Marriage Under Siege (40 page)

'I don't know how it came
about.' A heavy frown settled on Mansell's face as he unfolded the letter, eyes
narrowing as he once more intercepted the silent communication between brother
and sister. 'We set off. I am all trussed up like a Christmas goose as if I
would attack my escort at the first opportunity. No information was exchanged.
Coningsby was looking less than pleased—and yet there was an air of smooth
complacency about him that I disliked. It crossed my mind that he might have
arranged for my timely death on some quiet road. The next thing I knew we had
detoured from the London road and I was being delivered to Croft Castle where
Sir William released me, dismissed the escort back to Hereford and sent me on
my way. There appears to be a general conspiracy of silence. Even here.' He
cast a keen and accusatory glance at Joshua, who responded with a bland look
that failed to imply innocence. 'And now I find that Honoria has taken herself
to London!'

'Did Sir William say
nothing?'

'Only that my freedom had
been arranged. And that it would be less divisive if I did not simply walk out
through the gates of Hereford Castle. Some of the keener supporters of the King
would want to know the why and wherefore of it. But if that is so—why did
Coningsby agree to it? Croft was not saying. Simply that it was family
pressure. I can't believe that anyone in the county would stand up for me
against Coningsby in the circumstances. And I know it was not Sir William.'
'Perhaps you should read the letter, Francis.' He looked down at the single
sheet in his hand, reluctant to read the words in Honoria's clear script, to
read her inevitable rejection of his behaviour towards her. The message which
it contained was short enough.

My Lord,

If you
have received this you will be free and in Ludlow with Mary and Joshua. And
will, by this letter, know that I am at Ingram House. I am sorry if this causes
you any inconvenience, but I thought it for the best. I have taken advantage of
an escort provided by Sir William. Master Foxton and Mistress Morgan have asked
that they might go with me. You need have no doubt that I shall arrive safely.

I know
that you blame me for your imprisonment at Leintwardine. Coningsby made good
use of the opportunity, and I do not suppose he would tell you the truth of the
circumstances that caused him to return to the Manor when he did. It was not by
my hand, but I fear that nothing I can say, considering our past history, will
put my actions into a better light.

I have
done what I can to put matters right between us and pray that it will be
enough. When we married, I did not realise that divided loyalties, even when
they do not exist, could cause so much suspicion and pain.

I pray
for your safety. As I told you at Leintwardine, I do not, for one moment,
regret our marriage. But sometimes destiny is a stern master and cannot be gainsaid.
I understand your sentiments towards me. I am only sorry that I was never able
to prove my love for you. I have never found it easy to explain my emotions—and
would not have burdened you with them anyway.

For the rest, I cannot write
it.

God keep you safe, Honoria

Any inconvenience! A bitter
laugh twisted his lips. He had spent the last few hours, days even, with his
mind in turmoil, driven by a need to be reunited with her, haunted by their
final meetings when he had accused her of callous betrayal, rejecting her very
presence. Days and nights of solitary contemplation had convinced him that in
his anger he had wronged her, hurt her. How could the woman he loved, the woman
who had shared his bed with such delight and tenderness, who had fought beside
him to foil the attack on their home, be guilty of such deceit, such
indifference? He would come to her and do all in his power to heal the wounds
that put such sadness into her eyes. Only to discover that she had left him and
gone to London. He could hardly blame her. The fault was undoubtedly his. He
remembered with a wash of shame, which brought an uncommon flush to his lean
cheeks, the harsh words he had used towards her. He had turned his back to
.her—quite deliberately—refusing to acknowledge the desolation in her eyes.
And he had driven the sword between them. For a moment he closed his eyes in
anguish at the outrageous image of what he had done. And yet she could still
write of her love. How could he have been such a fool as to accuse her and yet
allow so much to go unsaid between them? There were still so many unanswered
questions...

He let his eyes travel down
the letter again. And halted, caught by one sentence. He became very still.

I have done what I can to
put matters right between us.

His head snapped up. 'What
did she do?'

Joshua had left the parlour
as he was reading, so he directed his demand towards Mary. She did not pretend
to misunderstand him. 'Honoria signed Leintwardine Manor over to Coningsby. It
was hers to give.'

'I know it.' He frowned.
'But what possessed her...? To give it to Coningsby? She should not have done
it. I know how much she prized Leintwardine Manor.'

'She knew Coningsby would
agree,' Mary replied, watching his reaction carefully and with interest. 'And
considered it a small price to pay for your freedom.'

He continued to study the
letter as if the words were difficult to understand. 'So she bought my freedom.'
Francis sighed. 'She says that...perhaps it would be better that we be apart.
Perhaps she is right. I would not willingly cause her more grief. And, God
knows, I have caused her enough.' His voice was tight and strained.

'Of course it is not
better!' Mary found herself driven by a complicated and uncomfortable weave of
sympathy and impatience that he could not see the obvious. 'And Honoria does
not think so, no matter what she has written. She is dreadfully unhappy. When
she came here it was as if her world lay in shattered pieces around her feet.
She dare not face you. She thinks that you blame her for your imprisonment, as
well as a multitude of other things. And, being Honoria, she blames herself.'

She paused to draw breath,
and then, before Mansell could order his wits to think of a reply, made up her
mind and committed herself to the truth. 'Do you know that the only reason
Coningsby turned up at Leintwardine that night was the violence of the storm?
Honoria's scheme had worked to perfection. But our fastidious Governor stopped
for shelter at Wigmore Abbey, where some meddling soul informed him that there
was no local plague outbreak—hadn't been for the last ten years—so he promptly
turned back. And found you in residence, all neatly available to be apprehended
and imprisoned. I dare say that he couldn't believe his luck, after Henry
Lingen had allowed you to ride free.' She assessed the bleak expression in his
face, the raw pain in his eyes, and was satisfied, but continued the assault.
'I don't suppose Coningsby would tell you that. And Honoria would not, as a
matter of principle.' She touched him lightly on his sleeve, her heart not a
little sore. 'You are both so difficult to reach. You close off your heart and
mind to protect your own feelings, but it only creates an insurmountable
barrier, bringing pain and isolation. It is worse than trying to batter a
breach in the walls at Brampton Percy!' She tightened her grip so that he was
constrained to look down at her. 'Of course it is not a good thing that you
remain apart. Unless you do not love her, of course.'

'Love? Oh, yes! I love her!
And I do not need you to tell me that she is innocent! I know it to the depths
of my soul.' Mansell crushed the letter in his hand, strode to the window where
he looked down with unseeing eyes on to the busy street, mouth set firm against
the wave of emotion that threatened to overset his self-control. 'But how can I
speak to her of love when I have shamed and humiliated her? How could she
possibly listen to a declaration of love from me when I have just accused her
of disloyalty and betrayal? Her letter is all of love and forgiveness. She
should have damned me to hell!'

Mary stamped her foot at
the obtuseness of men.

'Listen, Francis. Honoria
thinks that you still love Katherine. And that she compares unfavourably with
your memories of your first marriage.'

'But she has no need!' He
turned to face her again, brows lifted. 'I have told her that she need have no
fear that I would ever do such a thing.'

'She says that you keep a
miniature by your bed, of Katherine, which is very beautiful.' Mary had no
difficulty in embroidering the truth.

'Yes. I see. She left it
with me in Hereford—to give me comfort.'

'Isn't that so like her?'
Mary fisted her hands on her hips in exasperation. 'Have you ever told Honoria
that you love her?'

'No.' The smile that touched his
face was a pale shadow.
How could I? I was not
aware of it myself until recently!

So
your world is as much in pieces as Honoria's!
Sympathy began to gain the upper hand but Mary, refusing to weaken, continued
to press her point. 'So do you love her?' She joined him by the window and
shook his arm in frustration.

'Yes. Who could not love
her? She is...everything to me. And yet she apologises for being an
inconvenience.
I think that
1
have caused
her
nothing but inconvenience since
the day she agreed to honour me with her hand in marriage.' The bitter contempt
returned to his features. 'I have made a mess of this, have I not? But I love
her more than you could ever imagine.'

Thank
God!
Mary smiled and took pity on him at last. 'Then
tell her.'

'I was about to, I
remember—when Coningsby arrived to interrupt us.'

'In London, dear Francis,
surely you can arrange it so that
no one
interrupts!'

'It should not be beyond
me.' The light in his eyes had gentled, the stark lines smoothed. She thought
he looked like a man who had suddenly, against all his expectations, been
relieved of an overwhelming responsibility, a great weight that had been
pressing on his soul. Surprising her, he took her hand and raised it to his
lips, and then kissed her cheek with a rueful glance. 'You have all my
gratitude, Mary. You are a good friend to myself and my lady. We are neither of
us good at communication, are we?'

'Only when issuing orders!'
Mary laughed a little as she tried to ignore the deep blush that stained her
cheeks at his unexpected compliment and gallant gesture. 'But, no, you are
not! Both impossible, in fact. I will take any wager that Honoria is breaking
her heart in London, worrying about your whereabouts and your safety. She loves
you, Francis! How can you not be aware of it? But she is unlikely to admit to
it when you eventually find her.'

'Mary...'

Joshua returned, pausing in
the doorway to test the atmosphere, huffing in relief when he realised that the
bleak, heartrending tension in the room had softened.

'Come in, Josh. I will not
shoot you as the bearer of bad news. Your sister has just been taking me to
task for breaking Honoria's heart.'

'Rather her than me!' His
grin was fleeting. 'Although it goes against the grain, I have to agree with my
interfering sister. Honoria hides her thoughts, but for once she could not—and
it seemed to be all your fault! You need to talk to her, Francis.'

'I have just told him the
same.' Mary linked her arm with her brother, a united front. 'With luck, he
will begin to feel persecuted— and take some necessary action.'

'But do you think the lady
will listen to his suit?' Josh's wry smile was full of understanding.

'I think she might! If he
is willing to kneel at her feet and promise good behaviour for the rest of his
life.'

Mansell laughed but briefly
and with little humour at Mary's prim look and deliberate provocation, but his
expression quickly became severe with self-disgust. 'I deserve your censure. I
have not dealt with Honoria with understanding or kindness, much less
sensitivity, even though I knew in my heart that her loyalty was beyond price.
I can hardly condemn her flight from me and I doubt that she will welcome me
with open arms. If you knew of our last meeting...' He let his eyes fall to her
creased letter once more.
I am sorry that I was never able to prove my
love for you.
'I do not have your confidence in my abilities to
win her back.' He grimaced at the knowledge of his wife's present anguish, when
she was too far away for him to hold her in his arms and ask her forgiveness.
'Guilt rides me with sharp spurs. I must go to London.'

'Fortunately, I have just
arranged a horse and some supplies for you. I thought you would not wish to
linger.' Joshua walked towards the door. 'And here is someone who will keep you
company.'

Heavy footfalls sounded in
the hall and then Priam Davies stood in the doorway, already booted and cloaked
for a long journey. 'London, is it, my boy?' He grasped Francis's arms in a
hearty welcome, not quite able to hide the relief at seeing him safe from
Coningsby's clutches.

'Priam.' He returned the
embrace. 'Yes—but it is not necessary for you to accompany me.'