Garland of Straw (Roundheads & Cavaliers Book 2)

by Stella Riley

  Venetia’s nails dug into her palms.

  ‘Why – thank you, Ruth. You’ve no idea what a comfort that is. Instead of worrying about being regarded as the bastard’s wife, I can simply enjoy being the object of everyone’s pity, can’t I?’

  Lady Clifford shuddered and said rapidly, ‘I think it’s time we all sat down to eat, don’t you? Venetia, dear – perhaps you’d go and ask your uncle to announce it?’

  ‘By all means,’ came the mocking reply. ‘Having put Cook to so much trouble, it would be a pity not to see the charade through to its bitter end, wouldn’t it?’

  Whilst maintaining a light conversation with Phoebe and Sophia, Gabriel conducted a discreet and ruthless appraisal of his bride. If looks were all, he thought judicially, he would have nothing to complain of. The mass of silver-gilt hair above that long, slender neck; the alabaster skin and the perfect oval of her face, set with those incredible ever-changing eyes … all these combined to give Venetia the kind of beauty one rarely saw. But looks were not all; and he had never at any time seen her smile as though she meant it. Nor, to be truthful, did he expect to.

  Collecting Phoebe’s gaze and speaking in a tone any man in his regiment would have recognised, he said, ‘Tell me something. How long has your sister known that Sir Robert didn’t die a rich man?’

  Startled and a little discomfited, Phoebe flushed.

  ‘I – I don’t know. Several weeks, perhaps. But she only told us last night.’

  ‘And did she also mention hoping that I’d remain ignorant long enough for today’s fiasco to take place? Or no. Why should she? She just waited until she was sure before telling you anything at all.’

  Phoebe cast an agonised glance at Sophia only to find her busily engaged in disentangling a brooch from the silk fringe of her shawl. Sighing, she said, ‘It’s very bad, I know. But you mustn’t blame her too much. She —’

  ‘I don’t,’ said Gabriel blandly. ‘I do, however, worry about Mr Crisp’s evident conflict of loyalties and feel that both he and I would be happier knowing that he can’t be placed in this situation again.’

  Sophia’s fingers stilled on the hopelessly knotted fringe and her gaze rose to his face. Before she could speak, however, Phoebe said baldly, ‘Isn’t there any money?

  ‘Very little. Why?’

  ‘Oh – I don’t know. It just seems that you and Venetia have problems enough already …’ She paused and then, as her uncle arrived at her elbow, added hopefully, ‘Of course, it would be even better if you could think of some way of making a fortune yourself.’

  The well-meaning naïveté of it made Gabriel smile.

  ‘Depending on one’s point of view, I daresay it would. But I’m unlikely to do it in the Army.’

  ‘The Garland,’ murmured James Bancroft dreamily. ‘You could look for the Lacey Garland.’

  Phoebe and the Colonel eyed him blankly. Sophia, on the other hand, smiled vaguely and said, ‘Why not? Everyone else has.’

  ‘You don’t believe in it?’ James asked.

  She shrugged.

  ‘As a child, I did. Like every generation before us, Robert and I all but took the house apart. But when – despite consistent searching – something remains hidden for two-and-a-half centuries, it’s probably because it doesn’t exist.’

  ‘What doesn’t exist?’ asked Phoebe, her face alight with interest. ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘The Lacey Garland,’ said her uncle, as though this explained everything. ‘But as Mistress Sophia says, it’s probably no more than a charming legend. And now I think we had best take our places at table. Your mother is looking a trifle fraught.’

  With carefully concealed reluctance, Gabriel occupied the seat beside his bride. Since exchanging their vows, they had tacitly avoided speaking to each other. Now however, Venetia hissed irritably, ‘Must that dreadful little man of yours scowl so? Or is it his natural expression?’

  ‘With Wat, it’s rather hard to tell. Why? Does it unnerve you?’

  ‘Hardly.’

  ‘Good. In that case, all you need do is get used to it – and try remembering that his name is Walter Larkin.’ He met her eyes with pleasant finality. ‘I ought perhaps to point out that, after fifteen years, my relationship with him isn’t going to change now.’

  Venetia opened her mouth on a suitably pithy retort and then, without knowing why, thought better of it.

  ‘Very sensible,’ remarked Gabriel. ‘Have some fish.’

  Gritting her teeth, she did as he suggested. The mere thought of food sickened her, never mind the smell of it; but being so closely under Ruth Knightley’s inquisitive stare it was necessary to keep up appearances.

  On the other side of the table, Phoebe was busy interrogating Mistress Brandon.

  ‘But what is this Garland? And who hid it – and why?’

  Sophia gazed at her venison pasty for a moment and then regretfully laid down her knife.

  ‘No one knows. All we’re sure of is that Lacey Manor was granted to Hugh Brandon by John of Gaunt in1378. According to the story, the Duke made the gift as a mark of his – his admiration for Hugh’s wife, Philippa. And he’s also supposed to have given her a personal token to remember him by.’

  ‘The Garland,’ breathed Phoebe. ‘And Hugh hid it away because he was jealous.’

  ‘Very likely,’ agreed Sophia, returning to her plate with a faint smile.

  The youthful face took on a faraway look.

  ‘Pearls beyond price … rubies from India … a portrait of himself, framed in gold. He could have given her anything, couldn’t he?’ And, meeting her eldest sister’s eye, ‘Did you know about this?’

  ‘The Garland legend? Yes. I believe El —’ Venetia stopped and then went on defiantly, ‘I believe Ellis did once mention it. But I don’t think it’s worth getting too excited. After all, if you don’t know what you’re looking for, how are you to know when you’ve found it?’

  ‘That’s easy,’ said Phoebe firmly. ‘You’d know because it had been hidden.’

  Gabriel regarded her with lazy amusement over the rim of his glass.

  ‘Then, if Sophy and your mother don’t object, I suggest you come to Brandon Lacey and look for it.’

  Pink with pleasure, she said eagerly, ‘May I really?’ And to Sophia, ‘You wouldn’t mind?’

  ‘Not at all,’ came the tranquil reply. ‘If your mother can spare you for a few days, you could come to stay.’

  A little later, when Phoebe was concentrating on fishing pieces of candied fruit out of her syllabub, Venetia directed a moody sideways gaze at the Colonel and said, ‘Did you have to encourage her in this nonsense?’

  ‘Is there any harm in it?’

  ‘Not harm, precisely. But you don’t know what she’s like. She’ll turn the place inside out and then, when she doesn’t find what she’s looking for, she’ll start all over again. Phoebe,’ concluded Venetia bitterly, ‘is one of nature’s most persistent optimists.’

  Gabriel looked back at her with detached irony.

  ‘At her age, she’s also entitled to a few dreams,’ he replied. ‘And just because you and I know they won’t last … is that any reason to disillusion her?’

  Effectively silenced, Venetia sought refuge in her glass and left him to field a series of tactless queries from Philip Knightley concerning Parliament’s condemnation of the Agreement of the People and the various terms currently being offered to the King. Gabriel responded with cool urbanity but refused to be drawn. The meal started to seem interminable and, outside the windows, the sky grew dark.

  Finally, however, the party transferred itself to the parlour while the congealing remains of the feast were cleared away. The atmosphere of determined conviviality began to grow somewhat strained but, because Lady Clifford had insisted on everyone staying the night, it was necessary to at least try and maintain it. Tom Knightley worked hard at keeping the gentlemen’s glasses filled and persuaded Elizabeth and Phoebe to lead the company in a few
songs.

  James Bancroft joined in the singing, along with Tom’s father and sister and Sophia Brandon. But, under the differing gazes of Wat, Lady Clifford and Ruth Knightley, Gabriel merely watched the proceedings over folded arms from the mantelpiece and Venetia sat, silent and aloof by the window. Tom groaned to himself and hoped no one would be crass enough to try bedding the newly-wedded pair in the traditional way.

  No one did. As early as was possible without appearing rude, people began stifling yawns or remarking on the lateness of the hour and slipping gratefully away to their rooms. And therefore, still in complete silence and much sooner than she had hoped, Venetia found herself guiding Colonel Brandon up the stairs to the chamber which, for this one night, she had no alternative but to share with him.

  It was a large, panelled corner-room with windows on two aspects and a huge, carved bed. It was also decidedly cold and draughty enough to make the fire smoke. Gabriel glanced around him and then, turning to Venetia, unlocked his jaws.

  ‘Yours?’ he said.

  ‘No.’ She remained, candle in hand, just inside the door. ‘It’s the one Queen Henrietta once slept in. You’re supposed to be impressed.’

  ‘I’m more inclined to hope that Her Majesty visited in the summer,’ he replied, picking up a pair of tongs and setting about expertly re-banking the fire. For a few moments, there was silence and then, without turning his head, he said, ‘You’re not staying?’

  The fact that he didn’t sound as if he cared either way added to, rather than diminished, the curious sense of unreality that had been creeping over Venetia all evening. She said, ‘Don’t be stupid. Ruth Knightley’s already having enough fun at my expense. Do you really think I’m about to risk giving her yet more by creeping about the house at the dead of night or sneaking into my own bed beside her daughter?’

  Gabriel rose from his task, dusting his hands.

  ‘A simple ‘yes’ would have been enough,’ he remarked. ‘But if it was the smoke that was keeping you at a safe distance, you will observe that I appear to have corrected the problem.’

  It was nothing to do with the smoke and he knew it perfectly well, thought Venetia edgily. She just didn’t want to sleep with him but wasn’t sure it could be avoided. Looking back, she realised she should have made it a stipulation on the day he’d proposed – but she hadn’t dared do so in case it made a difference; and, even if she had, there was no guarantee he would have honoured his promise … not now they were shut in the same room together for the whole of the night.

  Eyeing him warily, she took a couple of steps away from the door to set the candle down on a small table beside the bed. She felt chilled to the marrow and not nearly as composed as she would have liked to appear. She said abruptly, ‘There is wine, if you want it.’

  ‘Not particularly. Do you?’

  She shook her head and once more the silence yawned dangerously about them. He did not look as if he was waiting to pounce and she reminded herself that he actively disliked her. But neither of these was any safeguard because he was a common soldier – with, presumably, a common soldier’s tastes and habits; and though Venetia was not particularly vain, she could not help knowing that men generally considered her desirable.

  Gabriel looked at her, wishing himself anywhere but here. Then, recognising the futility of all the innocuous, tactful approaches he might have made, said, ‘I think we can agree that our situation is unfortunate. But at some point we’re going to have to start making the best of it – and now would probably be as good a time as any.’

  ‘And how would you suggest we do that?’

  ‘Well, to begin with, let us stop staring at each other like two cats defending their territory,’ came the crisp reply. ‘And since we’ve plainly nothing to say to one another, I suggest we bring this day to a summary end by going to bed.’

  A visible tremor passed over her.

  ‘And then?’

  ‘We sleep. What else?’ He stared at her for a second with weary irascibility. ‘Oh, my God. You don’t seriously suppose that – after the hellish day we’ve had and considering how we feel about each other – I’m likely to be devoured by lust, do you?’

  She flushed. ‘I sincerely hope not.’

  ‘Good. Because, hard though it may be for you to accept, I’m not inclined towards rape and have an undoubtedly plebeian preference for more than just a body between the sheets. Even, I’m afraid, when the goods on offer are as decorative as you.’

  ‘There’s no need to be offensive,’ snapped Venetia. ‘I’ve no way of knowing what your preferences are. And I don’t want to find out.’

  ‘No one’s asking you to.’ Gabriel ran a hand through his hair and strove for a more moderate tone. ‘All right. Now we’ve cleared the ground, let’s see if we can progress. I promise not to molest your body if you don’t molest mine. And though that bed could comfortably accommodate a family of six, we can always lay the bolster down the middle in time-honoured fashion if you’ve any doubts as to my intentions. Well?’

  Venetia knew that what he said made sense. The trouble was that she was too stubborn to admit it – and neither could she bring herself to undress while there was any chance of him watching her.

  ‘Do what you like,’ she said carelessly. ‘I’m going to sit by the fire for a while.’

  Just for a moment, Gabriel continued to stare meditatively at her and then an unholy glint entered his eyes.

  ‘Suit yourself,’ he shrugged. And began calmly discarding his clothes.

  Being careful not to hurry, Venetia stalked to the hearth and sat down with her back to him. She heard the sound of him unbuckling his sword, of his coat being laid across the chest, of his boots hitting the floor; and finally, releasing a breath she did not know she had been holding, she heard the bed creak as he got into it.

  Somewhere at the back of her mind, she supposed he meant what he’d said; that she was safe – at least for tonight. But her nerves still shuddered at the thought of all the other nights still to come and how long his indifference would last.

  It wasn’t just that he was a stranger whose values she despised … or that she’d been forced into a situation not of her choosing … or even that, if he bedded her, he’d know she wasn’t a virgin. It was the other shadow that had been lying in wait at the back of her mind for years. The thing that would have gnawed at her even if it had been Ellis lying in that bed … but that left her cold with misery because it was a man from whom she had no reason to expect even the smallest vestige of consideration.

  She did not know how long she sat there, getting steadily colder as the fire burned low and the candles guttered in their sockets. But eventually common sense prevailed and, rising stiffly, she looked across the room to see if the Colonel was asleep. He lay on his side breathing evenly, one well-muscled arm lying relaxed against the pillow. As quietly as she could, Venetia picked up her night-rail from the foot of the bed and retired with it into the furthest and darkest corner of the chamber. It was only then that she realised she had a problem.

  After endless minutes of writhing and twisting to reach the laces of her gown, she had succeeded only in manipulating them into a knot and wearing herself out. It was the last, treacherous straw and she could have screamed with vexation. Then, as she contorted herself for one final effort, a maddeningly bland voice from the bed, said, ‘Would you like some help?’

  Venetia froze and peered at him through descending coils of hair. Far from being decently asleep, the Colonel was propped on one elbow, watching her struggle. His chest, as well-muscled as his arms, was bare … and she suspected that the rest of him was, too. Something peculiar flickered in the pit of her stomach and then was gone.

  ‘It’s entirely up to you, of course,’ he continued smoothly. ‘But unless you’re prepared to sit up all night or come to bed as you are, a little assistance might not come amiss.’

  Feeling every bit as foolish as he no doubt thought her and not trusting herself to speak, Venetia m
arched over to the bed and wordlessly presented him with her back. If he said anything clever or dared to laugh at her, she would hit him.

  Strong, deft fingers busied themselves with the knot and for a while there was silence. Then the laces were tugged free of their eyelet holes and Gabriel said, ‘There – it’s done. Anything else?’

  ‘No.’ Venetia retreated smartly to her corner. ‘I can manage the rest. Thank you.’

  ‘Don’t mention it.’ His brows rose over eyes filled with mocking amusement. ‘And don’t worry. You haven’t aroused my base passions – or even come close to it.’

  ‘Then you won’t mind turning away while I undress,’ she responded in a voice that was no longer quite steady.

  ‘My dear girl, I’ll do better than that,’ said Gabriel cheerfully.

  And, reaching over to the table beside him, he snuffed out the last remaining candle to leave his new bride modest and unsullied in the dark.

  ~ ~ ~

  WILDFIRE

  People are generally more for the King than for the Parliament. But what’s the reason? Because their burdens are greater now than before.

  John Lilburne

  ONE

  By the time Samuel Radford got out of Newgate, he’d had more than enough of the place. It was his first imprisonment which, considering what he’d been up to in the last couple of years, was pretty remarkable and it had only lasted a little over six weeks which was even more so. But neither of these facts lessened the stink or the noise, or made up for the lack of anything approaching proper daylight. And though Sam tried to follow Lilburne’s example by expounding his ideas to his fellow inmates, he didn’t find it helped much.

  After his arrest, he had been hauled before the Committee of Examinations, refused to take the oath on the grounds that he didn’t know what he was being charged with and been returned smartly to his cell. This much, according to everyone he knew who’d been in a similar position, was strictly routine. The next step was to prepare a defence that admitted nothing and hope for a chance to use it. Sam, with time on his hands, had prepared at least three. By the end of December, he was wondering how long he should wait before petitioning for a second hearing – and then he found himself suddenly free.