Garland of Straw (Roundheads & Cavaliers Book 2)

by Stella Riley

  This time she succeeded in startling him and Gabriel took the time to wonder if her apparent vagueness was really all it seemed. Then, because she was right and he had the feeling that she might actually understand, he found himself doing exactly what she had suggested.

  He told her everything. His desire to stay in the Army, his unwillingness to accept Brandon Lacey, his determination to shed responsibility for Ford Edge; and finally, in a few short, telling sentences, he described the previous day’s meeting with Venetia.

  Sophia stroked the cat in her lap and said slowly, ‘I wonder … I wonder if Venetia has seen Lawyer Crisp at all.’

  ‘I’ve no idea. If she has, neither of them mentioned it. Does it matter?’

  ‘Oh yes. It would explain why she agreed to marry you.’

  Gabriel frowned. ‘Surely we already know that.’

  ‘Perhaps. But if she also knows about the money, it would have been the last straw. Don’t you see?’

  ‘No,’ he said, ‘I don’t see. What about the money?’

  ‘The fact that there isn’t any,’ replied Sophia simply. ‘Didn’t Mr Crisp tell you?’

  ‘Not a word – but then, I didn’t ask.’ The frown deepened. ‘Sophy … in plain terms and as briefly as possible – what are you saying?’

  ‘Oh dear.’ She sighed and fidgeted with her shawls. ‘I don’t know what you were expecting your inheritance to be but the simple truth is that you’ve got Brandon Lacey and very little else. About five hundred pounds, to be precise. I’m sorry.’

  Gabriel’s expression cleared and a hint of laughter warmed his eyes.

  ‘Sorry? Why? When you’ve never had much more than twenty pounds at a time, five hundred sounds like a fortune.’

  ‘Yes, I daresay it would. But it’s not, you know. Not when you have to pay taxes on an estate of this size – and with the poor harvest we’ve just had.’

  ‘But enough, wouldn’t you say, on which to manage until we can begin to do better?’

  She nodded.

  ‘Then there’s no problem, is there?’ He shrugged. ‘I don’t yearn for riches and my requirements are very simple.’

  ‘But Venetia wouldn’t know that,’ objected Sophia unhappily. ‘And, if Lawyer Crisp told her how things stand here, she may have worried that you’d want to fill your coffers at the expense of Ford Edge.’

  The Colonel leaned back in his chair, staring thoughtfully into his wine.

  ‘Do you think it likely that he did tell her?’

  ‘It’s possible. You see, Mr Crisp acted for Sir Charles Clifford as well as for Robert.’

  ‘So he may have felt some responsibility towards her? Yes. I see.’ A small, bitter smile curled his mouth. ‘And, if he did, dear Venetia must have been a good deal more eager for our marriage than she would have me know. What a pity it didn’t make her a bit more courteous.’

  Sophia bent her head over the cat and examined a battle-scar on one of its ears.

  ‘So you’ll still marry her?’

  ‘Since the reasons for doing so haven’t changed, yes. But the likelihood of her having colluded with the lawyer to pull the wool over my eyes doesn’t make me like it any better.’

  ‘I suppose not. But she is more to be pitied than blamed, you know. She never used to be the way you see her now. Only with Kit dying and then her father – and Ellis going abroad the way he did, life hasn’t been very easy for her.’

  ‘It hasn’t been easy for a lot of people,’ came the flat response. ‘Fortunately, however, most of them have managed to retain some basic shreds of civility. And if you’re suggesting I should make allowances … I can only say that I’d be happy to do so if only her manner didn’t make it impossible.’

  Sophia sighed and then changed tack with her usual lack of warning.

  ‘When are you going to move in?’

  ‘Here? I rather think that’s for you to say.’

  ‘Tomorrow, then.’

  Humour returned and, raising one brow, he said, ‘So I can talk to Mr Carter about the turnips?’

  ‘Turnips?’ she echoed blankly. ‘Oh – yes. But I was really thinking that it would be a good idea if you started establishing yourself amongst our people and learning a little about how the estate is run before the wedding.’

  ‘In order to rob Venetia of yet another stick to beat me with?’ enquired Gabriel blandly. ‘It’s a kind thought but I doubt it will make much difference. And her arsenal is already more than adequately stocked.’

  ~ ~ ~

  TEN

  While Gabriel, accompanied by a still extremely taciturn Mr Larkin, installed himself at Brandon Lacey and began trying to acquaint himself with tenants, rents and acreages under the initially wary eye of his bailiff, Venetia fought a ceaseless campaign against her mother’s desire to invite half the county to her wedding and refused point-blank to order a new gown for the occasion.

  ‘But you must!’ wailed Lady Clifford. ‘Apart from mourning clothes, you’ve had nothing new for three years. What will people think?’

  ‘They won’t think anything – for the very simple reason that they won’t be there to see,’ came the stubborn response. ‘I’ve told you. I won’t have the Ingilbys, the Slingsbys, second-cousin Anne from Skipton – or any of the other people you’ve mentioned – summoned here to see me marry an illegitimate rebel soldier. And that is final.’

  ‘But it will look so odd, dearest … so hole-and-corner. Sordid, even.’

  ‘So? Better that than to have them all sniggering behind their hands while I’m standing at the altar. And as for what I’ll wear, it seems to me to be immaterial – since your future son-in-law will doubtless turn up in his uniform.’ Venetia paused, eyeing her mother bitterly. ‘Oh – very well. If it will make you happy, I’ll wear my violet silk. No one here has seen it. But any more talk of new clothes and wedding guests and I won’t get married at all.’

  It did not, in fact, make her ladyship happy for she had been looking forward to a shopping spree in York on her own account. But her daughter’s last words made her see the wisdom of saying no more on the subject … and the result was that Christmas approached and passed on an air of uneasy truce.

  Then, two days later, everyone dressed themselves with care but little real enthusiasm for the wedding.

  Dismissing her maid at the first opportunity, Venetia sat, stony-faced, before the mirror. The gown looked well enough with its wide, sweeping neckline and falls of silver lace … and her hair, drawn up at the back, formed a torrent of gleaming ringlets over her ears. On the surface, she looked like the girl she had been five years ago at Whitehall. Underneath, she felt empty and tired and old. The few bites of breakfast she’d managed to force down had come straight back up again and, even now, nausea was still clawing at her throat.

  ‘You look beautiful,’ offered Elizabeth timidly from behind her. ‘But perhaps just a touch of rouge —’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Oh. Well, you can always pinch your cheeks a little before you —’

  ‘I said no. Allow me some pride, at least.’

  Elizabeth flushed and, unable to think of any words that might be acceptable, turned away. Then the door opened and Phoebe arrived on a tide of pink taffeta.

  ‘He’s here,’ she said baldly. ‘He arrived just now with Sophy and a funny little man in grey. Mother’s taken them straight into the chapel so she doesn’t have to introduce them to anybody. And Uncle James is waiting downstairs for you.’

  Venetia’s insides jerked themselves into a knot. For a moment she stared blindly at her sisters through the mirror and then, using every effort of will she possessed, drew herself slowly to her feet.

  ‘Very well,’ she said distantly. ‘I’m ready.’

  It was more than Phoebe could bear. Grasping the frozen hands in her own, she said, ‘Don’t! Don’t look like that. I know this isn’t what you wanted – but it won’t be nearly as bad as you think.’

  ‘Won’t it?’

  ‘No. H
e’s really quite nice, you know. I liked him.’

  ‘I daresay you did.’ Venetia gently withdrew her hands and turned towards the door. ‘But then, you like everyone – so it’s hardly a recommendation, is it?’

  Downstairs in the hall, James Bancroft offered her his arm and a small spray of Christmas roses along with an uneasy smile. He said, ‘Chin up, my dear. Sacrifices such as yours do not go unrewarded. And for now, remember what the psalms tell us. Who is going through the vale of misery, use it for a well.’

  ‘Yes, Uncle. Unfortunately, just at the moment, I’m more inclined to remember I myself have seen the ungodly in great power and flourishing like a green bay-tree. Shall we go? The sooner this day is over, the better.’

  Having been added to the house around the time of the Reformation, the interior of Ford Edge’s small chapel was adorned only by the elegance of its pendant vaulting and a pair of marble effigied tombs. It was also wickedly cold … its stones gripped by the same severe frost that whitened the trees outside. And while Elizabeth slipped into place beside their mother, Venetia stood in the shadows of pilaster watching the meagre congregation surreptitiously shuffling in their seats or rubbing their hands together in a vain effort to combat the chill. She herself was already too numb to care.

  To the left of the aisle behind her mother and sister, sat the Knightleys … the only local family Venetia had not been able to veto since they were soon to take Elizabeth to their bosom … and much further back in the rear pews were a handful of Ford Edge’s most loyal servants and tenants. To the right of it were only the bridegroom himself - at whom Venetia dared not look - a small man with thinning hair and, unbelievably, Sophia. Venetia’s fingers tightened on the fragile stems of her posy. She had heard, of course, along with everyone else in the district, that the Colonel had taken up residence at Brandon Lacey; what she had not expected was that Sophy would use the occasion to cloak him in respectability by choosing to sit directly behind him.

  ‘My dear?’ Her uncle’s soft voice drifted anxiously through the icy cocoon around her. ‘It’s time.’

  She started and drew a tiny, ragged breath. Then, laying her hand on his arm, she embarked on the shortest and most terrible journey of her life.

  There was no music, no flowers save those she held and only the flickering pinpoints of a few candles. Venetia kept her gaze fixed firmly on the carved crucifix over the altar and tried not to see the dark-haired man waiting in front of it. He was a stranger and an enemy; and if she caught sight of that despised uniform now, she was afraid she might turn and run.

  Gabriel heard the approaching creak of James Bancroft’s boots and the lighter, almost inaudible tap of his bride-to-be’s slippers but he did not turn his head. God knew he was going to have a lifetime of looking at the bloody woman – though it wasn’t the looking that hurt; a lifetime of listening to unveiled contempt and blatant insults, dripping like acid from that razor-edged tongue. Lying sleepless last night, he’d actually found himself wondering how long he would stand it before his hands strayed to her throat.

  Venetia arrived at the altar-rail and was dimly aware of Uncle James stepping back from her side. Then it began.

  The familiar opening words of the service spun round her like a whirlpool.

  To join together this man and this woman … holy matrimony … an honourable estate.

  Yes, she thought despairingly; they would be joined together – but in a travesty that was neither holy nor honourable.

  If any of you know cause or just impediment …

  Yes, cried a voice in her head. I know one – but no one cares.

  The service wore on. The adversary at her side made his responses in crisp, expressionless tones and, when her own turn came, Venetia was relieved that her voice was equally steady. Only her hand, when she held it out blindly to receive the ring, shook a little. Then it was briefly taken in a cool, light clasp and the narrow gold band slid over her knuckle, heavy as an iron fetter.

  Far, far away in the recesses of her mind, she heard Reverend Williams pronounce them man and wife and knew that the moment when she must turn her head to receive the bridal kiss was upon her. The moment in which she could no longer avoid looking at her new husband and would have to come face to face with what she had done.

  Stiff and aching in every sinew, she shifted her position and received a confused impression of bleak, slate-grey eyes and thick dark hair lying against a wide, lace collar. Instead of buff leather, her fingers encountered dark blue broadcloth and the dreaded orange sash had been replaced with one of pale grey silk. A wave of weakening relief swept over her and made her eyes sting with rare, unaccustomed tears. Then his mouth brushed hers in the most fleeting of kisses and the fragile protective shell which had sustained her throughout the last few hours shattered into a thousand pieces.

  It was done. They were married.

  Gabriel offered his arm and she laid her fingertips on it. Had Venetia but known it, he felt every bit as trapped as she and with even better cause. But of course she did not know it; and wouldn’t have cared if she had. Only Sophia cared … and, to some extent, Phoebe; and Wat, marching grimly out of the chapel in Gabriel’s wake, his eyes like knives in Venetia’s back.

  Back in the hall, tables were already prepared for the wedding-feast and servants bustled about offering wine. Venetia stood, as if carved from stone, amidst somewhat timid kisses and noticeably awkward good wishes. Gabriel returned Sophia’s hug and then remained marooned, with Wat glowering belligerently at his shoulder, until Phoebe arrived at the head of a rescue party.

  ‘Gabriel? I may call you that, may I not, now that you’re my brother?’ Smiling sunnily up at him, she slipped her hand through his arm and lifted up her face to be kissed. ‘This is Frances Knightley and her brother, Tom. Tom is to marry Bess in the spring.’

  Gabriel bowed to Mistress Frances and received a frigid little curtsy in response. But the stocky, unremarkable young man who seemed an unlikely match for the fair Elizabeth, held out his hand and said cheerfully, ‘Pleased to meet you, Colonel. How do you find Yorkshire?’

  ‘A trifle cold,’ replied Gabriel, accepting the hand in a firm grasp. ‘But I daresay that’s only to be expected.’

  Tom grinned and did not pretend to misunderstand.

  ‘Barring unforeseen developments, it’ll warm up in a few months or so – and meanwhile, your best defence is a thick skin. But I suppose you’ve already discovered that.’

  ‘You might say so.’ The grey eyes surveyed Mr Knightley with faintly cynical humour. ‘And now you can tell me whether you came over to greet the pariah of your own volition or whether a certain young lady twisted your arm.’

  ‘Oh!’ grinned Phoebe. ‘As if I would.’

  ‘It’s no good. Your measure’s been taken,’ sighed Tom, shaking his head. And to Gabriel, ‘A bit of both, actually. I don’t share your views myself, of course … but a couple of my friends do. And I’ve always found that makes it a bit difficult to tar everyone with the same brush.’ He shrugged. ‘I suppose what I’m saying is that – contrary to what my father thinks – I believe there’s good and bad on both sides.’

  ‘My own view entirely,’ agreed Gabriel. ‘But then – being a professional soldier – I would think that, wouldn’t I?’ And, for the first time that day, he smiled.

  A few minutes later, having waited until her betrothed left the Colonel’s side, Elizabeth pulled him into a corner and said, ‘How brave you are, Tom!’

  ‘Brave? Why? As a matter of fact, I thought him quite a pleasant fellow. And so would you if you stopped listening to Venetia and gave him a chance.’

  Bewilderment filled the blue eyes.

  ‘But he’s a Roundhead and – and—’

  ‘And illegitimate. Yes, I know – and I agree that’s unfortunate. But it’s hardly his fault, after all. And, as for him being on the wrong side … well, plenty of other good men are on it with him. John Lambert, for one.’ He smiled at her and squeezed her hand.
‘Above all, Bess, you ought to remember that he didn’t have to marry Venetia. A lot of men would have just let things go on as they were and kept hold of Ford Edge. But he didn’t.’

  On the far side of the room, trapped by her mother and Tom’s parents, Venetia watched the Colonel talking first to Tom himself and then to Phoebe. Then she met the severely critical regard of the little man at Gabriel’s elbow and, for some reason she could not identify, found herself forced to look away.

  ‘Mother – who is that person?’ she said abruptly, unaware that she had cut across something Philip Knightley had been saying. ‘He looks like a stable-hand.’

  Lady Clifford sighed and cast a glance of helpless appeal at Tom’s father.

  ‘I really don’t know, dear – but I wouldn’t be surprised. Colonel Brandon simply introduced him as Mr Larkin and said he would be acting as groomsman.’

  Venetia sniffed.

  ‘Well, it’s a pity he couldn’t find someone a bit more presentable.’

  Philip and Ruth Knightley exchanged significant glances and her ladyship murmured despairingly, ‘Venetia – please! Not today.’

  ‘Heavens, Ellen – you mustn’t mind us,’ said Ruth, her face alight with shocked enjoyment. Then, laying a sympathetic hand on Venetia’s arm, ‘My dear, I think your conduct through this dreadful business has been truly heroic. And I want you to know that —’

  ‘Wait a moment,’ frowned Venetia. ‘Am I to understand that you know why I’ve made this marriage?’

  ‘Of course. Once everything was settled – and with Tom’s wedding to dear Elizabeth so close – your mother naturally explained it all to us.’

  Lady Clifford quailed before her daughter’s basilisk stare and Venetia thought, Oh God. How could she be so stupid? If Ruth Knightley knows the truth, it’s half-way round the county by now.

  Oblivious to the undercurrents, Mistress Knightley sailed blithely on.

  ‘But I want you to know that, despite the stain of your husband’s birth, no one will ever think the worse of you. We’re all far, far too sorry for you to do that.’