So he loved his dead wife still. The remembered pain had darkened his eyes, his fingers twisted unknowingly a broad gold band on his wedding finger. What he's offering, Henrietta thought, is a convenient arrangement for him and a neat solution to the problem of what to do with me. Each of us needs to marry, of that there is no doubt, and this cold proposal at least has the merit of keeping Winterbourne in the family.
‘If you wanted to do your duty as my kinsman you could give me my portion and let my uncle find me a husband,’ she snapped back to hide the hurt. So much for her dream of a suitor who would love her for herself. For this man she was simply an inconvenience to be tidily, but honourably, dealt with.
‘One of those fortune-hunting Cavalier exiles who haunt the Continental courts? Oh, no, Henrietta, I have better ways to waste my money.’ He watched her
face for a few moments then added quietly, ‘I did not believe you so selfish as to desert your people.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I would have kept on your servants, your steward, your farmworkers if you were my wife. But if you wish to leave I can find my own people to fill their places. There is no shortage of good men seeking employment now the country is at peace.’
‘In effect you would coerce me? You are not doing this out of concern for a kinswoman or you would not be so cruel. Tell me plainly, sir, what do you want of me?’ She hoped against hope she would push him into a declaration, some sign that he intended to woo as well as wed her.
There was a long, long silence that hung heavy in the still air, Matthew's gaze held hers with an intensity beyond all her experience, her knees felt weak and she was glad she was already sitting. She had told him that morning she wanted a man, not a boy to wed, now she burned with the knowledge that her immodest words had come back to haunt her.
Suddenly she knew he wanted her as a woman, someone he desired in his bed, although he scarcely knew her and he still loved his first wife. She was an unrealistic fool to expect any sign of affection from him.
Yet when he had held her just now he'd been tender and when his arms had tightened the beat of his heart had told her he was not indifferent to her. Henrietta lowered her eyes, feeling a shiver pass down her spine. In all her eighteen years she had never been so conscious of a man's desire, and now, experiencing it from Matthew, she felt dizzy. Confused.
‘I will tell you what I want of you,’ he said, and there was no sensuality in his voice now. ‘I want a wife with a knowledge of this estate, a proven good housekeeper and an intelligent and educated mother for my children.’
How mortifying that her immodest thoughts had found no echo in his motives. Henrietta flung back, ‘Any woman of breeding would give you your last two qualities, sir. And, as to the former, my steward knows more of this estate than I ever will. Take him to wife.’ She scrambled to her feet and stood over him, anger loosening her tongue. ‘And let us be frank, it is accepted on these occasions, when a man seeks a wife, that he does so with at least some show of affection or attachment.’
Matthew got slowly to his feet, giving Henrietta ample time to regret her impetuous challenge. Standing before her, he was disconcertingly close, dangerously male, regarding her with heavy-lidded eyes.
‘If you are asking me to make love to you, Henrietta, I will willingly comply. However, as we are not yet betrothed, do you not feel this place is a trifle indiscreet? I could come to your chamber later…’ He stretched out one hand, rubbing the ball of his thumb lingeringly down the line of her neck until it met the heavy warmth of her pearls.
Chapter Four
‘How dare you touch me?’ Henrietta stumbled backwards, frightened at what she'd unleashed, the lightning change from cool logic to explicit sensuality. She had wanted fine words and dalliance, not dangerous reality.
‘Oh, Henrietta!' His voice and eyes mocked her. ‘You play at being a grown woman, you manage your estate and complain that your suitors are all callow boys. You ask for a mature man and demand pretty speeches but you cannot pretend you do not know what the true end of it will be. I will behave with restraint but you are like a child with a stick stirring a beehive. Do not be surprised if you are… stung.’
‘You are offensive, sir, and arrogant.’ The racing of her heart and the flush staining her skin was not all anger and embarrassment, and the recognition of her own shameful excitement added a guilty vehemence to her protest. ‘I will not marry you.’
Matthew shrugged. ‘As you will. I doubt you will starve, but your people may. There are enough masterless servants in the countryside already.’
‘I wish to God you were out of my sight, sir,' Henrietta snapped back, too angry now to heed his threat.
‘I leave soon, I can stay at Winterbourne a day or two at most. I have too much important business in hand to linger here now. You have until tomorrow morning to change your mind. If you decide not to accept my offer of marriage I will provide you with passage money and escort to your friends in the Low Countries, but not a silver shilling more.’ He swept her a bow that mocked courtesy. 'I wish you joy of your deliberations, Mistress Wynter.’
Henrietta stood watching the lean figure as he made his way through the orchard away from her without a backward glance. What had she done? He was not a man who made idle threats, that much she could already judge of Matthew Sheridan. If she persisted in her refusal to marry him he would make her people destitute and their families with them. There were people enough living on parish relief in the Vale for her to know the harshness of life for masterless men.
And what of Robert who had fought at her father's side, had been maimed in the service of the Wynter family? Who would employ him? How could he ever marry Alice now? The weight of the responsibility weighed on her as it had never done before. Nor could she delude herself that her mother's brother could afford to support her people until she found a husband. ‘If I could find one to take me with no portion to offer him.’ She spoke out loud, knowing it was the voice of cold reality.
Henrietta regained her room without meeting anyone, for which she was profoundly thankful. One window faced across the entrance court to the master bedroom opposite and as she watched she could see the housemaids at work, the flap of sheets as the great bed was made up, the casements pushed wide to air the long-disused chamber. Aunt Susan must have given orders to prepare the room for the new master. As was fitting.
‘Oh, Mistress!’ Alice swirled into the room, her face alight with excitement. ‘What a day this is. Such good fortune, you could hardly hope for better. A kinsman, and such a fine-looking man.’
‘What have you heard?' Henrietta demanded, knowing full well how the gossip would be spreading like wildfire through the household. A sensation of helplessness swept over her.
‘That Master Sheridan and you are to wed. Oh, just wait until they hear the news in the village – they'll peal the bells for joy. What shall you wear, Mistress?’ She bustled over to the great clothes-press and swung open the heavy door. ‘Your best primrose silk would look well.’
‘I am not marrying Matthew Sheridan.’
‘… it has never been worn. And the new kid slippers…’ The sense of Henrietta's words must have penetrated her excited chatter and Alice stopped, open-mouthed. ‘I heard wrong? He hasn't asked you? But he will, Mistress, never fear,’ she added cosily. ‘After what Letty saw in the orchard…’
‘Alice, be quiet, please. My head is splitting. He has asked me, and I have refused him. Now draw the curtains, and fetch me a tisane of lavender flowers for my head.’