping of my lord Marlbrooke.’

‘And I felt no better than a prize pig, to be haggled over!’ Kate announced to Elizabeth when they were alone.

‘Never a pig!’ Elizabeth laughed gently at Kate’s outrage, understanding the conflict of allegiance that pulled at her.

‘A filly, then!’ She was not to be placated.

‘But a very pretty one—or his Majesty would not have
noticed you.’ Lady Elizabeth saw the answering gleam in Kate’s eyes. ‘And you have to admit that he has an easy charm.’

Kate was prepared to admit to no such thing, but returned the pressure of Elizabeth’s fingers.

Taking a seat against the painted walls to ease her aching limbs, Elizabeth took the time to point out some of the notables at Court. The notorious Barbara Castlemaine, smaller than Kate had expected, but eye-catching with her vibrant hair and sharp features. The Earl of Clarendon, the King’s chief minister, portly and already nervous at his master’s lack of political interest and disinclination for business. And, of course, Frances Stewart, Charles’s most recent mistress, tall and elegant and quite beautiful, setting herself up as Lady Castlemaine’s rival with consummate skill. It made for engrossing entertainment. But throughout, Kate could not but be aware of eyes turned in her direction. All assessing. Some pitying. Some critical. Her new court dress gave her confidence, of course—who could fail to admire the tight bodice with its full sleeves and low neckline, to delight in the soft fall of full skirts of violet silk, over a brocaded petticoat? Dressed in the height of French fashion, Kate gloried in its femininity—and deliberately closed her mind against Gilliver’s imagined strictures against vanity and avarice. Even the growth of her hair gave her some satisfaction—
the style achieved by her maid and a careful application of satin ribbon was almost acceptable.

Yet she still felt vulnerable in the face of such sophistication and more than thankful for Elizabeth’s reassuring presence. The arrogant smiles and whispered asides, not quite hidden behind gently fluttering fans, tore at the rags of Kate’s self-possession that she was determined to wrap herself in. She might find it difficult to retain her composure, but still held her head high. Ignorant of Court ways she might be, lacking in clever conversation and sophisticated banter, but she had wit and intelligence and so would hold her own. For whatever reason, she was betrothed to Viscount Marlbrooke and so owed something to her new status. And to her father’s memory, whatever his political allegiance. She discovered that she had a depth of pride which she could draw on—and it was demanded of her frequently.