Puritan Bride

She dropped the pot. It shattered on the tiled floor at her feet, sending shards of painted clay in every direction.

Elizabeth groaned in frustration and self-disgust. Now she would have to clear it up, whatever mess it contained—apart from having wilfully destroyed a handsome jug. Relief and some surprise swept through her, however, when she realised that, in spite of the stopper and the seal, the jug was, in fact, empty. All she could see around her feet were broken pieces of pottery.

It took no time for Elizabeth to accept that her hips and knees would not allow her to stoop to the floor to sweep up the pieces, however much she might like to hide the evidence. Never mind, Mistress Neale would see to it. Or even Felicity. After all, it was her fault, calling out in such a fractious voice that Elizabeth had dropped it in the first place. At least the vessel would not have been worth very much. It was not as if it was a family heirloom. Old, yes, but surely not of any great value.

As she closed the cabinet, Elizabeth was touched by a prickle of ice all the way down her spine. She shivered, experiencing a sudden desire to leave the still-room and take refuge in the warmth and familiarity of the kitchen. Nothing tangible. Just a natural discomfort, brought on by the cold and damp. And guilt, probably!

She closed the door, locked it, and retraced her steps to the kitchen—but she was unable to throw off the faint chill of unease. She resisted an urge to look behind her.

Chapter Two

The formal gardens of Downham Hall were awash with spring sunshine, the clipped box hedges spangled with diamond raindrops. An attractive prospect after the gloom of winter months, but the chill wind and threat of further showers was sufficient to deter any but the hardiest of gardeners or the most determined seekers of natural beauty. Or solitude.

The lady, protected by a hooded cloak, was oblivious to the perfect symmetry of neat flower beds or the impressive vista of rolling park land. Her attention was clearly fixed on the man kneeling at her feet.

‘Kate! Will you marry me? You must know that I love you. It cannot be a surprise to you after all these months—years, even.’ The urgency in his tone surprised her: her cousin could usually be relied upon to remain calm and unruffled in any eventuality.

‘I … Oh, Richard! Do get up! If my uncle sees us, it will only make matters far worse than they already are. Besides, you are kneeling in a puddle.’

Richard rose to his feet, but kept a tight clasp of Kate’s hands.

‘Be serious, Kate. Marriage could solve all our problems, whatever Sir Henry believes. Besides, I know that you love me. I am certain that I have not been mistaken in this.’

Releasing her hands abruptly, Richard pushed back her hood so that Kate had no choice but to look at him when she answered. There might have been traces of tears on her cheeks, but she raised her eyes to his with no shadow of uncertainty.

‘You know how I feel, Richard. I have always cared for you. When we were children, you were my magnificent cousin. In recent years … I have come to rely on you far more than I think you realise.’

Richard returned her smile, but grasped her shoulders insistently. Kate became intensely aware of the pressure of his fingers through the worn velvet.

‘Then if that is so, why are you so anxious?’ He gave her a little shake. ‘Why will you not give your consent to wed me? To allow me to approach your uncle?’

Kate sighed and turned away, forcing him to release her. She appeared to survey the distant landscape, but her violet-blue eyes were focused on unseen horizons.

‘You know it is not possible.’ she explained patiently. ‘Come. Let us walk a little. I feel that walls have ears and there are too many people in this house who are willing to carry tales to my uncle. And none of them would wish us well.’

Richard offered his arm with a graceful bow. They crossed the paved terrace and descended the shallow steps to stroll amongst the wintry flower beds. By mutual agreement they came to a halt at the centre. Kate wrapped herself more closely into the heavy folds of her cloak and seated herself on the stone edging of an ornamental fountain.

‘Are we far enough from the house now to be out of earshot? We only have these underclad nymphs for company.’ Richard raised his hand in the direction of the marble mermaids and sea horses, silent witnesses who continued to release sprays of water from their conch shells. There was a teasing note in Richard’s voice, but Kate did not respond to it. Instead there was an unexpected depth of bitterness in her immediate reply.

‘No! We are not! I can never be far enough away. I know that I should be grateful, but gratitude has a finite quality—and I have been everlastingly grateful for twenty years!’

‘Then marry me. That will enable you to live sufficient distance from this house to give you all the freedom and independence you desire.’

Kate shook her head. ‘But don’t you see, Richard? Independence is the crux of the matter. I owe everything to my uncle. So does my mother. Since the day Winteringham Priory was besieged and overrun by the Royalists we have been dependent on Sir Henry for everything. From the food that we eat to the clothes that we stand up in.’ She smoothed her fingers over a worn patch of velvet and pushed a frayed ribbon edging out of sight. ‘How old was I when it happened? Three months? I have no recollection of my own home. My father’s death at Naseby simply complicated an already impossible situation. For twenty years Sir Henry has fed, clothed and housed my mother and myself. His plans for my future can not be lightly disregarded. And then, of course, there is the question of money!’ Kate’s eyes sparkled with anger. ‘And the land settlement!’

‘But surely our marriage would help to smooth over the inheritance problem?’ Richard joined her on the parapet and once more took possession of her cold fingers. ‘You are the direct heir to the estate. We know that a female claim brings its own difficulties but, after my father, I have the most direct male claim. Our marriage would ensure that Winteringham Priory returns to our family where it rightfully belongs. I can not accept that Sir Henry will be so antagonistic to our union. It would also be an excellent opportunity to get you off his hands for good!’

Richard’s persuasive argument did little to calm his companion. ‘Oh, I agree. I know all the arguments. How should I not? I have heard them so often over the past three years since the King returned. But I’m not at all sure that what is legal and rightful will play any part in the final outcome. My uncle certainly does not think so. Oh, Richard! Why does it all have to be so difficult?’

‘Politics, of course. And, as you so rightly said, money.’ In spite of Kate’s obvious distress, Richard rose abruptly and walked away from her. She watched him as he strode to the balustrade which separated them from the sunken garden. He leaned his hands upon it, his back to her. The rigid set of his shoulders spoke of his frustration at his inability to solve the problems of a financially ruined and disgraced Parliamentarian family in this time of revival of Royalist for tunes.

Her heart went out to him. Her own father had declared for Parliament, but his death in battle in 1645 had effectively removed the Harley family from the political scene. Her brother Edward, a baby, had died of the sweating sickness before she was born. Except for local events her uncle, Sir Henry Jessop, had deliberately remained uninvolved throughout the Interregnum. ‘A sensible man stays at home and keeps his head down!’ became his frequently expressed opinion.

Time had proved him to be right. For Richard, of course, it was an entirely different matter. The Hothams had always held to strong views and strong actions, in both politics and religion. Simon, Richard’s father, had a reputation for uncompromising Puritanism and, as a military man, had become a figure of significant importance in Cromwell’s New Model Army. Sir Henry even suspected him of supporting the execution of King Charles back in 1649. The new King would assuredly recognise the name of Hotham as that of a sworn enemy.

And now the Royalists were back in power, which promised little in the way of restoration of wealth or political advancement for any of those who had chosen to stand for Oliver Cromwell. The pardon for all sins committed in the name of Parliament was the most they could hope for.

As if aware of her scrutiny, Richard turned and walked back towards Kate. The fitful sun glinted on his fair hair, which he wore curling on to his shoulders, and highlighted the worn patches on his severe black coat. He no longer wore the distinguishing white collar of his youth, but no one would regard him as any other than an impoverished country gentlemen of a Puritan persuasion. And as such, he could not possibly figure in Sir Henry’s plans for his niece.

Once more standing before her, Richard demanded, ‘What of your mother? Has she no views on your marriage? Has she no influence with her brother?’

Kate’s immediate laugh expressed anything but amusement. ‘How can you ask it? I love my mother dearly, but I can expect no help from that quarter. She is entirely dominated by my uncle. She will go along with exactly what he plans and will be far too timid to voice even the slightest objection. She fears argument and dissension more than anything.’

‘You clearly do not take after her!’ Richard observed with more than a hint of irony.

‘No.’ Kate sighed with a wry smile and tucked her wind-blown curls back into her hood. ‘It might be more comfortable for everyone if I did. I am, my uncle frequently states, a true Harley. All self-will and determination, and a refusal to listen to good advice. He does not, of course, intend it as a compliment.’

‘My lady!’ Richard swept a mock bow with his broad-brimmed hat. ‘I would not love you half so much if you were a meek little mouse. And were you aware that you have the most charming smile?’

‘Thank you, sir!’ Kate stood and swept him a regal curtsy, extending her hand for him to kiss, which he promptly did. Her troubles were momentarily swept away, a smile lighting her face with an inner glow.

‘You shine as the sun in my life, dear Kate.’

‘And you, sir, are a flirt,’ responded Kate with a delightful chuckle. ‘What would your severe parent say if he could hear you?’

‘He would say that it is God’s will that you become my wife and that we restore the Harley fortunes together.’

‘I fear that it will depend more on the influence of Sir Henry than on God in the end!’

‘Katherine! But that’s blasphemy!’ The glint in Richard’s eyes did not quite rob his words of criticism of her flippant attitude. ‘Indeed, my father is very strongly in favour of our marriage. He would welcome you as a daughter-in-law, as would my mother. Let me approach Sir Henry,’ he urged once more. ‘We cannot plan for the future unless we give him the opportunity to accept or reject me.’

‘You are very determined, sir. And persuasive.’ She took his arm and they continued their perambulations, abandoning the nymphs to their watery frolics.

‘Why not? I can see nothing but advantage for us. Do you agree?’

‘I find the idea of marriage to you most acceptable, dear Richard,’ Kate assured him. ‘It’s just that …’ She hesitated, then turned towards him as she made up her mind to speak. ‘If my uncle disapproves, he could rake over all the old bitterness of past years. And he might forbid you the house. How could I exist if I could never see you again? I have no confidence in Sir Henry’s compassion or tolerance.’

Before Richard could respond, they became aware of footsteps crunching on the gravel walk. Swynford, Sir Henry’s steward, approached. He studiously ignored the closeness of the pair and their joined hands. With an impassive countenance, he bowed to Richard and then Kate. His words were for Kate.

‘Forgive me, Mistress Harley. Sir Henry has sent me with a message. He and Lady Philippa desire your presence. In the library.’ He hesitated and then added, ‘Sir Henry would wish to see you immediately.’

‘Thank you, Swynford.’ Kate smiled her gratitude, picking up the note of warning in the steward’s demeanour through long custom. ‘Tell me … is Sir Henry aware that Mr Hotham has called on me … on us?’

‘No, mistress. I believe that he is not aware of this circumstance, although Mr Simon Hotham is with him now. I do not believe,’ he continued imperturbably, ‘that there is any need for his lordship to know.’

‘Thank you, Swynford.’ The steward returned to the terrace and Kate faced Richard for a final farewell.

‘I think that you should not speak with Sir Henry now,’ she stated. ‘I don’t know why he desires my presence so urgently, but I have a premonition that it will not be an agreeable experience. It rarely is! To discuss marriage now would be to stir up a viper’s nest.’

‘So you wish me to leave you to face Sir Henry alone?’

‘Indeed, it would be better.’

Richard was reluctant to release her. ‘Remember that, whatever happens, I love you more than life itself,’ he assured her. ‘I promise that I will always stand by you and protect you.’

The garden was suddenly silent, magnifying the tension between them. Even the blackbirds in the adjacent cherry hedge stopped their scufflings. Whatever encouragement Richard read in her eyes, he drew Kate firmly towards him and kissed her, first on her forehead and then, as he received no rebuff, on her lips. It was a gentle, undemanding kiss, a mere promise of future passion. Her hair, whipped into a tangle of ringlets by the persistent breeze, caressed his face as his arms encircled her waist beneath the folds of her cloak. She felt a flicker of response surge through her body as his hands stroked her sides, her arms and then reached to smooth her hair. It was an intimately possessive gesture, leaving Kate in no doubt about her cousin’s feelings towards her. Then, before she could respond further—and, indeed, she was unsure just how she wished to respond—he let his arms fall from her and stepped back, releasing her, leaving everything between them once more unresolved.

‘Then I will say good day, Mistress Harley.’ Richard had himself firmly under control and spoke formally. ‘Or perhaps I should say adieu.’

He bowed once more with one hand on his heart.

‘Adieu, Mr Hotham,’ Kate whispered in like fashion and held out her hand.

Richard raised her palm to his lips in a final salute, aware of her trembling fingers. ‘I give you my word,’ he affirmed in a low voice, ‘one day you will be my wife. You will belong to me. I will not allow anything or anyone to stand in my way.’

With that, Richard released her, turned on his heel and strode through the flower beds towards the distant stables. Kate was left to follow him with longing in her eyes, her heart beating a shade more quickly than usual. She had never believed Richard to be capable of such intensity, such determination. She traced the outline of her lips with one finger and smiled as she remembered the firm pressure of his mouth on hers. He was so certain. She wished with all her heart that she could be equally so.

Richard’s disappearance through the ornamental gateway recalled Kate to the more immediate situation. A small frown creased her brow. Whatever it was, it had to be faced. With characteristic squaring of the shoulders and not a little forboding, she turned her steps towards the house. It was only then that she noticed how the sun had been obliterated by dark clouds and the first heavy drops of rain were beginning to fall.

‘No!’

The single word hung in the sudden silence. Kate slowly drew in her breath, eyes fixed defiantly on Sir Henry Jessop, and waited for the storm to break. She did not have to wait long. Not even the presence of Simon Hotham, hunched and brooding in a high-backed chair beside the fireplace, could restrain her uncle from expressing his displeasure toward his errant niece.

‘No?’ Sir Henry rose from his chair behind the desk with a distinct air of menace. ‘Perhaps I have misunderstood you, madam?’

Kate bowed her head, but not in submission. She remained straight-backed, alone and defiant in the centre of the room.

‘No,’ she repeated it with commendable calm. ‘There is no misunderstanding. I will not marry Viscount Marlbrooke.’

Sir Henry thrust back his chair, which lurched violently, rounding on his sister who shrank back in alarm.

‘What’s this? Did I not tell you to instruct your 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 accept Marlbrooke’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 ignored Kate’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 and her 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 and—’

‘I know it! Mother, how can you countenance this match? Surely the events of the past were too painful for you to lay aside now without comment? Driven from your home by the direct orders of Viscount Marlbrooke, unable to make contact with your husband, your baby son dead and myself only a few months old—how can you tolerate this?’

Lady Philippa raised her handkerchief to catch the tears that had begun to flow down her cheeks. ‘Indeed, my love. It is all true. But …’ she sniffed and blew her nose ‘… your uncle believes that this marriage will be for the best and will secure the Priory for our family. I don’t quite understand … but pray listen to him, my love. He is thinking of your comfort as well as the restitution of the family.’ She began to sob in earnest to Sir Henry’s evident disgust. He cast his eyes to heaven.

‘So how can my marriage to Viscount Marlbrooke be in any way advantageous?’ Kate demanded of her uncle as she abandoned any hope of a sensible response from her mother.

‘Your niece has the truth of it. I am unable to support you in this proposal, Sir Henry.’ The words dropped into the heated atmosphere with the sizzle of hailstones into a dish of mulled ale.

Simon Hotham had remained silent, his crippled fingers, talon-like, resting awkwardly on the oak carving of his chair. His pale grey eyes settled on his brother by marriage, fierce and uncompromising with a depth of contempt for the argument developing round him. Once he had had an enviable reputation as a soldier in Cromwell’s Army. But that was before the destruction of Republicanism and Puritanism, the two great causes of his life, and, after taking a bullet wound in his thigh in the Battle of Worcester, the destruction of his health. Now his once tall, well-muscled body, used to a life of action and authority, was bent and wasted, his face lined with pain. Now he found difficulty in walking even the shortest distance without the aid of sticks and rarely travelled far from home. Bitter disillusion, a dark cloud, now cloaked his every move and thought, his driving ambition being to restore the power and authority of the Hotham family, through his son Richard. Richard, his first born and light of his life. Simon’s fair hair was lank and thinning, his lips pressed into a thin line of austerity, his cheeks hollowed. Yet Kate saw Richard in his face and build and smiled her gratitude for his championship of her cause. She was surprised to receive help from this quarter.

‘I find that I must agree with Mistress Katherine,’ Mr Hotham continued, ignoring Kate and addressing his remarks to Sir Henry. ‘I cannot believe that you would even consider marriage to an Oxenden. It brands you a traitor to the name of Harley and negates everything that your sister suffered in her exile from her home.’

‘Forgive me, Simon—’ a nerve twitched in Sir Henry’s jaw as he strove to control his anger at this unwarranted interruption ‘—but this is not your concern. And even you must see that the marriage would guarantee to restore the Priory to us and our descendants.’

‘Perhaps.’ Hotham’s lips curled sardonically. ‘But would it not be better to fight for the inheritance through the Courts? Do you really wish to be beholden to the family of Oxenden, who despoiled the Priory in the first place?’

‘I do not see that we have any choice.’

‘You do. You know it. Let Katherine marry Richard. It is a union made before God. He is the direct heir to the property after Katherine—and marriage will provide a male claimant. That would sit strongly with the Courts. And it would unite and strengthen the family. I can think of no better means.’