Resisting Her Enemy Lord

by Helen Dickson

  ‘It does matter,’ she uttered forcefully. She could not help herself. She had never spoken out against her stepmother, but years of bottling it up inside her had festered and become something she must rid herself of. ‘It matters to me. She never had a kind word for me or spoke up for me when I raised my objections to marrying Thomas. Indeed, despite being married to my father, I believe she had an eye for Thomas herself—and he was not averse to her either, I regret to say.’ She caught John’s eyes speculatively. ‘You have met Blanche. You must know what she is like.’

  He looked away. ‘We have met on several occasions, when I have been a guest in your father’s house, but I have not been in her company for any length of time.’ His words gave nothing away, but Catherine heard an edge to his voice. His meetings with Blanche in the past had caused that cynical note, she was sure.

  ‘Then consider yourself fortunate. One thing I learned from my mother at an early age was how to employ tact when it was most needed. With Blanche it was difficult, although I always tried hard not to let her upset me whenever I found myself in her company.’

  John grinned and one dark brow arched and his eyes danced with devilish humour. ‘If she offends you the next time you meet, perhaps you should call her out for the requisite twenty paces,’ he said, gently teasing.

  Catherine’s lips answered the laughter in his eyes in a broad smile which progressed into laughter of her own that revealed shining teeth. ‘If I do, will you be my second, sir?’

  John shook his head with mock gravity. ‘I’m afraid that would not be appropriate. As a friend of your father it would be only right that I remain neutral. Besides, I think you are more than capable of taking care of yourself—and there is nothing that pleases a woman more than victory over another.’

  ‘Oh? Please explain to me what you mean.’

  ‘That when one woman strikes at the heart of another, she usually hits the target.’

  Catherine’s mouth twitched. ‘You mean if I strike at my stepmother’s heart, it could prove fatal?’

  John’s eyes danced as though he found their conversation about her stepmother vastly entertaining. ‘It’s possible—but in your stepmother’s case I hope, for your own and your father’s sake, it is an exception.’ His expression became serious as he continued to hold her gaze. ‘You should laugh more often,’ he murmured. ‘It suits you. Tell me, are you always so outspoken?’

  ‘It’s an attitude I seem to have grown into. No doubt you must have found some of my remarks quite outrageous and think that I’m dreadfully ill bred.’

  ‘Nothing is further from my thoughts and, with Edward as your father, there is nothing ill-bred about you.’

  ‘Be that as it may, but I think Thomas looked on the war as a godsend—to be relieved of me. I was soon an abandoned wife with a castle to take care of. It was as much as I could do to hold everything on the estate together and provide for those at the castle and the tenants. The fines, which I knew would come, would be crippling. Should Thomas have come back looking for funds, there would be nothing to spare to go in the King’s coffers. Creditors are always at the door. If the bills are not paid soon, not only do we have the threat of sequestration hanging over us, but the bailiffs will come and carry everything away.’

  ‘Don’t fret. It is no longer your concern. It will be taken care of.’

  As John uttered those words, he could not know what a relief that was to Catherine to have the burden of Castle Bray lifted from her shoulders.

  They fell silent as the coach rattled over the drawbridge, much to Catherine’s relief. Her companion’s presence in the confines of the coach was beginning to scatter her senses and draw her attention to things she didn’t want to notice. He directed her eyes like a sail blown by the wind. Before she knew it she would be wondering what it would be like to be kissed by him.

  She sighed, directing her thoughts away from him, not looking forward to entertaining their more privileged neighbours. Not one of them had approached her during times of need. It was ironic that they should come today as though the past four years had never happened, to partake of the late Lord Stratton’s liquor and to talk and rekindle old memories and dwell of the times they had shared that meant nothing to her.

  * * *

  When John climbed the battlements later it was to find a single figure standing alone, gazing at the village in the distance. There was a quiet, strangely frozen quality about her, as though her inner self weren’t really there. Apart from a few bobbing lights, the village was in darkness. Everything was still and quiet. The rain had kept away and there was a cold sharpness to the night air. Built in the borderlands, wedged between the Welsh mountains and English river beds, the castle stood isolated in this sparsely populated slice of land. It was a lovely part of England—mountains and moorland, villages and castles, but also an area of frequent conflict.

  The moon was bright and clear, and he saw that she was attired in her breeches. She was so still, perfect, exquisite, and she reminded him of a young warrior queen, proud and unyielding, her gaze owning all she surveyed, her profile sharp and clear, etched against the night sky. He had never met a woman like her. Her features were delicate and exquisitely lovely with none of the pampered softness of so many women he had known. She was earthy, sensual and complex and he admired everything about her. Since coming to Carlton Bray his thoughts had turned constantly to her. He thought he had never seen anything so beautiful. Slowly he moved towards her. She did not turn, but he sensed she knew when he stopped behind her. There was something strikingly lovely and dignified about her slender form.

  ‘Why don’t you come inside and warm yourself?’ he said softly. ‘It’s a cold night.’

  ‘Is it? I don’t feel it.’ There was a moment of silence between them before she continued. ‘I hope your accommodation is suitable and that you have everything you require. When the mourners left I instructed the servants to have hot water carried to your quarters and to ensure the men accompanying you are well taken of.’

  ‘Thank you. Everything is in order. Have you given any more thought to going to London?’

  ‘Yes. You were right to persuade me. My father is ill. It would seem he leaves me with no choice. When do you wish to leave?’

  ‘A couple of days, no more. Just long enough for you to put things in order here.’

  ‘Thank you—although there is very little for me to do. When I heard that Thomas was dead I made preparations to leave.’

  ‘I assume you have a steward to take care of things.’

  ‘No. I do all that. All my time as been taken up with estate matters and living off rents I can collect—from those who can afford to pay, that is. Thomas found time to contribute most generously to the King’s coffers before he left, leaving us in dire straits. Most of the men in the village and the surrounding area went to fight for the King. Some have returned and others—well—either dead or prisoners of Parliament. My steward and most of the servants went, leaving me with no one to help with the burden of running Carlton Bray.’

  ‘I see. That must have been difficult.’

  ‘It was.’

  ‘Does your father know how you have struggled over the years?’

  ‘No, I don’t believe so. His mind was always occupied with events of the day and the politics of England. I always thought his views were too extreme. He holds an independent view on religion, favouring the new way of worship. He feared that Charles Stuart was being encouraged by his French wife to impose the Catholic rituals on his subjects. He sees the devil in theatricals and any form of frivolous entertainment and is opposed to any form of debauchery and frequently complains of overindulgence and extravagance, of which he accused the King’s court of being rife.’

  There would be little wonder if Blanche had favoured Thomas, John thought, who, despite taking the side of Parliament in the wars, believed in freedom in every sense. ‘You don’t
have to worry about it any more. I will take care of everything. I shall leave Will Price. He and I have been together throughout the wars. He is a good man, capable and reliable. He has no family to go home to. I am sure he will have no objection to remaining here and taking charge of things in my absence. In fact, having listened to his desire—and more than a few complaints these past weeks, I might add—about finding a hearth on which to rest his weary feet, I have not the slightest doubt that he will welcome the suggestion to remain here.’

  Catherine seemed surprised by what he was offering. ‘He would do that?’

  ‘I am sure of it. I’ll discuss the matter with him later.’

  ‘That would be most welcome. Miles, who has lived at Carlton Bray for many years, will give him the benefit of his knowledge concerning the estate. Indeed, I think he knows more about the running of the estate than Thomas ever did.’

  ‘I gather from what you have told me that yours was not a happy marriage, for which I am deeply sorry.’

  Catherine turned her head and looked at him. ‘I do not mean to speak ill of the dead, but Thomas was not a sensitive and caring husband. So, no, it wasn’t a happy marriage.’

  John felt a surge of anger. Her father should never have considered her marriage to Thomas, let alone allowed it. ‘That must have been difficult for you.’

  ‘Yes, it was. But enough of Thomas,’ she said, seeming to relax a little and perching on the edge of the crenelated battlement. ‘We hear so little of what is going on in the country, so tell me—what news is there of the King?’

  ‘From what I understand he is a prisoner in Carisbrooke Castle on the Isle of Wight—although I believe he is given a certain amount of freedom since he has given his word of honour not to try to escape. A Parliamentary delegation has gone over there with notions of a compromise—the results of which we can only wait and see.’

  ‘And if he does not comply? Can he be set aside? Can Parliament rule without him?’

  John fell silent, watching her. After a moment, he said, ‘If need be.’

  ‘And Henrietta Maria, the Queen?’

  ‘She is in France, trying to raise money for her husband’s cause’

  ‘Then his cause is hopeless. What will be done with him?’

  ‘If they take him back to London, they will make him swear never again to raise an army to be used against the people of England or elsewhere for that matter. He will also have to learn to work with Parliament, not against it and with bishops. In other words, he will have to rule on the permission of Parliament, on Parliament’s terms.’

  ‘I cannot imagine him agreeing to do that.’

  ‘No, neither can I.’

  ‘Whatever happens in the future, he believed he was right in doing what he did. That has to be taken into account when assessing people.’

  ‘You are fair minded.’

  ‘It is necessary for a king.’

  ‘But he destroyed a nation when he took the country to war because he believed in his own right. I find it hard to forgive.’

  ‘I agree. But the point is that he thought he was doing the best for his people.’ Catherine got to her feet and looked out over the darkened land once more. ‘The world has changed. Nothing will be the same again.’

  He gazed down at her. ‘Then let us pray the changes will be for the better. But one must never forget the conflicts in which so many lives were lost—on both sides. Good, honest Englishmen, fighting for what they believed to be right—be it for Parliament or the King. We must never forget that.’

  ‘No, we must not,’ Catherine replied, with a stirring of respect. ‘Were you ever at the court of King Charles?’

  ‘Yes, a long time ago, before the wars when neighbour was set against neighbour and people had to choose which side to support—King or Parliament.’

  ‘And is Henrietta Maria as beautiful as everyone says she is?’

  John was amused as he studied her and couldn’t help but smile a little. ‘She is fair enough, I suppose, but each to his own. I only went there once. There were better things to do than idle away one’s time at Court with its backbiting and gossip and scandals. It all appeared cordial on the surface, made up of civilised human beings, but there were many dangerous and treacherous undercurrents as ambitious courtiers solicited the King and Queen’s favour and schemed to better their positions and fill their family coffers.’

  ‘And were you not ambitious?’

  ‘No,’ he said decidedly. ‘I was not influential in Court matters and never sought favour. I knew in which direction I was heading and it was not to take on the King’s cause.’ He smiled suddenly. ‘Although I imagine you would have found it intriguing—the Queen always admired an intellectual mind. But there was so much warmongering among the ladies who surrounded the Queen, with their petty jealousies and intrigues, weaving webs of deceit. And the gentlemen were equally as bad, with their love of corruption, of besting the next man in the frequent games they played. Would you have liked to have met the Queen?’

  ‘I suppose I would. I heard she was much admired by the gentlemen of the Court.’

  ‘She is the Queen—and a Frenchwoman. It flattered her vanity to be surrounded by men and she was not averse to a handsome face.’

  Catherine shot him a little smile. ‘And did you not aspire to be one of them?’

  ‘No, I did not. But those days are gone. The Court of King Charles held no attraction for me and much less the Queen herself.’

  ‘Without the Royal Court and living under the rule of Parliament made up of Puritans and the like, it will be hard to adjust to a world without the colour and flamboyance of the gentry and the aristocracy, of masquerades and balls and music. What a dull place England will become.’ Catherine was silent for a moment, seeming preoccupied with her thoughts. ‘I often come up here at night when I cannot sleep.’

  ‘Are there many nights like that?’

  ‘Too many.

  ‘I’m sorry. You are unhappy.’

  She shrugged. ‘I am used to it. I like to look towards the village, wondering what the people are doing and about their families.’

  ‘I used to come up here often. In daylight, as I well remember, the view of the Welsh Marches is astounding and the panorama goes on for miles and miles.’

  ‘So it does.’

  ‘As boys, Thomas and I had great fun exploring the countryside hereabouts.’

  She half turned her head towards him. ‘Did you really? I can’t imagine Thomas having fun. He was a dour character and always so serious. He was never at home—always fighting some battle somewhere. I think he preferred it that way.’

  ‘You say you heard nothing from him after Marston Moor?’

  ‘No. I made enquires, but they came to nothing. Whether he was dead or in some prison somewhere, I had no idea—until your letter came informing me of his death. Did you know your cousin well?’

  He nodded. ‘My parents brought me to Carlton Bray on many occasions and Thomas would visit us at Inglewood—my home in Sussex. It’s close to the sea so we spent most of our youth swimming and climbing the cliffs. Like many families in England at the time war broke out, divided loyalties separated us.’

  ‘That must have hurt you terribly.’

  He nodded, remembering the pain caused by the split Thomas’s allegiance to the King had caused in the family, culminating in Thomas’s ignominious death in Newcastle almost two weeks ago. He would blame himself for ever for not being there to speak for his cousin, whose death had brought degradation on all Strattons. There was nothing honourable in the manner of his death, when he had been hanged by the neck for his treasonable actions—an end so violent that he had decided not to disclose the manner of it to Thomas’s wife. By not doing so, right or wrong, so be it.

  ‘It did,’ he said in answer to her question, ‘profoundly, but it did not make me think less of h
im.’

  ‘And how do you feel about inheriting the estate? I know you have your own acres and properties in Sussex. Is it your intention to take up residence here?’

  ‘In truth, I haven’t given it much thought and it is not the life I had planned. Richard, my older brother, was to have inherited Carlton Bray if Thomas did not produce a son—had he not met his death at the point of a Royalist sword at Edgehill.’

  ‘And your father?’

  John turned his head away to look into the night. ‘He was killed at Marston Moor.’ He fell silent for a moment, at one with his thoughts of his father. ‘With Parliament confiscating Royalist properties, which would have been the case with Carlton Bray if Thomas had returned, now it has come to me it will remain within the family. And you? Have you given more thought to a future without Thomas? I feel a sense of duty for your comfort.’

  ‘Please don’t. You are not responsible for me, my lord, and need not concern yourself over my future. I expect to have jointure as Thomas’s widow from the estate, but I also brought resources to the marriage. I inherited Wilsden Manor from my mother in Hereford. It’s a lovely old place where my grandmother was raised and then my mother. I will go there after I have seen my father. I shall be comfortable there.’

  ‘Who resides there?’

  ‘A family acquaintance—a spinster lady, Mrs Amelia Sheldon. She took up residence before my mother died. When I married Thomas and went to live at Carlton Bray, I saw no reason to ask her to leave. I haven’t been able to visit as often as I would have liked, but she has looked after the property well. Thankfully it has escaped the ravages of the Civil War. Be assured that if I go to London to see my father I will take my leave of him as soon as may be.’

  He nodded, watching her closely. The depth of this young woman’s composure amazed him, as did the delicate softness in the expressionless young face that was looking up at his. He had seen enough of her to realise she had many pleasing attributes and was surprised to find that she stirred his baser instincts. ‘There is no need for haste—although I imagine your father will insist on keeping you with him for a while.’