She took Henrietta’s hand and raised her from the low stool before stepping back to regard her maternally. ‘Lovely! That amethyst colour strikes just the right note. We must not forget your poor little brother, or leave off our mourning just yet, yet we cannot be doleful at your betrothal. Oh, how long have I dreamed of this day… Why, I nearly forgot why I came in. Your father's ring – fetch it from the casket, Alice.’
‘What for?’ Henrietta took the heavy plain gold band that had so recently been returned to her with Francis's effects from the Low Countries.
‘To exchange with your betrothed, of course.’
‘Aunt, am I truly doing the right thing?’ Rings and contracts were giving a frightening reality to the proceedings. ‘Could it be I am betraying Winterbourne, my people? Would my father and James approve? Matthew has no knowledge of our country ways, of how to govern an estate like this.’
‘Yes, but he is a man of affairs, of experience and learning. Lawrence tells me he is well regarded, with friends in high places.’ She paused to look at her niece with affectionate exasperation. ‘Henrietta, my dear, I do not know what your head is full of today, but your thoughts are certainly distracted.’
Alice giggled softly behind her hand. Henrietta glared at her. She wouldn't put it past her to blurt out exactly what Henrietta's thoughts were full of.
‘Come, Alice, I think we are ready,’ she said with dignity, gathering up her skirts to reveal the heavily embroidered underskirt beneath.
The three made their way in silent procession along the passage from Henrietta's room to the long gallery. At the door Henrietta and Alice paused, allowing Mistress Clifford to enter the room first. It was very quiet. Henrietta could hear the sparrows squabbling in the eaves outside, the crackle of logs in the grate, the rustle as someone shifted their feet among the split lavender stems that strewed the polished oak floor.
She took a deep breath and stepped inside, looking round the room. At the far end the household servants stood in a silent group in their best clothes, the youngest girls nudging each other at the first sight of their mistress in her finery. Robert stood next to Lawyer Stone, wearing his best blue linen doublet, one empty sleeve pinned up. Next to the fireplace, on the other side of the great table, Matthew was flanked by his clerk Nathaniel, his aspect more crabbed and dour than ever.
The branches of beeswax candles guttered in the draught as Alice closed the door behind them. Only then did Matthew turn and look at her as she came slowly to the end of the table to face him down the length of the richly patterned table-carpet. As he stood there under the portraits of her father and grandfather she saw the family resemblance for the first time in the straight nose, the firm chin, the uncompromising green gaze.
But his colouring was darker than that of the Wynters, his hair, curling on the fine white collar of his green doublet, was almost black, as were his brows. His features were set, his eyes assessing as he regarded her without speaking.
Why can't he smile at me? Give me some sign that he really wants this, wants me, not just any wife, she thought helplessly, then ventured a curve of her lips. She was instantly rewarded; his face was transformed by a smile that softened his lips and warmed his eyes like sun on the sea. The breath caught in her throat as desire mingled with a deep fear that he could make her feel like this, so defenceless and vulnerable.
Chapter Eight
Matthew moved forward to take her hands in his. ‘Your beauty takes my breath, madam.’
Henrietta sank down in a deep curtsy. ‘You are gallant, sir.’
‘If you could both approach the table.’ Lawyer Stone fixed his eye-glasses firmly on his nose, shuffled his papers, cleared his throat. ‘Henrietta Lucy, do you accept this man, Sir Matthew Nicholas Sheridan, as your future husband to love and obey in all things? Do you accept the terms of the marriage settlement here before you?’
‘I do accept both Sir Matthew and the settlement.’ She found her voice, strong and clear, in the high-ceilinged room.
‘Matthew Nicholas, do you accept this woman, Henrietta Lucy Wynter, as your future wife to love and cherish in all things? Do you accept the terms of the marriage settlement here before you?’
‘I do accept both Henrietta Lucy and the settlement.’
‘If you would now both sign the document, Master Weldon and I will witness it.’
Mr Stone dipped a quill in the standish, handing it first to Matthew. Henrietta watched his steady hand as he signed with bold strokes of the pen, then took the quill and signed below his name. Nathaniel stepped forward to sand the wet ink, the expression of disapproval still fixed on his face, then stood aside for the witnesses to sign in their turn.
Matthew drew the amethyst from his finger and took her hand in his. ‘Henrietta, I plight thee my troth, accept this token of my promise to be your husband.’
As she felt the warm metal circling her finger she felt her heart sink. How could she promise to be governed by Matthew in everything, to be his true and faithful wife, when she would begin their life together tied to the secret James had entrusted her with? She had sworn an oath to her dead brother, now she had to balance these conflicting loyalties and could not see how it could be done.
She had to speak out now, before she sinned irretrievably. Henrietta opened her mouth and heard herself say calmly, ‘Matthew, I plight thee my troth, accept this token of my promise to be your wife.’ As she spoke she slipped her father's plain gold ring on to his finger.
‘In this company and before witnesses you have plighted your troth, either to other, and have declared the same by the giving and receiving of rings. I therefore call on you to name the day when this marriage shall be solemnised.’
‘The second Wednesday in July if you should agree, madam?’ Matthew raised a dark brow.
‘That is acceptable to me.’
‘Don't just stand there, Sheridan,’ the old lawyer hissed. ‘Kiss the girl, then we can get on and drink your health.’
Henrietta raised her face, expecting a chaste token, trying not to remember the last – the first – time Matthew had kissed her. He took her firmly in his arms, bent his dark head, and claimed her lips with an intensity and passion that left her breathless and dizzy. When he finally released her, her heart was beating against the tight lacing like a bird in a net and there was an audible sigh from the assembled maidservants.
‘Hurrumph!’ Lawyer Stone cleared his throat and polished his eye-glasses on his kerchief. ‘I think we could all do with a glass of Canary after that.’