Marriage Under Siege by Anne O'Brien Read Free Book Online Page A

man to read the
will to those who might expect some recognition? The floors had been swept, the
heavy hangings beaten to remove the worst of the dust and cobwebs. A fire
burned and crackled fiercely to offset the dank air. The mullioned windows,
larger than many in the castle, had been cleaned and, although still smeared
with engrained grime, allowed faint rays of spring sunshine to percolate the
gloom. A scarred, well-used oak table served as a desk for Mr Wellings to
preside over the legal affairs of the dead, the surface littered with documents
and letters, frayed ribbon and cracked seals. The two documents before him,
upon which his thin hands now rested, were both new, the paper still in
uncreased and unstained condition.
    Honoria had taken a seat on
an upright chair beside the fire. Lord Mansell stood behind her, leaning an arm
against the high carved mantel. The lady was as impassive as ever, but
Mansell's concern for her well-being increased as the days passed. If she had
slept at all the previous night it would have been a surprise to him. Her hair
and skin and her eyes were dull as if they had lost all vitality and he knew
with certainty that she was not eating enough. If only she had some colour in
her cheeks and not the stark shadows from exhaustion and strain. Whatever was
troubling her was putting her under severe stress, but she clearly had no
intention of unburdening her anxieties to him. Whenever possible she absented
herself from his company. When they met they exchanged words about nothing but
the merest commonplace. Why are you so unhappy? he
asked her silently, glancing down at her averted face. Surely your freedom from Sir Edward with a substantial income in your
own name should be a source of happiness and contentment, not despair? But he found no answer to his concerns. Perhaps she was indeed merely dull, with
no qualities to attract.
    But, he decided, quite
unequivocally, she should not wear black.
    Lady Mansell's spine
stiffened noticeably as Mr Wellings cleared his throat, preparing to read the
final wishes of the recently deceased Lord Mansell. The present lord, on
impulse, leaned down to place a hand, the lightest of touches, on her shoulder
in a gesture of support. She flinched a little in surprise at his touch,
glancing briefly up at him, before relaxing again under the light pressure.
After the first instant of panic, he recognised the flash of gratitude in her
eyes before she looked away. So, not impassive or unmoved by the situation,
after all!
    Also present in the
chamber, as requested by Mr Wellings, was the Steward, Master Foxton, on this
occasion accompanied by Mistress Brierly and Mistress Morgan, Lord Edward's
cook and housekeeper of many years. They stood together, just inside the
doorway, nervous and uncomfortable in their formal black with white collars and
aprons, to learn if they were to be rewarded for their long and faithful
service. Uneasily, their eyes flickered from Mansell to the lawyer, and back
again. The brief sour twist to Foxton's lips as he entered the room suggested
that they had little in the way of expectations from their dead master.
    Mr Wellings cleared his
throat again and swept his eyes round the assembled company. He knew them all
from past dealings at Brampton Percy, except for the new lord, of course. He
would be more than interested to see Lord Mansell's reaction to Lord Edward's
will. He straightened his narrow shoulders and lifted the two relevant documents
to catch the light. 'My lord, my lady, this is the content of Edward Brampton's
will.'
    He turned his narrowed eyes
in the direction of the servants and inclined his head towards them. A brief
smile, which might have been of sympathy, touched his lips. 'Lord Edward left a
bequest to Master Foxton, Mistress Brierly and Mistress Morgan in recognition
of their service at Brampton Percy. They shall each receive a bolt of black
woollen cloth, a length of muslin and a length of linen, all of suitable
quality