‘I have noticed since our ship docked at Lyme that all is far from calm and peaceful in these parts. I have been at The Hague, where the exiled Duke of Monmouth resides. News will already have crossed the water that he is putting together an expeditionary force, its aim to wrest the English crown from James. You will be aware of this, Fenton?’
Mr Fenton smiled thinly. ‘One would have to be deaf and blind not to be, Lord Reresby.’
‘As yet it is unclear where Monmouth will land—Scotland to join Argyll, Ireland, Lancashire, where he has much support, or here in the West Country, which is the most fractious area of all.’
‘I have seen no sign of anyone preparing for rebellion.’
‘Have you not? Have local loyalists not been raiding conventicles, fining or imprisoning those who attend them, and searching private houses for weapons?’
‘That is true. In the hope of securing religious freedom, one cannot ignore the fact that dissent is deeply rooted amongst many in these parts. But such determined repression by the loyalists merely serves to remove the Dissenters from under their eyes and forces them to seek spiritual consolation elsewhere.’
‘Where they continue to plot and to pray for divine assistance for their cause,’ Marcus remarked drily.
‘I believe so.’
Marcus’s mouth tightened as he took the measure of his bailiff. He caught the gleam in his eyes, a gleam that belied the controlled features. In the depths of those eyes he saw cold-hearted calculation, and it acted on Marcus like iced water. This man, he thought suddenly—wondering why he had not seen it before—could be dangerous. Fenton had an intelligent face, intelligent yet cunning, and a combination of these traits among men of Fenton’s position was dangerous, especially with rebellion likely.
‘And are any of these Dissenters to be found beneath my roof?’ Marcus asked.
‘There are some.’
‘And you, Mr Fenton?’ When he saw his bailiff hesitate, he said sharply, ‘You have my permission to speak freely.’
‘I am a king’s man, Lord Reresby—a Protestant king’s man.’
Marcus’s brows rose. ‘I see,’ he said, his face hard and implacable. ‘I gave you permission to speak freely—but you will not do so too freely, I hope. It is right that one should uphold a cause he believes in, but I expect you will do so quietly. While you remain in my employ I trust you will not constitute yourself as a member of the opposition.’
‘By opposition you mean those who have a just purpose to oppose a king who stands for Catholicism and intolerance, those who wish to have a freely elected parliament? But no, I will not. My anti-papist and political views are as strong as anyone’s and well known to most, but I am my own man, Lord Reresby, and not influenced by others.’
‘I hope not, Mr Fenton. My days as a military man are at an end. I am heartily sick of battles, and should Monmouth decide to come to the western counties to raise the flag of rebellion—and I believe he will—there will be no blood shed at Saxton Court. The only blood that will be spilt will be if someone tries to take what is mine. I always take good care of what is mine.’
Marcus caught a sudden flash of anger in Fenton’s eyes and the tightening of his lips. Not for the first time he wondered at Roger’s words, and if his father had been misguided when he had brought Fenton into his employ. How much influence had he gained at Saxton Court? He would bear watching.
Catherine’s patience was giving way to annoyance. The long journey of undiluted tension and anxiety was taking its toll. Obviously Marcus had forgotten all about her and considered her less important than Mr Fenton’s view on Papism. ‘Pardon me for interrupting, Marcus, but I am sure you can continue your discussion with Mr Fenton without me. I wish to rest and would be grateful if I could be shown to my chamber. It has been a long and exacting journey and I would appreciate some refreshment and some privacy.’
Marcus turned to her. ‘By all means, Catherine.’
‘You will excuse me, Mr Fenton.’
Although he had seemed unaware of Catherine as he answered her husband’s questions, at that moment Fenton chose to meet her eye, before letting his gaze pass over her face. He seemed to be scrutinising her every feature, as if he could read there the answer to some question known only to himself. Catherine met his stare squarely. He stepped back, inclining his head slightly.
‘Of course, Lady Reresby.’
Marcus turned to Mrs Garfield. ‘Lady Reresby’s apartments have been prepared?’
‘Everything is in readiness, my lord.’ She offered a tentative smile to her new mistress. ‘I am sure you would like to freshen up before dinner.’
‘Thank you. A bath wouldn’t go amiss. We’ve been on the road so long.’
‘I’ll see to it, Lady Reresby. Shall I show you the way?’
‘There is no need. I shall escort my wife myself,’ Marcus said, turning to Fenton and excusing himself.
Catherine felt Fenton’s eyes follow her across the hall. Not until they were climbing the stairs and out of earshot did she remark, ‘I don’t think much of your Mr Fenton. The man is far too bold for my liking. It cannot be easy for a man of such arrogant pride to assume the humble air of a servant.’
A frown settled between Marcus’s brows. He too was uneasy about Fenton. His instinct told him that since his father’s death and his own absenteeism, his bailiff had acquired too much influence at Saxton Court. The man must be put in his place and learn to know that from now on he, Marcus, was master of Saxton Court.
‘Fenton has been in charge of the running of things for almost two years and does an excellent job. You are too hasty in your judgement, Catherine,’ Marcus said sharply, not wishing to reveal his disquiet to his wife.
Catherine was not deceived. She turned and looked at him. ‘Am I? I did not detect an easy comradeship between the two of you.’
‘Perhaps that is because I have been absent too long and do not know my bailiff as well as I ought.’
‘How long have you been away?’
‘Close on eighteen months. I’ve kept meaning to come back, but the army always had urgent need of me elsewhere.’
‘And now you have done with the army?’
‘Almost—when this affair with Monmouth is settled.’
‘When did you decide this?’
‘I always intended to leave the army when your father died.’ He fell silent for a moment, staring straight ahead, and then the tense muscles of his face relaxed and, looking at her wryly, he smiled. ‘I began to look forward to settling down, to getting to know my wife, raising a family, eating good food, sleeping in a comfortable bed, and to running Saxton Court, which was what my father always wanted me to do.’
‘Are you saying you will make Mr Fenton redundant?’
‘Mr Fenton has always proved to be efficient and highly competent. I have no complaints so far, so it will be hard to dismiss him without good reason.’
They continued on up the long flight of stairs. In the gathering gloom candles provided the light and cast a soft sheen over polished wood. Marcus pointed out to Catherine the merits of her new home—several of which, with wide and fascinated eyes, Catherine had already noted. Where doors stood open she saw furnishings and decorations more grand than any she had seen before.
The long gallery, crossing the width of the house, was of tremendous proportions. Its floor was of polished oak and its walls supporting a huge vaulted ceiling of decorative plaster. Set in rows along the walls and giving the visitor the impression that he had stepped into the presence of gathered nobility were paintings of Marcus’s ancestors—men and women who had coloured the exclusive world of Reresbys for generations, all housed in elaborately gilded frames.
‘Well,’ Marcus asked, ‘what do you think of Saxton Court? Although, having grown up in the grandeur of Riverside House and surrounded by the trappings of wealth, perhaps my home does not impress you as much as it would some.’
Catherine’s eyes were alight with interest as she gaze
d at the pictures and furniture that harmonised perfectly. Turning to look at her husband, she realised he was awaiting her reaction. There was expectant hope in the handsome face, and she could not deny him.
‘On the contrary. I am impressed. It is very fine indeed,’ she murmured. ‘Few brides are presented with so much. Usually it is the groom who receives what his wife brings to him as a dowry—although, when I think about it, I come well provided. You have not done too badly out of marrying me, have you, Marcus?’ Catherine could not resist the jibe.
Marcus scowled darkly, unable to hide his annoyance at her constant desire to provoke him. ‘And I have told you that you may keep whatever you wish from your home, Catherine. You will find I am a generous man in that regard.’
She looked at him. ‘Does that include Riverside House?’
‘No. The house will be sold.’
‘And I can well imagine just how eagerly you will claim the money from the sale of it.’
His eyes gleamed into hers. ‘I have to protect my interests.’
Catherine studied him uncertainly. ‘How old are you, Marcus? Thirty or a little more, I suspect. Why have you never married?’
‘I am thirty-one, and I have never married because the army has been my life—and because I have not met a lady that was suitable.’
‘And, yet, you married me. A highly unsuitable alliance, I would say; a marriage that hasn’t a prayer for success.’
Marcus looked at her face turned to his, noting the softening that was currently replacing her normal hauteur. No man could not be moved by Catherine’s beauty, and he was unable to believe this woman he had married could possess spirit to equal his own.
‘You say that with so much conviction that I believe you are trying to convince yourself of it instead of your husband. I do not share your conviction,’ he said, his mouth lifting in a slow, amused smile. ‘You’re not afraid of me, by any chance, are you, Catherine?’
Catherine intended treating him with cool hauteur, but his smile was so boyishly disarming that in spite of herself she smiled. ‘No, you needn’t think that—though your temper could do with some improvement. Must you look like some infernal thundercloud all the time?’
Marcus laughed at her, a deep, contagious laugh, and his eyes suddenly seemed to regard her with a bold, speculative gleam that Catherine found unsettling. ‘I cannot help the way I look, and,’ he said, on a softer note, ‘I am more pleasing to look at than Harry Stapleton. You must allow me that.’
Catherine cast him a quick, sideways glance. This was the first time he had referred to Harry. She preferred not to think of him now. It hurt too much. ‘You’ve conceit enough to make up for all the other qualities you lack,’ she agreed, looking straight ahead, ‘and I’ll not deprive you of your handsome looks. Break as many hearts as you please, Marcus, but you’ll not break mine.’
A slow smile touched his lips. ‘A terrifying possibility, but I’ll risk it,’ he murmured.
‘I suppose when you ruined my father and married me you considered it to be for my own good.’
‘You know what happened. I don’t need to defend myself.’
‘I consider what you did to be a criminal act, so please don’t portray yourself as some innocent.’
Marcus’s eyes glowed in the warm light as he gave her a lazy smile. ‘I never claimed to be an innocent, Catherine, but neither am I a black-hearted villain.’
‘I would hardly expect you to admit it if you were.’
A crooked smile accompanied his reply. ‘I am no saint—I admit that. I would like you to be more amiable towards me. I find you quite challenging. I would like to enjoy your company better, Catherine.’
‘Why? Because you want to bring me to heel, and when you have done so, to trample me under your foot as you did my father?’
He arched a brow, amused. ‘No, but I would like you to be less hostile towards me, less stubborn. Did anyone ever tell you that you have lovely eyes? And a lovely mouth as well.’
She looked away, staring fixedly at a point ahead of her. ‘Please don’t say those things. I am not interested. However,’ she said as they left the gallery and proceeded along a narrow passageway, ‘I believe you will live to see the day when you will rue that game of cards.’
‘I don’t agree. I live in hope that, given time, things will improve between us.’
‘Nevertheless, what you did was hardly a gentlemanly act. If you had taken the time you would have learned I was betrothed and had no intention of shifting my affections to another.’
‘I was aware of your options, and since no official betrothal had taken place, I came to the conclusion that I was probably your best choice.’ The tantalising grin returned and grew wider when she gave him a doubtful stare. ‘And if you could see past that pretty little nose of yours, you will see that I might have done you a favour.’
Catherine’s expression was indignant as she looked ahead and tossed her head with a grand gesture. ‘I was right. You are conceited.’
Marcus laughed outright. ‘I admit it. So forget your girlhood suitor, Catherine, and face the truth of what you have.’
The chambers assigned to Catherine were situated in the right-hand wing of the house.
‘Here are your apartments.’ Marcus pushed open a large panelled door and bade her enter. ‘You will find your maid in attendance.’ A strange smile touched his lips, as if he were amused by some wry jest.
Catherine saw it and was puzzled by it as she went inside, wondering who had been assigned to serve as personal maid for the new mistress. How she missed Alice. She would see to it that the dear lady came to Saxton Court without delay. After all, since Marcus intended selling Riverside House and all its contents, apart from the items she wished to keep, Alice, with no family of her own, would have nowhere else to go. Besides, to live in a world without Alice was unthinkable.
While servants carried in her trunks, Catherine gazed around her with a kind of wonder. ‘What a beautiful room,’ she remarked, gazing round the panelled walls and up at the carved and embossed ceiling. A high four-poster bed with a tasselled canopy of ruby and gold and rich brocade draperies stood in the centre, and a cosy fire, burning to ward off the chill, cast a soft, intimate light over the room.
When the familiar figure of her maid emerged from an ante-room, Catherine stared, unable to believe what she was seeing. It was as if she had conjured Alice up from her imagination. With tears of relief and happiness already forming in her eyes, she let out a cry of pleasure. ‘Alice! Oh, Alice!’ Immediately she went to her and, placing her arms around her, hugged her close. ‘I had no idea you would be here. Oh, but this is truly wonderful and makes things a whole lot better. Now I shall not feel so alone.’
Catherine was so overwhelmed on seeing her beloved Alice that a small feeling of gratitude towards her husband stirred in her heart, for this had to be his doing. She turned and looked at him. ‘Thank you so much, Marcus. You have no idea how much better it will be having Alice here with me.’
‘I am happy to have done something that pleases you at last.’
Alice cupped Catherine’s tearstained face in her palm. ‘Lord Reresby arrived at Riverside House the day after you had left for The Hague. He asked me if I wanted to continue as your maid. When I said I did he had me brought here. So no more tears, Catherine. I am here now and, God willing, I’ll be with you every day from now on.’
Watching the touching reunion of his wife with her maid, Marcus was glad he’d had the elderly woman brought to Saxton Court. He had need of her presence if he was to woo his wife. He was about to leave the room when Catherine stopped him.
‘Marcus…’
‘Yes?’
She crossed to him. Her dark eyes gazing directly into his, she asked quietly, ‘Whereabouts in the house are your chambers?’ The question was a perfectly natural one, but Catherine saw a spark ignite in his eyes.
‘Right next to your own, Catherine. Where else? So, you see, I will not be far away. Don�
��t you think I am looking forward to having you close to me again?—as it was between us at The Hague?’
The unexpected reference brought a flush to Catherine’s cheeks. ‘I—I thought you had forgotten that.’
A faint mocking smile touched his lips at her embarrassment. ‘Why? Because I did not speak of it? It is still uppermost in my thoughts, Catherine. I keep the memory of that night hidden away in a corner of my heart. I am not insensitive to your feelings and will make no emotional demands on you. For now I shall ask nothing of you.’
An odd gleam hardened his eyes when her expression relaxed with the relief she was unable to conceal. Putting his hand under her chin, he jerked her face up to his. ‘Until we know each other better I shall refrain from exercising my rights as a husband. But understand this, Catherine. I will not be a complaisant husband. You may keep your chaste sanctity for the time being. However, when you can look upon me as a wife should, marital relations will be renewed between us.’ He grinned suddenly. ‘They do say there is nothing like sharing a pillow to take away hostile feelings.’
The following morning bright sunlight filled the chamber when Alice drew back the heavy drapes. ‘Come, Catherine, it’s time to rise. Lord Reresby is expecting you to join him for breakfast,’ she announced with gentle but unmistakable urgency. ‘It is important that as Lady Reresby you look your best if you hope to win your husband’s approval.’
Catherine struggled to sit up. Throwing off the covers, she looked crossly at Alice. The last thing she wanted was to win Marcus’s approval—or anyone else’s at Saxton Court for that matter. ‘Alice, from the way you speak, anyone would think you like living here.’
‘And would that be such a strange thing? I can see nothing wrong with it. Everyone here bears a fierce loyalty to the family and they’ve been kindly towards me.’ She paused in what she was doing and looked into the wide accusing eyes. ‘I know how much you miss Harry, Catherine, but if you’re wise you will treat your husband with regard. He’s an honourable man—a wealthy man—’
His Rebel Bride Page 7