‘Very well, sir. We will be betrothed tonight as you wish. But I must tell you,’ she swallowed hard and managed to formulate the words with as much dignity as she could, ‘I do not consider myself promised in anything but name until the marriage ceremony is performed.’
Matthew looked down at her heated face and let his hands drop from her shoulders. ‘As you desire, madam.’ There was more in his face than displeasure at her coldness, there was a measure of suspicion too. She felt his scrutiny on her stiff back as she returned to the house across the sunny garden. Henrietta knew instinctively that few people succeeded in keeping secrets from Matthew Sheridan for long.
Chapter Seven
‘There you are, Henrietta. Where have you been? Dinner is almost on the table and we have much to do before this evening.’
Henrietta blinked, accustoming her eyes to the cool gloom of the hall after the brilliant morning sunshine outside. Her aunt paused just inside the hall screens, her buxom figure positively quivering with excited impatience.
‘This evening?' What could Aunt Clifford mean and why was she in such a ferment? She and Matthew had scarcely agreed things between.
‘The betrothal, of course. Surely Sir Matthew has spoken to you this morning? Do not tell me you have been avoiding him after that foolish dispute last night. Indeed, you put me out of all patience with you, provoking him so.’
‘Aunt, I have just left him in the garden, where we have been talking this past half-hour and we have agreed to be betrothed this evening. But – ’ She broke off at the sight of a small group of house maids waiting behind her aunt and unashamedly eavesdropping. ‘How could you know of it so soon when we have only this moment parted company?’
‘A moment, my love, there are too many idle hands and long ears here.’ Aunt Susan turned to the gaggle of girls behind her. ‘Mary, Mathilda, away to the long gallery and sweep it thoroughly. Jane, go to the stillroom and collect fresh strewing herbs, Letty will give you the key. And don't gossip, I will be up directly. Go on, go on…’ She flapped her hands at the giggling group and turned back to Henrietta. ‘Sir Matthew told me last night that it was to be this evening. He is all impatience, which is so flattering to you. I have been up since five making preparations and Lawrence is even now finishing drafting the papers with Sir Matthew's clerk.’
So, her agreement – her submission – had been taken for granted, the whole matter no doubt neatly arranged in Lawyer Stone's chambers before he left Hertford with Matthew. It had probably never occurred to the two men that she might refuse.
Those few intimate moments in the knot garden when she'd thought Matthew was asking her to make a free choice had all been part of his tactics to ensure her acquiescence. No doubt a halfway-willing wife would be less trouble to him than a reluctant one.
‘I suppose I should be grateful he even bothered to inform me of this evening's events in advance.’ Her anger was giving way to something close to panic. She was nothing but a cypher in Matthew Sheridan's plans for Winterbourne with no more say in events and decisions than a portrait on a wall
. In every way, legally, physically, he was stronger than she. ‘I have no choice in this matter but to comply with everything he wishes, it seems.’
Aunt Clifford patted her cheek, tidying a wayward curl back behind Henrietta's ear. ‘I understand your natural fears, my love, but you must not allow your apprehensions of the wedding night to make you seem shrewish. I am sure if you think calmly you will see that is all that lies behind your uncertainty. Now, wipe that frown from your face. Such marks of discontent are most unbecoming to the complexion and will not endear you to your husband.’
‘Aunt, he said something just now about his late wife.’
‘Sarah? Yes, Lawrence has been speaking of her too. They married young, apparently, and, according to Lawrence, were a byword for married devotion. Doesn't that speak well of Matthew as a husband? He was quite stricken when she died, and then of course the war… Now,’ she became brisk again, ‘run and find Sir Matthew and Mr Stone and tell them dinner will be on the table directly.’
No one understood, Henrietta thought despairingly as she walked slowly in her aunt's wake through the screens to the foot of the stairs. How could they, when she didn't understand herself? What more could she ask of Matthew than that he make her his wife, be a good master to Winterbourne? I am fortunate, she chided herself. If he had come courting me I would not have believed my luck. In every way he is so perfect. In every way, save that he was not her free choice. And he supported Parliament. She was marrying him for duty and duty alone.
Where would the men be? She heard the murmur of voices from the door to her left and pushed it open. In the centre of the chamber Matthew and Lawyer Stone bent over a drift of papers on the wide table. ‘I am more than satisfied with the provision you are making for Henrietta. Indeed, it is most generous,’ the older man was saying. ‘Now we must consider the matter of the children, who God willing, will be many and healthy.’
‘God willing, indeed.’ The set of Matthew's mouth was as hard as his tone. He glanced up towards the door and saw her hesitating on the threshold and his expression changed and softened. ‘Were you looking for me, Henrietta?’
Henrietta found herself smiling back. ‘I was looking for both of you. My aunt sent me to say dinner will be served in the hall shortly, if you are ready?’
Lawrence Stone pushed back his chair with alacrity. ‘Excellent! Your aunt promised me a baked carp, and after this morning's work I intend to do full justice to it.’
‘From what I saw earlier the price of your carp was a well-tanned kitchen lad.’ Matthew's eyes glinted with amusement. ‘Wait.’ He laid a restraining hand on her arm as she made to follow the hungry lawyer. ‘A moment, please, Henrietta.’ He drew her close, his voice gentle. ‘You must not be afraid of me. It is right that you should be apprehensive – I would expect nothing else from a maiden – but it is a husband's duty, and pleasure, to soothe those fears.’
Hot colour flooded into her cheeks with embarrassment at what he was saying.
Matthew's warm, sure hands cradled her face. ‘Let me show you how it can be.’ Before she could protest his lips were on hers, capturing, stifling her instinctive denial with a gentle insistence which became a demand as his hands dropped to her shoulders, pulling her close.
Her own hands came up to his chest to push him away, but she found they would not obey her. Instead of pushing, her fingers spread, tentatively exploring the breadth of his chest, the warmth of his body through the fine linen.
No man had ever taken her in his arms like this, no man had ever kissed her mouth. Her whole being was concentrated on this man, alive to his body where it touched hers, to his mouth moving on her own. The male scent of him filled her nostrils, beneath her now-questing fingers the muscles were taut and hard, and when his lips left hers to explore the soft angle between neck and shoulder she was conscious of the slight roughness of his cheek.
‘Matthew.’ It was meant to be a protest but it came out like a supplication. At any moment someone might come in, this was all wrong, they were not even betrothed yet, but every touch of his body on hers sapped her will. Matthew's hands encircled her waist while his mouth grazed slowly down the slope of her bare shoulder revealed by the low-cut gown.
His heightened breathing found an answering echo in her own as she felt her eyes closing, her legs weakening along with her will. If he were only to take her up in his arms, carry her to the big bed above them she would be his now, at this moment, betrothal or no. And it was wrong, all wrong. She scarcely knew him.
‘Henrietta,’ he said gently, still holding her trembling body against his. ‘We are are anticipating what can be ours tonight. Your beauty and your innocence lead me astray, and the others will be wondering what has become of us.’ Matthew's lips briefly brushed her forehead before he released her.
Shakily Henrietta preceded him through the library door. As she paused at the foot of the stairs to smooth the tumbled lace at her neck Letty scurried through from the servant's quarters with a dish of sallets and through the gap in the screens she could see the others standing by the dining table in the hall and heard her aunt say clearly, ‘We must allow for her youth and innocence, Lawrence. Perhaps I have been too impatient with her.’