Книга - Satan’s Mark

Satan's Mark
Anne Herries


A most attractive guardianStrictly brought up by her Puritan uncle, Annelise Woodward is much too innocent for the likes of Justin Rochefort, Marquis Saintjohn. When she discovers Justin is her true guardian, and that she must go live with his mother, Lady Emily, Annelise's world turns upside down. Thrust from her modest life into the wicked court of Charles II, Annelise seeks guidance from her handsome new guardian. But Justin is too tormented by his past to help his beautiful ward. Can Annelise help him put aside his pain and look forward to their future together?









“You were not at fault, Mistress Woodward.


“But perhaps you ought not to come here alone in the future. There are men who might be tempted by such loveliness as yours, men who cannot be trusted to behave as they ought. These are dangerous times, and I would have you bring someone with you to protect you.”

“Oh…” Something in Justin’s look made Annelise’s heart beat faster. “You are kind, sir.”

“Kind?” Justin laughed, the devilment leaping up in his eyes. She was an innocent. How little she knew of men. “No, mistress, do not deceive yourself. Had you been other than you are, I might have done my best to lie with you this very day.”

Annelise lowered her gaze, her heart racing. His words ought to have made her angry. He had no right to say them to her, but somehow she did not mind….





Satan’s Mark










Anne Herries







www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)




ANNE HERRIES


lives in Cambridge, but spends part of the winter in Spain, where she and her husband stay in a pretty resort nestled amid the hills that run from Malaga to Gibraltar. Gazing over a sparkling blue ocean, watching the sunbeams dance like silver confetti on the restless waves, Anne loves to dream up her stories of laughter, tears and romantic lovers.




Contents


Chapter One (#u27706a66-08df-5d7e-b6cf-c4a891f73e19)

Chapter Two (#udeede4db-cd2e-5a0e-913a-701bafa37054)

Chapter Three (#u3301c6ed-52c9-587b-9512-78247d007ac9)

Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)




Chapter One


Annelise paused to glance over her shoulder as she heard a burst of raucous laughter. Three men had come staggering out of the inn behind her, their arms about each other’s shoulders; they were obviously in high good humour, seemingly the worse for strong drink as they laughed and shouted at some jest of their own.

Such behaviour was frowned on by her uncle and his friends—but these men were surely strangers?

Her heart raced wildly, nerves fluttering in sudden apprehension. They were Royalists! Cavaliers, soldiers, newly returned from wherever their wanderings had taken them these past years. She knew them by their extravagant manner of dressing, so different from her own much plainer garb, which was the simple gown and cap favoured by those of the Puritan persuasion.

The men were indulging in friendly horseplay, pushing each other as though they would fight a mock battle and creating a great deal of noise. They were obviously intoxicated, she thought, her face freezing into an expression of distaste as the tallest of them swept his hat off, making her an elegant bow; his action brought another burst of merriment from his companions.

‘Have at it, Justin—the wench is worth the bedding, I’ll vow.’

Annelise turned away, her cheeks flushed with annoyance as she realised the laughter concerned her this time. If this was how the new King’s supporters meant to behave after their long exile, her uncle was right—England would soon return to the bad old ways!

Sir Hugh Featherstone had been a close friend of Oliver Cromwell long before he had become the Lord Protector. Sir Hugh and Cromwell had fought together in the wicked Civil War, which, her uncle maintained, King Charles I had inflicted on his people, and the great man’s death had been truly mourned in the Featherstone house.

In her heart, Annelise had not really liked the Lord Protector, though she had respected him as she ought. She had found him a solemn, stern man, despite his kindness to her whenever they had met, and…

‘Mistress Woodward.’ The woman’s cry brought her from her reverie. ‘Pray wait a moment. I would have you carry a message to Lady Prudence.’

Annelise stopped at once, waiting for the woman to come up to her. She could hear the men laughing loudly just behind her, but refrained from looking back, suspecting that yet again some of their merriment might be on her account. She would not let them guess she had heard their wicked remarks about her person. Shame on them for their immodesty!

‘Goodwife Hale,’ she said with a smile as the woman arrived, puffing slightly from the effort. ‘What may I do for you?’

Mistress Hale was the wife of the village parson, a good, devout woman, though somewhat dour and stout of person. Beneath her plain black gown, with its collar of white linen, her more than adequate figure bulged and struggled for freedom, so that she resembled nothing so much as a bag of turnips tied up in the middle.

‘I wondered if…’ Mistress Hale halted as the three men passed by on their way from the inn, one of them brushing his arm carelessly against her basket. ‘Have a care, sir,’ she cried, glaring at him. She crossed herself fearfully. ‘Your kind are not welcome here. The mark of Satan is upon you.’

The Cavalier she had addressed could not hide his astonishment, for his carelessness had surely not warranted such a tirade. His brow creased, and for a moment Annelise thought he might strike the parson’s wife, such anger was in his face.

He was a large man, with a florid complexion and narrow-set eyes. Annelise felt a shiver run down her spine. Mistress Hale was surely unwise to speak so harshly to such a man? He and his kind were in command now, and no one could yet be sure how King Charles II would behave towards the followers of the men who had so cruelly killed his father. Better to tread carefully, to avoid confrontation.

‘Hell’s bells!’ the man muttered. ‘May a man not walk in the street now without being accosted by a shrew? A sorry place these Puritans have made of our merry England. I’ve a mind to teach you better manners, witch!’

‘Mistress Hale meant no harm,’ Annelise said quickly as she saw the older woman’s expression of indignation and feared a further outburst. ‘She was but startled, sir.’

The man’s dark eyes came to rest on her. Despite the plainness of her gown and headdress, nothing could deny the girl’s beauty. Only a few wisps of golden hair showed beneath her linen cap, but her eyes were wide and clear, more grey than blue, her complexion so delicate and perfect that the man’s jaw dropped.

‘Come, Ralph,’ another voice commanded. ‘We have business, remember?’

It was the tall man, who had made Annelise a mocking bow. His words had a powerful effect on the man called Ralph. He nodded, some of the anger fading from his face.

‘You are right as always, Justin,’ he said. He bowed his head to Annelise, a rueful twist to his lips. ‘You are fair of tongue and face, mistress—’tis a pity you wear the colours of a crow.’

‘Forgive him,’ the second man said, causing Annelise to look at him more closely.

She caught her breath. How attractive he was! He had taken off his hat once more and his long dark hair shone like the wing of a raven as it hung on his shoulders. His eyes were very blue and at that moment seemed to be laughing at some private jest all his own. She did not think she had ever seen such a well-favoured man in her life, and her heart had begun to beat very oddly.

How foolish! Annelise scolded herself mentally for her thoughts. She had been taught to disregard the vanities of life, and, though she had often rebelled inwardly at the strictness of her uncle’s rules, was accustomed to accepting his word as law. She went to church every Sunday, morning and night, listening to the long, dull sermons without complaint—and if she did smuggle a book of poems into her bedchamber, to read by the light of her candle, there was no harm in it. At least as long as her uncle did not discover her fall from grace.

‘I fear Ralph’s manners have not been what they ought,’ the man went on, bringing her wandering thoughts back to him. ‘He was clumsy. But, though we have broken our journey at yonder inn, we are not drunk on wine, only the pleasure of being home again. Nor does poor Ralph carry the mark of the devil, despite his looks, which, God knows, do not favour him!’

Annelise sucked in her breath. Her eyes opened wide. Was he insulting his companion? What would the man he called Ralph say now? Her heart raced with a mixture of apprehension and something else…something she was far from understanding.

‘Damn you, Justin!’ Ralph said, glaring at him. His hand rested on the hilt of his sword. ‘I should call you out, knave that you are—and I would if I did not know it to be useless.’

Justin Rochefort laughed, his white teeth gleaming in the sunlight. He had the alertness and vitality of a man used to living by his wits—the look of a battle-hardened soldier. But when he laughed, his eyes crinkling at the corners, Annelise glimpsed another, very different character. There was a charm about him then that made her heart skip a beat.

‘No, no, my friend, I beg you,’ he said. ‘Why should I kill the best companion I have ever known over a mere trifle? I do not mind your ugly face—but I fear you have distressed this lady.’

Suddenly both the other men laughed. ‘Ralph is a clumsy bear as always,’ the third and youngest said. He swept off his hat and made the ladies an elegant bow. ‘Forgive us, ma’am, mistress. We have been remiss. I am Sir Robert Harris, the son of the late Sir Richard of Longton Hall, come to reclaim my inheritance—and my friends Colonel Ralph Saunders and—’

‘Nay, nay, Rob,’ Justin put in, cutting off his flow. ‘We tarry overlong. Pray let us be on our way without more ado. Forgive us, ladies, we are already late.’ He bowed to Annelise once more.

His will seemed to be the other two men’s law. He turned away and they followed, laughing at some private jest as they mounted their horses and rode off.

‘Well!’ exclaimed Mistress Hale with a sour look after them. ‘So that is Sir Richard’s son. He was no more than a youth when his mother took him to France to join his father, after the estate was sequestered at the end of the war. I had heard his father had died, and that the estate had been restored to Sir Robert by the King. Much good may it do him!’

‘It has stood empty for two years now, has it not?’

‘Since Matthew Clarke died. God rest his soul!’ Mistress Hale crossed herself piously. ‘He was a good man and kept the estate well…but after his wife and son died of a fever he had no will to live.’

Annelise nodded. Matthew Clarke had been her uncle’s friend and a constant visitor to the house: she had liked him and his wife very well—indeed, there had once been a suggestion that the two families should be united by marriage, joining their estates as one. If David Clarke had not died, she might have been his wife even now—and waiting in fear to be cast out of her home! For no one could be sure what would happen now that the King had come back and the old order had been turned upside down.

Matthew Clarke had bought the estate fairly after it had been sequestered by Parliament, and perhaps it was best that he had died, leaving no heir, before all the wrangling began.

King Charles II had returned to England in May of that year, making a glorious entry into London and welcomed by people who had grown tired of the rigid rules laid down by Parliament and the Puritan faction, who had forbidden so many of the pleasures enjoyed by simple folk. Now that Charles was restored to the throne, there were many who lay abed at night and trembled. Some were in possession of estates taken from their rightful owners by dubious means, and could only wait to discover if they would be turned out by returning exiles. Others had paid good money for their land and were prepared to fight for their right of ownership.

Despite the outward rejoicing, England was still an uneasy land, with many still holding a grudge in their hearts and old hatreds simmering just beneath the surface. People spoke in whispers of godly men dragged out of their homes to face a beating or violent death, for many of those who had returned with His Majesty had come with a lust for vengeance against those who had caused their downfall.

Annelise was thoughtful as she left the village and began to walk towards her home. The Woodward estate, since it had belonged to her father, was, she supposed, hers by right. Lord Henry Woodward had fought for the King, leaving his beloved wife and only child alone in the huge house the Woodwards had owned since the days of the Tudors, to be cared for by their faithful women and a few men who had been too weak to march to war.

Annelise had been little more than a babe when the war began. She vaguely recalled a man’s laughing face as he kissed her and told her to mind her mother until he came home again, but though she’d wept when she had learned of his death at Naseby, she had not truly mourned him. How could she mourn a man she’d hardly known?

In truth, what she’d truly mourned, had she but known it, had been the absence of laughter in the house. Where there had been joy, music and happy faces, there was now only duty and solemn words. She had once been a merry child, a little naughty sometimes, but blessed with a sunny nature that made her truly loved. Over the years Annelise had come to accept the teachings of her uncle and aunt, but somehow in her heart she retained the core of joy that had been her birthright. Sometimes she rebelled against the doctrines forced on her and longed for that other life. Yet she could not but be grateful for her uncle’s care of her.

When at last the war had ended, her father’s estate might have gone the way of many others had her uncle not stepped in to help his sister. He had claimed his right to be Lady Woodward’s protector—and, because he was a close friend of Oliver Cromwell, had been granted the stewardship of her husband’s estate. He and his wife had come to live at Woodward House, and when Annelise’s mother had gradually died of a broken heart had assumed the guardianship of his niece.

Annelise had never had reason to complain of her uncle’s behaviour towards her. He was a stern man, but honest and fair in his judgements. Nothing had ever been said of her inheritance, but she supposed that would happen when negotiations for her marriage were begun. She knew her uncle had recently started to consider the idea again—indeed, had it not been for the Lord Protector’s death in 1658, it would probably have been arranged long before this. She was almost twenty years of age, and more than old enough to be married.

Sir Hugh had been greatly affected by the Protector’s death, which had followed that of Matthew Clarke by a few months, and was spending more and more time alone, reading from the Bible and neglecting the affairs of the estate. Annelise knew her aunt was worried about him, but there was nothing they could do—Sir Hugh had never been a man to take kindly to helpful suggestions from his wife.

Annelise frowned. She had not given much thought to marriage before this, but now found herself wondering what kind of a man her uncle would choose to be her husband. She hoped it would be someone she could like and trust.

For a moment the picture of a man’s laughing eyes flashed into her mind, but she dismissed it at once. It was unlikely that her uncle would choose a follower of the King he despised. Besides, she could not wish for such an alliance. She had been taught to think ill of such men, though now and then she rebelled in her heart. Her own father had been one of them, and her dear mother had died of love for him, so they could not all be as evil as her uncle claimed, could they?

How wicked she was! No, no, she would not consider the idea for a moment; it could only bring unhappiness. A good, sober man of her uncle’s choosing would surely make a comfortable companion and she would be a fool to ask more.

Indeed, she did not expect to meet the stranger again. She thrust the memory of his handsome face from her mind and hurried into the house to give Aunt Prudence the message from Mistress Hale.

‘My God, Justin,’ Ralph muttered as he threw himself down on an oak settle and took up the tankard of ale Robert’s man had poured for him. ‘This is a sorry homecoming for that young scamp. ’Pon my word, I never expected to find the estate so neglected.’

The two of them were alone in the parlour, the only comfortable room in the house, their host having gone off for a walk to cool his temper. Which, considering the neglect they had found, was perhaps the best thing Robert could have done.

‘I dare say it is as well,’ Justin remarked wryly. ‘Had it been flourishing, Rob would have found himself fighting through the courts for possession.’

‘As you must,’ Ralph said, nodding. ‘It is fortunate that you have not been idle these past years, my friend. At least you do not need to be a burden to your companions.’

Ralph Saunders had lost everything he had left behind. A devoted supporter of Charles I from the first, he had beggared himself by giving away his plate and gold in the King’s cause. His house was in ruins after a fiercely resisted siege, and the land had been neglected so long it had gone wild. Due to the generosity of Justin he was not a pauper, but it irked him to live on another’s charity.

‘We may be able to do something about your house,’ Justin said, frowning as he saw the flicker of anger in the other man’s eyes. ‘No, no, don’t poker up like that, Ralph. I have more than enough for my needs. If your house can be restored, I shall lend you the money—and you may repay me at your leisure.’

‘Damned good of you, but I don’t like it,’ Ralph muttered. ‘The Black Boy has promised to give me a pension, but God knows when I shall get it—you know he is surrounded by petitioners on all sides.’

Justin smiled at the irreverent description of the King; those who had shared Charles’s exile during his years of wandering had many a name for him.

‘And it does not suit your pride to join them?’ Justin mocked, the light of battle in his eyes. ‘Well, my finicky friend, we must find you a rich heiress to marry.’

‘Now don’t start that again,’ Ralph protested, throwing up his hands. ‘No woman of fortune would take me—why should she? I’m damned near forty, too heavy, and set in my ways—and I never was a catch, even as a young man.’

‘You wrong yourself,’ Justin said, smiling at his companion of many years. ‘You are no beauty, but you have a good heart. I am sure we can find you an honest widow, who will be willing to share both her fortune and her bed with you of a cold night.’

It was now that the character Annelise had glimpsed won through. To strangers, Justin might at times appear stern, distant, but to his friends he gave generously of both his money and his self.

Ralph scowled at him. ‘Mock me if you will, wretch! If you were not such a damned fine swordsman I would call you out—speaking of which, what did you think of the Puritan wench? Now if she would glance my way, I might consider marriage. I have seldom seen such a beauty, even at the court of France.’

‘You would compare her to Mademoiselle Dubonnet?’ Justin asked with raised brows. ‘Or the Comtesse Migonet? I thought her a pretty little sparrow but she cannot compare to Mirabelle Varennes.’

‘Your chère aimée?’ Ralph lifted an eyebrow. ‘Few women can compare with her, Justin. She will be missing you. I dare swear she expected a proposal of marriage from you now that her period of mourning is over.’

Justin frowned, his eyes narrowing in thought. ‘Yes, I imagine you are right. Mirabelle’s temper will not have improved since we left Paris. I am not sure that I want to marry her, Ralph. She is beautiful, charming, sophisticated—everything a man could desire in a wife—and yet I hesitate. It was in my mind to ask her, but I was reminded that I had a duty here and I decided to settle that first.’

Ralph looked at him curiously. ‘What are you going to do about that—the girl, I mean? Her father’s will makes you her guardian and custodian of his estate, but it was meant to be your father who stood guardian, Justin. Woodward could not have known that the date he wrote out the document was two weeks after your father was killed—that he was in fact making you his daughter’s guardian. You were not much more than a lad at the time.’

‘If he had written down the third Marquis Saintjohn, the will would have become void,’ Justin said, his brow furrowing. ‘He must have written it in a desperate state, knowing he was dying, forgetting that my father was the third Marquis Saintjohn and that I would be the fourth. If he had made his wishes plain, I should not be in this awkward position. All reports of Featherstone say that he is an honest man—and was a true friend of Cromwell, who you know I admired, despite his misguided actions in regard to His Majesty’s father.

‘Had the will been clear, I should not have sought to interfere—but I feel obliged to at least make sure she is being properly cared for. The estate is hers by right. Her mother’s brother has no claim to it, despite the stewardship granted by Parliament. If I chose to fight him through the courts, I should undoubtedly win.’

‘But you are not sure you want to do that—is that not so?’

Justin took a turn about the room, glancing out of the window at the neglected drive. He had promised Robert help with restoring his estate. It would take weeks of hard work to bring this place back to its former state, and that time would give him an opportunity to look about him, to make discreet enquiries and discover what he could of Mistress Annelise Woodward and her guardian.

‘I am thirty-four,’ Justin said at last with a wry smile. ‘Half my life has been spent abroad. I have made a fortune from a trade some would call piracy—though I sailed under the French flag and had a licence from the Crown—and now I am back in England I must fight to gain my rightful lands. If I am to have an heir I must marry soon. I have little time to dance attendance on a young girl. She has no husband. Her guardian has been remiss in this: he could surely have found someone to take her with an estate of that size?’

‘She must be nineteen or twenty by now,’ Ralph said. ‘Not so very young. You could do worse than wed her yourself, especially if you seek an heir. At least you could be certain the child was yours, for she’s hardly likely to have had a lover; these Puritans keep their women close.’

‘She is probably as plain as a pikestaff,’ Justin said, his sense of the ridiculous coming to his rescue. He chuckled deep in his throat. ‘Indeed, she must be, or Featherstone would have matched her long ago. No, no, Ralph. Spare me that sorry fate, I beg you. If I marry, it will be to a lady of the court—a woman in her twenties, a widow, perhaps—who will understand my ways and give me a son without expecting me to love her. I have no time for courtship and pretty words.’

‘You are asking much,’ Ralph said, lifting his brows. ‘Most women desire at least a show of tenderness. Even I know that!’

‘Tenderness?’ Justin arched his brows mockingly. ‘I am not sure I know how to love, my friend. I have been too busy staying alive these last years to have time for tenderness. What do I know but fighting? I have been a mercenary and a privateer, taking comfort from a willing woman where I found it. Besides, what is love? My mother took lovers even before the war, while my father lived. Most women I have known are as inconstant as the moon.’

‘Oh, ye foolish one!’ It was Ralph’s turn to mock now. ‘I’ll take a wager with you, Justin—one day you will find a woman who will show you what love is, and then you will fall hard. Believe me, you will suffer then. She will twist you round her dainty finger!’

‘A hundred gold guineas says you’re wrong,’ Justin replied, mouth twitching at the corners. ‘If I marry, it will be for a son and no more.’

‘Where have you been?’ Lady Featherstone asked as Annelise entered the parlour. ‘I have been looking for you this past age.’

‘What is the matter?’ Annelise asked. She could see her aunt was really upset. ‘What has happened to trouble you so, Aunt?’

‘Your uncle has locked himself in his private room and will not come out,’ Lady Featherstone replied. ‘I have called to him, but he will not answer me and I know he is not well.’

‘How do you know?’

‘Master Blackwell told me he turned pale after reading a letter come this morning from London. Apparently, he cried out that the mark of Satan was come upon this house and rushed away to his sanctum, locking the door after him. He has since been heard to moan and cry out strange things.’

‘What could have been in the letter?’

‘I do not know, nor even who sent it,’ Lady Featherstone said, shaking her head. ‘Your uncle has never discussed his affairs with me. When I have tried to question him about…about his recent neglect of things, he has turned from me.’ There was a catch in her voice. ‘I do not know what is happening to him, Annelise. He seems…’ Her eyes filled with tears. ‘I worry about him. Sometimes I think he might be losing his mind.’

‘Oh, no!’ Annelise cried. ‘Never say it, Aunt. It cannot be so. Let me go to him, let me talk to him…he may be recovered from his distress by now.’

‘Yes, please do so,’ Lady Featherstone said, looking relieved. ‘He will sometimes listen to you.’

Her uncle had always been a cold, distant man, with strong views, but clear in his thinking and fair in his treatment of others. Annelise thought it unlikely her uncle really listened to her, though sometimes if he was in a good humour he would permit her to give him her opinion. He did not relish interference from either her or her aunt. Yet she must try to help him if he was ill.

What could have upset him so much?

She paused outside her uncle’s door, knocking softly. ‘May I come in, sir?’

There was silence for a moment, but just as she was about to knock again the door opened. Her uncle stood there, looking much as always. His thin lips parted in a smile.

‘Yes, child—what may I do for you?’

‘Are you well, sir? I heard that you had been unwell earlier.’

‘Unwell?’ He seemed surprised. ‘Who told you such a tale? I am perfectly well. I have been busy working at my accounts and did not wish to be disturbed, that is all.’ He stood back, indicating that she might enter.

‘I am so relieved.’ Annelise followed him into the rather dark room with its crowded shelves and heavy oaken table, at the end of which was a chair with a high back. It was here that her uncle had been working. She could see the rolls of parchment, his quills and the pewter inkwell. ‘Is there anything I can do to help you, sir?’

‘No, thank you, Niece. I have finished now. I believe everything is in order.’ He hesitated, staring at her oddly. ‘I have not taken as much care of your estate recently as I ought. I beg you will forgive me, Annelise.’

His apology surprised her. ‘I am sure there is nothing to forgive,’ she replied. ‘You have been a good and faithful guardian to me.’

‘And you would say as much to anyone?’

‘Yes, indeed, sir.’

He smiled at her, reached out and patted her cheek. ‘What a good child you are: the daughter your aunt was never able to have. You will always care for her, I hope?’

‘Yes, of course, Uncle—and you.’

‘Then perhaps all will be well,’ he said, and turned away. ‘Leave me now. I have much to think about.’

‘Will you not come to the parlour for your dinner, sir?’

‘No, I am not hungry—but your aunt may send in a warm posset when it suits her. I shall sit quietly by the fire and think…Yes, I must think of what is best to do for the future. Satan’s mark must not fall on you or your aunt…’

‘Satan’s mark, sir?’ Annelise felt a cold chill at the base of her neck. ‘What can you mean?’

Something was different. It had happened in the space of a heartbeat. She sensed it and felt chilled. For a moment her uncle’s eyes seemed to hold a strange glitter. He was ill! If not in body, in mind.

‘There is evil all around us,’ Sir Hugh said, a new wildness about him. ‘When he died I felt it strike here.’ He beat at his breast in anguish. ‘There is no one to do God’s work, no one to intercede for us. The evil has come back to this land—and the mark of Satan is upon us all. But I shall not let it fall on you. No, not if it costs me my life.’

Her uncle’s eyes were looking far beyond her, searching for something. She saw him start, as if he saw what he feared, and then he began to shiver, his whole body shaking as with an ague.

‘You are ill,’ Annelise cried. She saw him clutch at himself, clearly in pain. ‘Pray, let me help you…’

She tried to take hold of his arm, to lead him to the settle, but he threw her off, his eyes wild. She was frightened by his strange manner. What could be wrong with him?

‘You are in danger,’ he cried. ‘Do not trust him, Annelise—the man who comes to claim you. He is the devil in disguise. Beware…beware the mark of Satan…’

Even as Annelise cried out for help, Sir Hugh’s eyes rolled upwards and he fell forward against her. She could not hold him, and must have let him fall had his steward not come rushing into the room at that moment.

‘Let me take him, mistress,’ he said. ‘I thought this would happen…I have seen it coming on, feared it.’

Annelise helped him to assist her uncle to the settle. It was clear that he had lost consciousness, though she could see that he still lived. She believed his illness was of the mind, brought on by grief and fear for the future.

‘What do you mean?’ she asked the steward. ‘Has this happened before?’

‘It was not so bad the last time,’ he replied, looking grave and sad. ‘But I see the hand of God in this, mistress. It is a warning. Unless Sir Hugh consents to seeing a physician, the next seizure may be the finish of him.’

Annelise moved away when her aunt came to take her place; servants were summoned and Sir Hugh was carried up to his chamber and laid on his bed.

What had he been trying to tell her? She was sure that he had been frightened for her sake—that he had been trying to warn her.

But of what?

Annelise snatched off her cap, allowing her long hair to flow freely on her shoulders; her silken tresses caught the sunlight through the trees. It felt so good, but she knew it was wrong. Both her aunt and uncle would have disapproved of her removing the headdress, because it was immodest for a woman to flaunt her beauty; it tempted men to sin and was frowned upon by the church.

She breathed deeply, lifting her face to the sky as she ran helter-skelter, heedless for once of propriety. How sweet the air was here in the woods, full of the scents of summer, and how glad she was to have escaped from the house at last.

For the past five days she had felt like a prisoner. Her uncle had been pronounced gravely ill, though he had come back to his senses a few hours after his seizure. It was then it had been discovered that his right arm and leg had been affected, leaving him partially paralysed. He was confined to bed, ordered to rest by the physician.

Annelise had naturally helped her aunt to nurse him, and she had been distressed by the change in Sir Hugh. He seemed to have aged overnight and was prone to fits of weeping. Worst of all had been the way he had clung to Annelise’s hand and begged for forgiveness. She had tried to reassure him that he had done nothing that needed to be forgiven, but his mind was no longer as clear as it had been and he would not be comforted.

The sun was so warm, but beneath the canopy of leaves Annelise felt cool and refreshed. She began to sing as she danced, abandoning all restraint in the knowledge that she was alone. Her song was one of those she had learned at her mother’s knee, a song of love and betrayal, a song that she would never have dared to sing in her uncle’s hearing.

And so, my love, come lie with me…

There beneath the apple tree…

Give me, sweet, your own true lips,

And I’ll not press for…

Hearing a sound behind her, Annelise swung round, conscious that she was being watched. Her song ceased abruptly as she saw the man. It was the Cavalier she had met in the village—the one with the mocking eyes! The one who had made her heart behave so oddly.

‘Forgive me if I startled you, mistress. Your singing was sweet. It is long since I listened to a maid singing in the woods.’

‘You startled me, sir. I had not thought to see anyone here…’ She blushed as she realised she was in fact trespassing: these woods belonged to Longton Hall. ‘Master Clarke allowed me to come here and I had forgotten there was a new owner…’ She faltered as his eyes narrowed. He was angry. What had she said to make him look like that?

‘Say rather the rightful owner has come home. And none too soon, it seems, by what we have found here.’

‘Master Clarke was a good steward for some years,’ Annelise replied, eyes sparking at the criticism. ‘He was a good man, a godly man—the neglect began only after his wife and David died of the fever. And he died soon after, so cannot be blamed for what you have found.’

‘You are staunch in their defence,’ Justin said, his eyes intent on her face. ‘They were perhaps your friends, mistress?’

‘They were neighbours and friends,’ she replied, still on her mettle, her face proud, back stiff. ‘Had David lived only a year or so longer, I might have been his wife.’

‘Ah…I see why you defend Master Clarke.’

Justin nodded his understanding. At first he had not been sure that this enchanting creature was the little Puritan wench from the village. Without her cap to hide that hair she was indeed beautiful. Ralph had been right; she was well worth the bedding. A smile touched his mouth as he imagined her beneath him, her body naked as nature intended, her mouth soft, inviting his kiss. Her drab clothes belied the true nature of the wench. Beneath that veneer of modesty lay passion. He’d dare swear there was fire in her, though she no doubt did her best to quench it—perhaps not with her sweetheart, though.

‘Master Clarke’s son was your sweetheart, then. That is why you come here, to remember him and the delights of love he taught you here in some secret glade.’ He moved towards her, feeling the desire stir in him. A surprising thing, since his tastes usually ran to more sophisticated ladies of the Court. She looked up, eyes wide and, to his mind, inviting. He reached out, touching her cheek, his thumb brushing over her mouth, tempted to kiss her. ‘Perhaps you came looking for a lover today?’

‘No, indeed you are wrong!’ Annelise was horrified. Why was he looking at her so strangely? She stepped back hastily, her heart racing like the wind. How could he say such lewd, wicked things to her? ‘You mistake the matter, sir. My uncle spoke of arranging a match—to unite our families and lands, that is all.’

‘To unite…’ Justin frowned as he was struck by a sudden thought. Robert’s lands marched with those of Lord Woodward. Of course, why had he not realised at once? ‘Are you by chance the niece of Sir Hugh Featherstone?’

‘Yes.’ She was puzzled by the immediate change in his expression; the hot, intense look had gone from his eyes and he seemed stunned. ‘I am Annelise Woodward—do you know my uncle, sir?’

‘I know of him,’ Justin replied, his gaze narrowing. He was aware of frustration, of an unreasoning anger. ‘I had not thought him a man to allow his niece to run wild. It is hardly proper for you to be wandering about in this manner, Mistress Woodward. You could be mistaken for…’ He recollected himself. His own behaviour had been less than correct, but he had thought her a village girl. ‘I should have expected a girl of your station to be more closely watched.’

How dared he suggest that she was a hoyden—or worse? Annelise glared at him, her wrath simmering.

‘I have always been safe in these woods until today,’ she said, temper suddenly flaring. ‘Indeed, there were only godly people here—until you came with your friends, sir. My uncle knew me to be safe.’

‘Indeed, mistress, I will bow to your uncle’s superior knowledge.’

Justin smiled inwardly as he recovered from the shock. Damn it! He had come close to seducing his own ward; the knowledge that he had been on the verge of kissing her…of far more if she had been willing…shook him to the core. It was his duty to protect her, to challenge any who would dishonour or harm her—and to see her safely wed to a decent man.

Now that Justin had seen her, seen the beauty and the passion that lay beneath the surface, he knew that her marriage was a matter of urgency. Perhaps she had been safe in this place, but life in England was bound to change now that the old inhibitions had been swept away. The people had been repressed for so long that some were bound to fall into bad ways—he knew only too well the nature of men. He had taken his women where he’d found them, often on the ground, sheltered only by the warmth of a velvet night and a shared blanket. He was not the only soldier to have forgotten that a lady should be treated with tenderness and chivalry. And England would be awash with men who had lost their youth, lost all the finer feelings they had once had, together with their land and houses.

His next thought surprised him. This girl was too beautiful to be left to wither away in a tiny Cambridgeshire village. She should have the chance to live, to shine in the right surroundings—and it was his responsibility, his duty, to see that she had that chance.

She was turning away, her face reflecting the troubled nature of her thoughts. He had frightened her, distressed her. He did not want her to leave with harsh words unresolved between them.

‘Stay a moment, mistress,’ he said, catching at her sleeve. ‘I meant no disrespect, nor did I intend to imply your uncle was at fault. I have been a soldier too long, and my manners leave much to be desired. If I have upset you, I apologise.’

Annelise hesitated. There was something about him that attracted her, even when he made her angry. She sensed the power of the man—a man who had seen too much of war and killing. Yet there was a softer nature, an inner self he kept hidden but which she had glimpsed when he’d teased his friends. She thought she might like that other man very well.

‘There is no need for apology,’ she said. ‘It was my fault for taking off my cap. You thought me something I was not. It is only…that I needed some release. My uncle has been confined to his sick bed these past five days and I have been anxious. It was good to run wild for a moment, to feel free…but it was not proper and I should not have done it.’

The stubborn pride had gone from her lovely face, replaced by a look of shame. Justin felt a surge of anger at himself and those who had trodden down her spirit, making her believe that to live for pleasure was sin. He had scolded her, but in truth why should she not enjoy her innocent pleasures?

‘You were not at fault, Mistress Woodward,’ he said, and now the softness in his voice sent little tremors down her spine. ‘But perhaps you ought not to come here alone in future—for your own sake. There are men who might be tempted beyond bearing by such loveliness as yours, men who could not be trusted to behave as they ought.’

Annelise bent her head, her cheeks flaming. ‘I have been told…’

‘Nay, I do not mean that you should hide your beauty,’ Justin said. ‘I am not one of those who think beauty a sin, indeed I revere and treasure it. I meant only that these are dangerous times. For your safety I would have you bring a servant with you, to protect you from those who might harm you.’

‘Oh…’ Something in his look made her heart beat faster. She stared up at him, her lips parting on a sigh. ‘You…are kind, sir.’

‘Kind?’ Justin laughed, the devilment leaping up in his eyes. She was an innocent. How little she knew of men! ‘No, mistress, do not deceive yourself. Had you been other than you are, I might have done my best to lie with you this very day.’

Annelise lowered her gaze, her heart racing. His words ought to make her angry. He had no right to say them to her…but somehow she did not mind.

‘I…I think you mock me, sir.’

‘Oh, no, not you,’ he replied, his lips twisting in a wry smile. ‘Myself, perhaps—but not you.’

She looked up at him, the beginnings of confidence in her eyes. Justin drew in his breath. By God, she could be a charmer if she chose. She had been kept close, indoctrinated with a creed he found abhorrent—but what if she were shown another way to live?

His mind began to draw pictures. He saw her at Court, dressed in a gown more fitting to her beauty and station. He saw her beginning to emerge from her chrysalis, developing into the woman she could become—and he felt the laughter begin to bubble inside him.

How amusing it would be to turn this little Puritan into a lady of the Court. She was innocent, malleable—he could make of her what he wished. He imagined himself as her guardian, watching over her education. She could be anything he desired…the mistress of the King!

That was an idea to play with, Justin decided. It would put Barbara’s nose out, and he had never cared for the shrewish temper of Mistress Palmer—or Lady Castlemaine as she was now known. She might think herself invincible and flaunt the honours her husband had received from His Majesty, but Charles was not a fool; soon he must see how avaricious his mistress was—and then he would surely look about him for a replacement. And why not Mistress Woodward?

Justin found the notion amusing. He would not make up his mind just yet, but if this little beauty managed to catch Charles’s interest, it could bring him favour at Court—and yet she surely deserved more.

It was his duty to see her well married. After that the game was all to play. Only a fool would expect fidelity from his wife—and most would be flattered if she were chosen to grace the King’s bed.

‘I should like to call on Sir Hugh soon,’ Justin said, bowing his head to her. ‘When will it be convenient for me to call?’

Annelise was uncertain. She did not quite like the way he was looking at her.

‘I am not sure, sir. I could send word to Longton Hall if my uncle would like to see you—what name should I give him?’

‘Justin Rochefort,’ he replied. ‘It is important that I speak to your uncle, mistress. Please ask him if he will see me as a matter of some urgency.’

‘As you wish.’

Annelise hesitated. He had let go of her sleeve; she was free to go, but somehow she lingered. Though at times he seemed stern, there was a charm about him—something that made her want to know more of him, something that made her foolish heart leap like lambs in the spring.

‘How long will you be staying here, sir?’

‘Until my business is finished,’ he said. ‘After that, I shall be returning to London.’ He looked at her again, taking her breath away. ‘Have you ever been there, Mistress Woodward?’

‘No…no, I have not. A visit was planned, but cancelled after the Lord Protector died.’

‘Should you like to visit there?’

‘Yes…I think so, but my uncle is too ill to travel and my aunt could not take me without him.’

‘I have a house in London,’ Justin said, surprising her. ‘My mother lives there for the moment. Perhaps she would invite you to stay.’

‘Why should she? She does not know me.’

‘No,’ Justin replied, a puzzling look in his eyes. ‘But she knew your parents well. One day you will meet her. I am sure she would like to meet the daughter of old friends.’

‘Your mother knew my father…my mother?’ Annelise was filled with a sudden longing. ‘Oh, if only I could meet her! I should like so much to hear what she remembers of my father. I was a small child when he was killed.’

‘Then I shall do my best to arrange it,’ Justin said, and his smile was so sweet that it reached out to her, seeming almost to embrace her. ‘I shall walk with you to the grounds of your home, mistress—and then I must say farewell. But do not forget to mention me to your uncle.’

‘No…’ Annelise lifted her eyes to his. ‘No, sir. I shall speak to him as soon as I feel he is well enough to listen…’




Chapter Two


‘I am glad to see you so much better, sir,’ Annelise said as she carried in the tray for her uncle’s breakfast. He was sitting up in bed, looking brighter than he had for several days. ‘My aunt told me you wished to see me. Is there anything I can do for you?’

‘Put that tray down and come here, Niece.’ Sir Hugh beckoned to her. His grey hair had been neatly combed that day and his man had shaved him. ‘I have neglected your affairs, Annelise. I should have arranged a marriage for you long since. It was remiss of me—but I am resolved to put things right. I shall this day have my steward send a letter to a cousin of your aunt’s. Mr Broughton is a good man, not yet forty, sober and clean in his habits. I believe we can trust him to take care of things when I am gone.’

‘You are getting better,’ Annelise said, gripped by a sudden fear she could not explain. ‘There is no need for haste. I should not wish to marry while you are ill.’

‘If it is God’s wish, I shall be spared to see you safely wed,’ he replied, giving her a compelling look. ‘Have I ever treated you ill, Annelise? Have I ever forced you to something that gave you pain?’

She hesitated, then lowered her gaze. There had been many times when her heart had rebelled, but that was because she was a woman and therefore sinful. Her uncle had sometimes been strict with her, disciplining her for the good of her soul. She knew she owed a duty both to him and to God.

‘No, sir, you have not,’ she said, ‘but I would meet with this man first. If…if I am unable to respect him…’

‘Then I would not force you to marry,’ Sir Hugh said, gazing at her with reproach. ‘How can you think I would marry you to an unworthy man? All I ask is that you will behave with modesty and keep an open mind. It is for your own good, Annelise. I shall not always be here to protect you. Besides, you are of an age to marry. You would not want to live alone? It would not be fitting. You need a good man to be your husband—and who better than a kinsman of your aunt?’

Annelise was silent. All that her uncle said made perfect sense. Indeed, she had expected this, even hoped for it. Her life had sometimes seemed dull. A husband and children would fill the hours that were occasionally empty…so why this reluctance to wed the unknown Mr Broughton?

It could not be because she had been unable to rid her mind these past days of the picture of a man’s laughing eyes, could it? She would be foolish indeed to put her faith in his vague promises.

‘I shall try to do my duty, Uncle—but I beg you not to make your decision before I have met Mr Broughton.’

‘You are a sensible young woman,’ he replied. ‘I have no doubt that you will accept your duty, as we all must.’

‘Yes, sir.’ Annelise hesitated. She had not so far mentioned Master Rochefort’s request to speak to her uncle for fear of upsetting him, but he was so much better. Surely it could do no harm? ‘I told you that Sir Robert Harris had come back, did I not?’

‘I dare say he has a right to claim the land,’ Sir Hugh said, frowning. ‘We must hope he is a godly man—but his presence here makes your marriage all the more urgent.’

Annelise did not ask why. She knew his opinion of the King’s followers all too well; he thought them disciples of the devil, sinful, lewd men. She had accepted his doctrine, but now she had begun to doubt. He was a good man, and she had been taught to obey, but she was an intelligent girl and her mind still questioned.

‘There is a gentleman staying with Sir Robert, Uncle. He begs you will grant him an interview.’

‘An interview?’ Sir Hugh started up, clearly alarmed. ‘Who is this man, Niece? When did he speak to you?’

Annelise glanced at her uncle’s servant, who had been discreetly moving about the room all the time she was present; he ceased his tidying and looked at his master in concern.

‘His name is Rochefort, sir,’ Annelise said. ‘I met him by chance three days since.’

‘Met him? Where?’

Annelise was disturbed by the expression in his eyes. It was not the wild, unbalanced look she had seen there before his seizure but one of fear.

‘In the wood,’ she replied, dropping her gaze. ‘I went for a walk and we met by chance. I knew him because he was in the village with Sir Robert the day I spoke with Goodwife Hale.’

‘This man…’ Sir Hugh’s hand clutched at the bedcovers. ‘Did he attempt to harm you…to say anything untoward…anything that disturbed you?’

‘Do not distress yourself, master.’ The servant came forward, glaring at Annelise. ‘You will be ill again.’

‘Be quiet, sirrah! I am speaking to my niece.’

‘Indeed, Uncle, there is no need to distress yourself,’ Annelise said hastily. This was not like her uncle, who was always courteous to his servants. ‘He…said only that he wished to see you on some private matter. I told him you were unwell and that I would mention his request when you were better.’

It was not quite the truth, but to reveal everything that had been said would rouse Sir Hugh’s temper and cause untold harm.

‘Rochefort…it may not be him, and if it is, I may yet prevent him…’ Sir Hugh muttered as though he were feverish. His fingers plucked at the sheets, showing the extent of his disturbance. ‘I must act without delay.’ He stared at Annelise, the pupils of his eyes seeming to narrow to black dots. ‘I shall save you, child. Fear not. Satan’s hand shall not fall upon you if I can prevent it.’

‘You are ill, sir,’ she said, his expression frightening her. She looked at the servant. ‘Call my aunt, please, John.’

‘No!’ Sir Hugh caught at her wrist. ‘John will tend me. I forbid you to worry your aunt. Go now, and send my steward to me. I have much to do and so little time…so little time…’

‘As you wish, Uncle.’

Annelise left him to the ministrations of his body servant and hurried away to do his bidding. She was anxious as she sought out Master Blackwell, and sorry that she had mentioned the stranger to her uncle. It had seemed to bring on another disorder of his mind.

What was it that her uncle feared so? It obviously concerned her. Why was he in haste to see her wed all of a sudden?

She wished she understood.

It was the following morning, and Annelise was sitting in the parlour alone, concentrating on the letter she had been composing. She finished sanding the wet ink and read anxiously through the fine script once more. Would it do? Was it wrong of her to have written without telling anyone? Ought she to throw it away and forget the idea altogether?

Earlier that morning, Mr Blackwell had told her that her uncle had so far dictated only the letter to Mr Broughton. Clearly he had no intention of seeing Master Rochefort, and, after his adverse reaction to her message from that gentleman, she had decided never to distress him over the matter again. Instead, she had written to Master Rochefort herself, telling him that her uncle was too ill to see him.

She sealed her letter with wax and used her father’s crest to mark it, then sat staring at it for a moment. Should she send the note with a servant or deliver it herself? It would be more proper to send it, of course, but if she did so her uncle might learn of it—since the servants would no doubt feel it their duty to inform her aunt, as they always did. She was sure both her aunt and uncle would consider it immodest for her to write to a man she scarcely knew—and one, moreover, who was not of their persuasion.

Could she, dared she, take it herself? Taught to behave with modesty, to listen and reserve her opinions as befitted a woman, she hesitated. Yet Master Rochefort had asked her to enquire whether her uncle was well enough to see him…

She would take it herself! It was but an hour’s walk there and back. She could pick wild flowers and herbs on her way home. Aunt Prudence was in need of certain ingredients for her simples, so the time would not be wasted.

Glancing from the parlour window, Annelise saw that the sky was cloudless. The weather was still very warm; she would have no need of a cloak.

Some half an hour later, Annelise was at the door of Longton Hall. She frowned over the neglected gardens. Only two years earlier they had been flourishing; now they had gone wild. She noticed some attempt had been made to clear a patch of brambles, and the paths nearer the house had been picked clean of weeds. At the back of the house, she could hear the voices of men working on the thatch. Clearly the new owner meant to restore the place to its former graciousness.

Annelise lifted the heavy front door knocker. A servant came to answer her. She was relieved that he was a stranger to her; servants tended to gossip, but this man did not know who she was. Perhaps her family would never discover her indiscretion.

‘I pray you, sir, tell me—has your master guests staying?’

‘Yes, mistress.’ The servant stared at her suspiciously. From his dress, he was not of the Puritan persuasion, and he distrusted all those who were. ‘What be your business here?’

‘Would you give this letter to Master Rochefort, please?’

‘Be no one of that name here.’

Annelise was taken aback. ‘But he was visiting—a tall man with black hair and blue eyes.’

‘That be His Lordship,’ the man replied with a superior air. He looked down his long nose at Annelise. ‘Don’t know as I can rightly give him this, being as it’s wrongly addressed.’

‘But I have walked here on purpose to deliver it!’

‘Might offend him…’

Annelise sighed. She ought never to have come here. She was about to turn away when she heard the crunch of boots on stones and turned to discover the man she sought was striding towards her.

He was wearing stained breeches and was naked from the waist up, his shirt slung carelessly over his shoulder; obviously he had been working and had taken it off. His hair was wet, as if he had put his head under the pump in the stableyard, and his skin gleamed like gold satin, bronzed, she imagined, by frequent exposure to the sun.

‘Good day, Mistress Woodward.’ Justin stared at her in astonishment. ‘Forgive my appearance. I had not expected to find a lady at the door.’

Annelise blushed, turning aside as he pulled on his shirt. But not before she had seen his powerful shoulders, and several scars on his back that looked as if they must have been made by the blade of a sword. When she looked again he was dressed, and regarding her through narrowed eyes, his expression one of disapproval if not censure.

‘I came to deliver a letter, sir. I have spoken to my uncle but he begs your pardon. He is too ill to see you.’

‘Could you not have sent your message with a servant? There was surely no need for you to come yourself.’

Annelise stiffened. His criticism stung all the more because she knew her behaviour to be unseemly.

‘I should not have come…’

She flung away, walking swiftly, her head bent. How foolish she was! It was very wrong of her to have been so forward. In her heart, she knew her reasons for delivering the letter had been more than a natural concern for Sir Hugh’s health. She had hoped to see this man again—but he thought her immodest! He was angry with her.

‘Mistress Woodward, wait!’ Justin caught up with her. He grabbed her arm roughly, swinging her round to face him. ‘Do not leave in anger. I meant not to hurt you. I was surprised to see you. Stay a moment, I beg you.’

‘I was wrong to come,’ she said. ‘It is just that…’ Her eyes misted with tears. ‘My uncle is so strange. When I asked him if he would see you, he talked so wildly. I think his mind has begun to fail. His steward has not written to you?’ Justin shook his head. ‘No, I did not think so. He dictated only the one letter…’ She swallowed hard, stifling the tears that threatened. ‘I thought it only right that you should be aware…’ Her breath caught on a sob.

Justin’s forehead creased as he sensed her acute distress. There was more here than she had told him. He offered her his kerchief, touched by her tears despite himself.

‘I am grateful for the intention,’ he said, his voice becoming soft, almost caressing. ‘If I seemed to censure you, it was only out of concern for your safety. We have spoken of this matter before, if you recall?’

‘Yes.’ She smiled through her tears, comforted by his tone. ‘It was foolish of me to walk here myself—but I was afraid my uncle might learn I had written to you and…’ She hung her head then, unable to meet his gaze. ‘I fear it was forward of me, sir.’

‘I understand.’ Justin looked at her thoughtfully. ‘If Sir Hugh will not see me…But you mentioned a letter. To whom was it addressed? Could it have been the Marquis Saintjohn?’

‘Oh, no,’ she replied, a little surprised. ‘It was to my aunt’s kinsman—a Mr Broughton.’ A flush stained her cheeks. ‘My uncle intends…to arrange a marriage…’

Now why had she told him that? Annelise looked away. She was embarrassed by her own indelicacy. This man was a stranger to her. She could not discuss matters of such intimacy with him.

‘Does the idea please you?’

Annelise looked up, her heart racing. Something in his expression made her blurt out the truth.

‘No! No, it does not. I have never met Mr Broughton.’ Her cheeks were flaming. ‘My duty is to obey my uncle, but…I do not wish to marry unless I truly like my husband.’

‘Will your uncle force you to the match?’

‘I am not sure. He will expect me to do my duty.’

‘I see.’ Justin’s mouth drew into a tight line. Featherstone had no right to choose her husband. His haste to arrange the match was clearly an attempt to forestall anything that the Marquis Saintjohn might be planning for his niece. ‘But he will not force you?’

‘Not at once,’ Annelise said on a sigh. ‘I shall not be locked in my room or beaten, but there are other ways of commanding my obedience. I should not like to be the cause of distress to either my aunt or uncle, especially now.’

Justin was thoughtful. The girl had been taught to obey. These damned Puritans had almost succeeded in making her something nature had never intended. She might resist in her heart, but she was a dutiful girl who would accept her uncle’s dictates in the end. The idea of her being tied to the kind of man Sir Hugh had no doubt chosen filled Justin with revulsion. It must not be allowed to happen! Yet he must tread carefully here.

‘Thank you for your visit, Mistress Woodward,’ he said. ‘Shall I send a servant to escort you home?’

Annelise felt as if he had thrown cold water over her. She was not sure what she had expected, or if she had expected anything. In the woods, he had spoken of a visit to his mother, but now he was dismissing her—his manner one of indifference. She had foolishly placed too much reliance on what had obviously been a careless promise.

Why should he care for her problems? She hardly knew him. It had been wrong of her to discuss her uncle’s affairs with a stranger. She raised her head, her expression one of pride.

‘I shall be perfectly safe, sir. You need not trouble yourself on my account.’

But that was exactly what he must do, thought Justin. He should have insisted on seeing Featherstone weeks ago, but he had allowed the matter to drift. Now he must act.

‘Since you are determined to be independent, I shall allow you to have your way.’ Justin smiled inwardly as he saw the spark in her eyes. For all their mealy-mouthed ways, the Featherstones had not succeeded in crushing her spirit. ‘At least in this. I must beg to take leave of you, mistress. I have urgent business…’ An air of disappointment about her stopped him as he started to leave. He reached out, taking a fine strand of hair that had escaped from beneath her cap between his fingers, then let it fall. ‘Do not fear, Mistress Woodward. I have your interests in hand. Do not give your word to Mr Broughton or your uncle on this matter and all will be well.’

Annelise stared after him as he strode away. What could he have meant by that? Her heart took a dizzying leap. She was suddenly glad she had come here, no matter what her aunt or uncle might say.

She was drawn to this man of conflicting moods. When he was stern, she was a little afraid of him…but when he smiled and spoke to her with kindness she liked him.

She liked him more than any other man she had ever met.

Annelise heard the shouting coming from her uncle’s room the next morning. Her heart caught with fear. Was Sir Hugh ill again?

‘What is wrong?’ she asked as she reached the landing and saw her aunt emerging from Sir Hugh’s room. ‘Is my uncle worse?’

‘Send someone for the physician,’ Lady Featherstone said. ‘Your uncle has had another fit, Annelise. He was reading a letter that upset him terribly and he tried to get out of bed; he fell and hit his head on the oak hutch…’ She gave a little sob of distress. ‘He is unconscious, Annelise. I think he may be dying.’

‘Oh, no!’ Annelise looked at her in concern. Despite her uncle’s stern manner, he was a good man at heart and did not deserve this. ‘I will send for the physician immediately, Aunt.’

She ran down the stairs, calling for Master Blackwell. He came almost at once, shaking his head at the news.

‘It was the same hand that wrote the other letter,’ he said, looking sorrowful. ‘It was my duty to give it to him, but I fear I have killed him.’

‘Not you,’ Annelise replied, shaking her head. ‘I do not know what has been distressing my uncle these past weeks, but it was not your fault.’

‘May God forgive whoever has caused this,’ the steward replied, crossing himself. ‘He has done for a good man. I see the work of Satan in this, Mistress Woodward.’

Annelise was silent as he hurried away to send for the physician. What could be in the letters that had disturbed her uncle so? A cold chill went down her spine as she recalled her uncle’s wild talk of the devil’s mark falling upon them. Something had frightened him—frightened him so much that he had lost his senses.

She looked back towards the stairs she had just descended. She was not needed in her uncle’s chamber for the moment. Instead, she would busy herself with the tasks her aunt normally performed; it was all she could do to help.

The next few days were anxious ones for Sir Hugh’s family. The physician came when sent for, and shook his head over the sick man, who still clung precariously to life but seemed incapable of speech or thought, staring blankly at the ceiling and taking no notice of anything around him.

‘I fear I can do nothing,’ the physician told Sir Hugh’s anxious wife. ‘He is in the hands of God, madam. All you can do is watch over him and pray.’

‘He was always a good man,’ said Lady Prudence. ‘We must not question the Lord’s work, but I do not think he deserved this.’ Her mouth settled into a line of bitterness.

Annelise could do nothing but agree. She sat by her uncle’s side reading aloud from the Bible for half an hour every evening, hoping that it would somehow bring him comfort, but she was not sure he understood. He gave no sign of knowing her.

The letter which had upset him seemed to have disappeared. She did venture to mention it to his servant, asking if he had put it away, but he shook his head and gave her a dour look, as if he blamed her for her uncle’s illness.

It was five days after the seizure that had robbed her uncle of his senses that Annelise’s aunt called her into her parlour. She smiled at her, patting the oak settle beside her.

‘I have something to tell you, my dear.’

Annelise’s heart caught. She knew instinctively what Lady Prudence was about to say.

‘I believe your uncle spoke to you about a match he had thought to arrange for you, Annelise?’

‘Yes, Aunt.’ Annelise raised her head. ‘But I do not think we should speak of this at such a time.’

‘Your uncle was most particular,’ her aunt replied. ‘He told me that the marriage should go ahead even if he…’ She dabbed a kerchief to her lips. ‘It is his ardent wish that you should be married, my dear. And it is not as if he were dead, so there is nothing improper in our thinking of your happiness.’

Sir Hugh was not yet dead, and strictly speaking they were not in mourning. Annelise avoided her aunt’s earnest look.

‘I am not sure I wish to marry Mr Broughton, Aunt.’

‘Annelise!’ Lady Prudence exclaimed, her mouth tight with disapproval. ‘It is unlike you to set yourself against your uncle’s will—and at such a time.’

‘I am sorry, but…’

‘Mr Broughton has travelled all the way from Huntingdon to see you,’ her aunt said, looking severe. ‘You will at least do him the courtesy of seeing him?’

‘Yes, Aunt,’ Annelise said. ‘I cannot refuse to do that—but I beg you will not place your hopes on this marriage.’

‘May I know the reason why?’ Lady Prudence looked up, a frown of annoyance on her face as a servant came in. ‘Yes, Ruth—what is it? I told you I did not wish to be disturbed.’

‘There is a visitor come, my lady.’

‘I know. Mr Broughton…’

‘No, my lady…’ The servant stopped speaking abruptly as a lady swept into the room. She was clearly a person of some importance, in her middle years and dressed very finely in green silk, with a huge black hat that sported a curling feather. Her long dark hair was curled in ringlets on her shoulder, and her strong perfume wafted ahead of her, imposing her personality on the small room. ‘The Dowager Marchioness Saintjohn…’

‘I prefer to be called Lady Emily,’ said the visitor, ‘but that is indeed my title.’ Her eyes swept dismissively over Lady Prudence and came to rest on Annelise. She seemed to approve of what she saw, and smiled. ‘Ah, you must be Mistress Woodward, the daughter of Lady Mary Woodward. I was a great friend of your mother, my dear—and your father—which is, I suppose, why he made you my ward in his will. I should perhaps more properly say the ward of the fourth Marquis. However, the Marquis Saintjohn is a very busy man, so he has arranged for you to be placed in my care. I have come here today to take you back to London with me. We should leave as soon as possible, since I am expected at Court next week and there is no time to be lost.’

Her statement was met by a stunned silence. How could this be? Annelise wondered. She had heard nothing of a will—nothing of a guardian other than her uncle. Glancing at her aunt now, Annelise saw that she was apprehensive, but not surprised.

Surely she could not have known of this? And yet she had; Annelise could see it in her eyes.

‘Is this true, Aunt? Did my father’s will make me the ward of…?’ She turned to the fashionable lady, who was watching closely, clearly very much in command of the situation. ‘Forgive me, I did not quite understand whose ward I am.’

‘The Marquis Saintjohn,’ repeated Lady Emily. ‘There is no need to be apprehensive, my dear. Nothing in this world will give me greater pleasure than to undertake your education. I dare say it has been neglected, for it is not the country way to teach Court manners to young ladies—but I shall see that no attention is lacking in this matter. The Marquis wishes you to be properly provided for until you marry, and, having seen you, I am certain a match worthy of your status can be arranged.’ Her manner was so confident, so certain, that she seemed to sweep everything before her, taking it for granted that everyone would jump to her bidding.

Lady Prudence recovered her tongue. ‘Sir Hugh…my husband…has already arranged a match for our niece,’ she said. ‘The gentleman is here, waiting to speak to her even now.’

‘Then I am come in time, thank goodness!’ Lady Emily waved her arm towards the servant who was hovering, her mouth hanging open. ‘Pray tell that gentleman…if he is the one I saw in the lobby…that he has wasted his journey. He is certainly not of the station or consequence I expect for my ward.’

‘He is my kinsman, madam!’ Lady Prudence was indignant. She stared at the visitor as if she could not believe her ears. ‘And a good, godly man.’

Lady Emily’s eyes moved to inspect the other woman, her expression one of disdain. ‘Indeed? Your kinsman? A very worthy man, I dare say—but not an aristocrat, not a gentleman of distinction. Lord Woodward would not have approved of such a match for his only daughter, nor would his dear wife. No, no, we can do better than that for Annelise.’ Her eyes flicked back to Annelise. ‘You would not object to a visit with me, my dear?’

‘No, I should not, ma’am,’ Annelise said. Her amazement was turning to a sense of relief. ‘I have never met Mr Broughton and I would rather not marry him.’

‘It is your uncle’s wish,’ Lady Prudence reminded her. Her mouth thinned in disapproval as she looked at Annelise. ‘You would not wish to disobey him? You would not want to show disrespect now that he is close to death?’

‘I owe both you and my uncle a debt of gratitude I can never repay,’ Annelise replied, her cheeks flushed. She was conscious of her heart beating very fast. ‘I do not wish to disoblige you, Aunt, truly I do not—but if my father’s will made the Marquis Saintjohn my guardian, am I not obliged by law to obey him?’

‘The will was made when your father was in great distress,’ argued her aunt. ‘He was close to death and could not have known what he did. Your uncle has stood guardian these many years—and none has come forward to dispute it. I believe the law would uphold his right.’ She glared at Lady Emily. ‘How do I know you are who you say you are—or that the Marquis has given you the care of my niece?’

Lady Emily smiled and took a rolled parchment from beneath her falling sleeve. ‘This is a letter from His Majesty King Charles II,’ she said, presenting it with a flourish to display the impressive seal. ‘It is addressed to your husband, madam, but since he is perhaps too ill to read it, I suggest you do so yourself. It confirms all I have told you, and requests that you relinquish Mistress Woodward into my care at once.’

‘I…cannot read it,’ Lady Prudence confessed, her cheeks flushed with shame. ‘I can sign my name, but I never learned to read more than a few words.’

‘Then summon your steward, madam.’

‘No.’ Lady Prudence was suddenly angry. She looked at Annelise. ‘This can be settled between us. We have been good to you, niece. Would you have us turned out of house and home now that your uncle is ill?’

‘No, aunt, of course not!’

‘That is what they will do if you allow them to have their way. It is what your uncle has feared since…since the letters came.’

‘The letters…’ Annelise felt chilled. She stared at her aunt uncertainly. ‘The letters that brought on my uncle’s illness?’

‘It is these people who have killed him,’ Lady Prudence cried with an accusing look at the other woman. ‘They are the devil’s disciples; they stand for all your uncle hated. You are not like them, Annelise. If you go with this woman, they will destroy you. They will make you like them…they will destroy your soul.’

‘That is nonsense,’ said Lady Emily. ‘The Marquis has no wish to turn you out, Lady Prudence. He may send someone to take charge of the estate, but you and your husband are at liberty to stay here as custodians of the house…providing, of course, that you do not deny his right to take charge of his ward.’

‘You are threatening us…’ Lady Prudence drew back, fear in her eyes. She waved a hand towards Annelise. ‘Take her, then. Take the ungrateful girl. She is a serpent, and her cruelty has struck me to the heart. I do not wish to set eyes on her again.’

‘Aunt…’ Annelise looked at her unhappily. ‘Pray do not let us part in anger. I do not wish to quarrel with you.’

‘Go with her,’ replied Lady Prudence, her eyes hard, cold. ‘You are no longer any affair of mine.’

Annelise felt as if she had been struck a blow in the face. How could her aunt speak so to her?

‘I did not mean to hurt you…’

Lady Prudence got up and walked from the room without another word. Annelise stood staring after her, her back towards Lady Emily. She turned as she felt a gentle touch on her shoulder.

‘She will think better of her words another day,’ Lady Emily said. ‘Are you ready to leave, Annelise? I hope I may call you that—since we are to be companions for the time being?’

‘My clothes…’

‘You will not need them.’ Lady Emily laughed at her expression of surprise. ‘You cannot want to wear such drab gowns, Annelise? Your mother was a beautiful woman and she liked pretty things. She would not be happy to see you wearing such a plain gown. I shall provide you with something more suitable to your station. You need bring only any personal items you wish to keep…such as a gift from your dear mother or father.’

Annelise nodded. Her memories of her mother had faded, but she did seem to recall her wearing silk gowns in attractive colours, at least until she had been widowed. Annelise too had worn colours when she was a small child; it had only been after her mother died that she had begun wearing black or grey all the time.

‘I do not have anything but this cross and chain I wear beneath my gown,’ Annelise said, showing it to her: it was silver and very plain. ‘If my mother had jewels, I have not seen them. My uncle believes jewellery to be sinful.’

Lady Emily raised her brows but said nothing. Why had the girl not been given her own property? It was possible that the jewellery had been sold during the war, but she doubted it. Lord Woodward had been a wealthy man, and would not have sold his wife’s jewels unless desperate; to her knowledge, he had never been so. It seemed likely they had been sold later or were hidden away somewhere.

‘Well, we shall leave such matters to the Marquis’s discretion,’ she said. ‘Go and put on your cloak, Annelise, and we shall be on our way—unless there is anyone you wish to bid farewell?’

‘No…’ Annelise felt a choking sensation inside. ‘My uncle would not know if I went to him, and…’

Lady Emily took her hand. ‘Try to forget your aunt’s unkindness. She has obviously been under a great strain of late. She will change her mind in time—and, if she does not, you have a new family to take care of you now.’

‘Thank you, ma’am. I am grateful…’

‘Come, let us go,’ Lady Emily said. ‘I see no reason to stay another moment. I shall come to your bedchamber with you. If anyone has something to say to you, they may say it to me. I will not have you made unhappy by these people.’

Annelise did not reply. She was relieved to have been saved from her aunt’s attempt to force her into a marriage she did not want, but she was not ungrateful or unmindful of the care her uncle and aunt had given her. She would have preferred to take a fond leave of them, and was distressed by the tone of Lady Emily’s voice.

Clearly she despised the Featherstones. She was a woman of some influence, and was determined to have her way: Lady Prudence had never stood a chance against her.

Lady Emily had a letter from His Majesty that gave her authority to take Annelise with her, but it might have been more kindly done, in a way that would not have distressed Lady Prudence.

There was nothing to do but to go with Lady Emily. Annelise was distressed that the parting with her aunt had been so harsh, but perhaps Lady Prudence would relent towards her when she had had leisure to consider.

Besides, this lady must know Master Rochefort…but, no, that was not his name. The servant at Longton Hall had called him His Lordship. And he himself had mentioned the Marquis Saintjohn. Yes, they must know each other—and that meant she might see him when she was in London. Lord Rochefort. That must be his title. If he was a friend of her guardian, he would perhaps call on the Marquis’s mother.

Annelise’s heart beat a little faster as she remembered the smile he had given her when he’d told her not to worry. He must have gone to see the Marquis, spoken to him on her behalf. It made Annelise feel warm inside. He wouldn’t have done that unless he liked her, would he?

It was suddenly very important to her that he should like her, though she did not quite know why.

Her thoughts were in chaos, her pulses racing as she collected the few possessions she wanted, then followed Lady Emily downstairs and out to the waiting carriage.

There was no sign of either her aunt or Mr Broughton, but she had not really expected to see them. Her aunt’s kinsman must be mightily offended. Once again, Annelise felt regret for the harsh words that had passed between her and Lady Prudence, but she put them from her mind.

As she was helped into the carriage, with its coat of arms emblazoned on the panels, she could not help feeling a spurt of excitement. She was going to London, to a new life…

‘So, this is my home,’ Lady Emily said as the carriage stopped outside a very large and imposing house on the Strand. ‘The property belongs to my son, of course, but there is sufficient space for us to avoid each other if we choose. He has only recently returned to England and is too busy to bother with my affairs for the moment.’ She led Annelise inside, taking off her hat and handing it to a hovering footman without even glancing his way. ‘I hope you will be happy here, my dear.’

Annelise looked about her. They were in a huge, airy hall, which was bigger than the main parlour at her home, and the floors were made of grey marble tiles with a gold and black border. In the middle of the room was a round table with strange twisted legs, and there were several paintings hanging on the oak-panelled walls, side tables and chairs with padded seats covered in embroidered brocade. She had an impression of luxury, even opulence, and thought that the Marquis Saintjohn must be very rich.

‘I am sure I shall…’ Annelise began. Whatever else she had meant to say died unspoken on her lips as she saw the man walking down the grand stairway towards her. It was Lord Rochefort!

She had never seen him dressed so splendidly; his coat and breeches were fashioned of a pale grey velvet, and in the latest petticoat style favoured by the King, his cuffs were of the finest Brussels lace, as was his falling band. He looked as if he were on his way to Court, but he had not adopted the fashion for wigs and wore his natural hair curled into a lovelock on his shoulder and tied with a scarlet ribbon. She gasped, her heart beginning to race wildly as she stared in wonder.

‘Oh…’

‘Ah, Justin,’ Lady Emily said. ‘I was not sure you would be here when we arrived. You know my son, of course, Annelise.’

‘You are the Marquis Saintjohn?’ Annelise stared up into his brilliant blue eyes, which seemed to mock her slightly. She trembled, her knees seeming to go weak. ‘But I thought…you said your name was Rochefort?’

‘I am Justin Rochefort, the fourth Marquis Saintjohn,’ Justin said with a slight bow. ‘I am delighted to welcome you to my house, Mistress Woodward. Both my mother and I will do our best to see that you are happy here.’

How could she have been so blind? Of course, it had to be him! Why had she not guessed at once? She had thought him a friend of the Marquis, but she had allowed herself to be deceived. Perhaps because she had wanted it so.

‘You are my guardian, sir?’ Annelise felt a coldness at the base of her neck. Her guardian! This changed everything. A crushing disappointment swept over her. ‘You wrote to my uncle—it was your letters which so distressed him.’

She remembered Sir Hugh’s ramblings, when he had spoken of a man who would come to claim her—a man he feared so much it had sent him out of his senses.

‘The mark of Satan is upon us all. But I shall not let it fall on you. No, not if it costs me my life.’

Annelise felt a deep unease as she stared at the Marquis. What did she know of him, or this house to which she had been brought? Why had he not told her he was her guardian before this? He could have done so when she had given him her name that day in the woods—or when she had gone to Longton Hall with the letter. Instead, he had let her believe him plain Master Rochefort—why?

He had been flirting with her in the woods, and then his manner had changed suddenly once her true identity was revealed. Of course he could not seduce his own ward! It would be most improper. As improper as her own thoughts of him had been.

‘I am very sorry if your uncle was distressed by the letters,’ Justin said, his gaze narrowing. Now what was going on in that head of hers? ‘I wished only to discuss your affairs with him, to make certain you were in good health and properly settled. Had he been well enough to continue looking after your estate, I should not have interfered—unless you asked it of me.’

As she had, of course. Annelise was silent. In her heart she knew that it was she who had precipitated the visit from Lady Emily. The Marquis had done what was necessary to prevent her from being persuaded or pushed into a marriage against her will, because she had made him aware of her situation—and yet she was angry with him. She felt guilt because of her uncle’s illness, and some apprehension.

Why had the Marquis’s letters made her uncle so afraid? Why had Sir Hugh talked so wildly of Satan’s mark having fallen upon them?

‘What are you thinking?’ Justin asked. ‘Why do you look at me that way? As if I were some kind of a monster! I thought you wanted this visit with my mother?’

‘Oh, yes,’ Annelise cried, stung by remorse. The journey to London had taken some days, and in that time she had come to like Lady Emily. ‘I am most grateful to you for inviting me, sir—and to Lady Emily, of course.’

‘For goodness’ sake, Justin,’ his mother said. ‘Will you keep Annelise talking for ever in the hall? I dare swear she is exhausted by the journey, as I am, and can do well without one of your scolds. I find them exceedingly wearisome myself, and poor Annelise has been scolded enough already. I mean to see it does not happen now that she is my ward.’

‘Your ward, Mama?’ Justin raised his brows, a faint air of mockery in his manner. ‘Can I have heard you correctly?’

‘Indeed, I think it would be best if you were to give Annelise’s well-being into my hands,’ Lady Emily replied. She smiled affectionately at the girl. ‘We are already friends, and, since you are unmarried, it is more fitting that I should have charge of her. Besides, you are too busy to bother with all our little fancies, are you not? You may safely leave the matter of her wardrobe and education with me.’

‘It is fitting that you should chaperon Miss Woodward,’ Justin replied. ‘But you will defer to me in all matters of business, if you please, Mama.’

‘But of course.’ Lady Emily breezed past him, propelling Annelise before her. ‘As head of the family, you must always be consulted in any matter of importance, but I shall not trouble you with inconsequential trifles.’

Annelise saw Justin’s frown of disapproval as she was driven upstairs by his mother. It was clear that Lady Emily was accustomed to having her own way—and that she meant to take Annelise under her wing.

‘You must not let my son intimidate you,’ Lady Emily said, giving her a look of pure mischief as they walked along the upper gallery. ‘You have been taught to obey without question, Annelise, but now you must learn to assert yourself. You must learn the power of your sex, the art of getting your own way with the least fuss. Men are after all but simple creatures—but they like to imagine themselves our masters. The secret of a good marriage is to let your husband believe you agree with his every word, while going your own merry way.’

Annelise stared at her. For a moment she was so shocked that she did not know whether or not her hostess spoke in jest, then she realised that beneath the teasing manner lay a will of iron.

‘My aunt would think it sinful to deceive her husband, ma’am.’

‘Your aunt is no doubt a worthy woman, but she is also a fool,’ replied Lady Emily. ‘She would be lost at Court. You are a beauty, Annelise. You have intelligence and an inheritance, which, though perhaps not huge, is still of some significance. If you would make the most of yourself, of your life, you must learn how to use your womanly arts to your own advantage. After all, why should you not? It is merely a game. You have a right to happiness. I can teach you how to play the game—unless the idea offends you?’

‘No, it does not offend me.’ Annelise laughed suddenly, a warm, husky laugh that surprised the older woman. She gave Lady Emily a naughty, enchanting look that only her mother might have recognised—a look first seen in her crib that had been missing for many a year. ‘No, ma’am, I think I should like to learn all you have to teach me.’

Lady Emily nodded, a speculative expression in her eyes. It was as she had thought when she first saw Annelise. Beneath the veneer of modesty lay a very different personality—a warmth and charm that might win the coldest heart.

She believed this young woman might just be the answer to her prayers.




Chapter Three


‘La, what a pretty thing she is!’ Lady Emily clapped her in delight as Annelise pirouetted for her benefit. ‘You will be the most beautiful lady at Court this evening, my dear.’

Annelise’s gown was fashioned in the elaborate French style which had become popular since His Majesty’s return, with a close-fitting laced bodice and a décolletage that skimmed her breasts and shoulders; the sleeves reached to her elbows, were full and banded with lace and ribbons; the trained overskirt was hitched back to reveal a heavily embroidered panel at the front. Her hair had been parted in the centre, caught in a chignon at the back and allowed to fall in bunches of ringlets to either side. Small knots of ribbon threaded with pearls had been pinned above the curls.

Annelise glanced at herself in the mirror, which was Venetian and fabulously expensive, just like her clothes. A part of her—the modest, unassuming lady that she still was by nature—was shocked by what she saw. That woman in the elegant silk gown could not possibly be her! And yet it was pleasing to be dressed so fine. She was aware of excitement, of a sense of expectation.

A knock at the door caused both Annelise and Lady Emily to turn their heads. They were standing in the small chamber which led through to Annelise’s bedroom; it was furnished with a writing table, a handsome cabinet, stools and a settle so that guests might be received privately, something Annelise had found strange at first, but had now discovered was favoured by many of the fine ladies she had met since coming to town. After the French fashion, friends, privileged tradesmen, wig-makers and suitors were all invited to a lady’s boudoir to watch and admire as the finishing touches were put to her toilette. The practice had astounded Annelise, who had found it shocking at first, but after four weeks, during which she had been taken to meet many of Lady Emily’s friends, she had lost many of her former inhibitions.

‘Enter,’ she called, unsurprised when the Marquis walked in. It was not the first time he had come to her boudoir, though she had not seen a great deal of him these past few weeks, because his time was much occupied by constant visits to the courtroom in which he was suing for the return of his father’s estate. ‘You are home, then, sir. I vow we had begun to think you had forgotten this evening is to be my debut at Court. Is that not so, ma’am?’

She tipped back her head, her eyes bright with mischief as she gave him what could only be called a provocative smile, then sank into a very deep and reverent curtsey, her head bent as if she curtsied to the King himself.

‘Did you think I would break my promise?’ Justin’s brows rose as he saw her and was struck by the change, not only in her appearance but her manner. She was enchanting! His mother had worked a miracle. He could hardly believe that this confident lady of fashion was the little Puritan maid he had seen singing in the woods only a few weeks earlier. ‘You look very well, Mistress Woodward.’

‘She looks well! Fie on you, Justin,’ his mother cried, tapping his arm with her fan. ‘Have you no better compliments for Annelise? She is ravishingly lovely in that gown—and, I dare swear, will cause quite a stir this evening.’

‘Annelise has always been beautiful,’ Justin replied, frowning slightly. His frown was for himself. For some unaccountable reason he was uneasy. Who was this beautiful young woman? Where had she come from? ‘I am sure Mistress Woodward will acquit herself with the proper modesty due to her unmarried status.’ He handed Annelise a velvet-covered box. ‘You need some kind of ornament. I hope this will be to your taste.’

Annelise gave a little cry of pleasure as she opened the box and discovered a necklace of pearls with a large emerald pendant set in gold. She had never seen anything quite as lovely.

‘Oh, this is wonderful,’ she cried, her face lighting up as she looked at him. ‘May I really wear this?’

‘It is for you,’ he said, and his mouth softened into a smile as he saw her delight in the necklace. For a moment he had thought her the sophisticated lady of fashion she looked, but underneath she was still the innocent girl who had been dancing in the woods when he had come upon her all unawares. ‘My gift to mark this special evening.’

‘Thank you…’ Annelise hesitated as she saw the way he was looking at her. What did it mean, and why had her heart started to race? ‘You and Lady Emily have been so kind to me.’

‘Nonsense, my dear,’ her hostess said. ‘You have been a delight to teach.’ Lady Emily gave her son a sly glance, noticing his intense gaze, which was all for Annelise. ‘Are you not pleased with my efforts, Justin? Do you not think she has learned her lessons well?’

‘I did not doubt she would,’ he replied. ‘Come, Miss Woodward, let me fasten the necklace for you.’

Annelise stood where she was as he came towards her, then gave him the necklace and turned her back so that he could fasten the clasp at the nape of her neck. His hand brushed her bare shoulder, sending a shiver down her spine. She glanced round at him, fluttering her lashes in the way Lady Emily had taught her, and smiled.

She was a minx! His mother had taught her too well, Justin thought as he saw that look. What a charmer she was. No French courtesan could have done better!

‘We should go,’ he said, refusing to respond to the invitation in her eyes. Damn it! He hadn’t expected such a change so quickly; he wasn’t sure how it had come about. One moment she had been the nervous, slightly reserved girl he had first met; the next she appeared to have turned into an accomplished flirt. What had been going on while he was tied up at the Court of Appeals?

He saw his frown had brought a look of dismay to her face, and remembered that this transformation was only on the surface. His mother had taught her to flirt prettily, but the girl herself was not changed. Yet something stopped him reassuring her at once. He must remember always that she was under his protection and keep a distance between them.

‘I do not want to be late. The hearing seems to drag on for ever. I must speak to His Majesty this evening, see what can be done to hurry things along.’ He spoke more harshly than he knew, his mind too wrapped up in his own concerns to realise that his words might be taken amiss.

Annelise heard the coldness in his voice and felt hurt. She had tried so hard to be what he wanted. Lady Emily had told her about the beautiful ladies he had known in France, his mistresses who were amongst the cream of the courtiers and much envied him by other men—and she so wanted to be like them, because then he might find her attractive. His manner told her that he was indifferent to her. Despite all her efforts to ape the manners of Lady Emily’s friends, she was still only a country girl at heart.

If she wanted to make the Marquis look at her with interest, she would just have to become like the sophisticated ladies his mother said he admired.

‘Take no notice of him,’ Lady Emily whispered at her shoulder as they followed Justin outside to where two sedan chairs were waiting to carry them to the palace. ‘He has been in a mood of late. I do not know what ails him. It hardly matters whether he regains his father’s estates, he has money enough—but it is always so with him. He will have his way, no matter the cost.’

Annelise made no reply. She waited until Lady Emily was settled in her chair, then gave her hand to Justin. He nodded to her, then carried her hand to his lips, kissing it briefly.

‘My mother is right,’ he said softly, relenting because of the hurt in her eyes. ‘I have no doubt that you will cause a stir this evening—but choose your victims wisely, Annelise. His Majesty frowns on duels amongst his courtiers. If you must break hearts, make sure the gentlemen are first your friends.’

‘Are you my friend, sir?’ Annelise glanced up at him wickedly.

‘I am your guardian. You will gain nothing by flirting with me. You should look for a suitable husband.’ Once again he was conscious of the need to keep his distance—for her sake.

‘Yes, my lord, I shall do as you bid me,’ she said, a glint in her eyes. ‘But you would not wish me to marry in haste? You would not seek to force me into taking a husband I could not like?’

‘Of course not.’ What was wrong with him that evening? Justin wondered at his own harshness. The girl was entitled to her pleasures. ‘I meant only that this is your first time at Court. No doubt my mother has warned you of the dangers. I need not say more.’

‘No, sir, you need not.’

Annelise drew the curtain on her chair, shutting herself in as the chairmen began to carry her through the streets. The Marquis was walking beside her and there was a footman following behind, armed with a stout cudgel. It was necessary to be on one’s guard, for there were beggars and vagrants waiting in dark corners to spring on the unwary and rob them of their valuables.

London could be a dangerous place, both on the streets and at Court. Some of the men who had judged King Charles I had already been seized and tried for their crimes, and others less guilty of treason had also been punished for the part they had played after the war. In the country there were murmurs of dissent, and at the Court itself the various factions were at each other’s throats.

Annelise’s uncle had spoken of the Court as a wicked, licentious place, where the King set a bad example to his followers by his immoral behaviour. He had his mistresses, amongst them the beautiful Barbara Villiers, whose husband, Lord Castlemaine, was forced to accept the horns of a cuckold in return for favours given by his Sovereign.

Annelise was well aware that she must be careful of her reputation if she wished for a good marriage.

‘Once you are married, you may do as you wish,’ Lady Emily had told her with a wicked look. ‘Providing you know how to manage your husband, of course. Naturally, you will not take lovers until you have given him an heir…though at Court, I dare swear, there are a good many husbands who hardly know whether their sons are their own or another’s.’ She had laughed, as if much amused at the idea. ‘And it serves some of them right!’

If the ladies of the Court could flirt as they pleased, then so could she, Annelise decided. The Marquis was her guardian, but there was surely no need for him to be so strict with her—he was almost as bad as her uncle had been. She would ignore him, as Lady Emily had told her. This was to be a special evening, and she meant to enjoy herself, despite the little ache in her heart his harsh manner had caused.

Annelise was nervous as she went forward with Lady Emily to be presented to His Majesty. At first sight he looked ugly, with his long face, dark complexion and sad spaniel eyes, but as she rose from her curtsey and looked up into his eyes she saw they were not really melancholy at all. He smiled at her, a hint of mischief in his manner as he welcomed her to Court.

‘So this is Mistress Woodward,’ he said. ‘I had heard you were become a Puritan, mistress—but it seems rumour hath lied yet again. In all the country, I dare swear, it would be hard to find a man who had not wished for my return most heartily, and the ladies cannot be brought to having wished for my banishment at all. But politics are ever thus, what say you?’

‘My uncle Sir Hugh Featherstone is of the Puritan persuasion,’ she replied. ‘But my father died fighting for your cause, Sire—and my mother of a broken heart. For myself, I am happy simply to be at Court this evening, and know nothing of politics.’

‘Well said, Mistress Woodward. You are as intelligent as you are lovely, and will be welcome to us whenever you choose to give us the pleasure of your company—which we hope will be often.’ Charles looked over her head at her guardian. ‘Sir, why do you frown so? This is meant to be a happy night, is it not?’

‘I beg your pardon, Sire,’ Justin replied. He was shocked to discover that he did not care for the look the King bestowed on Annelise. It was far too avaricious. ‘Perhaps you will grant me a moment of your time later?’

‘Yet another request for justice, I suppose?’ Charles waved his scented kerchief, looking bored and slightly out of temper. ‘Later, perhaps. Take your ward into the ballroom, sir. Dance with her. I would have her be merry. She is a lovely child, and a credit to you, Lady Emily.’

‘Thank you, Sire.’ Lady Emily curtsied before him. ‘You are generous to say so.’

‘Bring her often, madam. I would see her always at Court. Such beauty is not to be hidden away. And that is a command.’

Justin placed his hand under Annelise’s elbow, steering her away. In the next room they were already forming sets for the first dance of the evening and he took up his place with her. It was a courtly, gentle dance that allowed for conversation, but for the first few minutes Justin said nothing to her.

‘Are you angry with me?’ she ventured at last. ‘Have I offended you, sir?’

‘Angry? No. Why should I be?’ He looked down at her. ‘I apologise if I have seemed so.’

In truth he did not know what was wrong with him. The King had shown interest in her, nothing more. Was it not what he had planned—an amusing game to put Madam Barbara’s nose out a little? Yet as he looked down at Annelise’s face he felt something very akin to jealousy stirring.

What nonsense! She was a pretty little minx, but hardly likely to be a serious rival to His Majesty’s favourite.

Annelise knew nothing of his thoughts, only that he looked stern, as if she had made him angry. She turned her mind to the dance and curtsied; he bowed, and they parted to take a turn about the room with the next person in the line. A tiny nerve was twitching at the corner of his mouth when they came back together.

‘You seem annoyed…’

‘If I am, it is not with you.’

Annelise digested this in silence. He was angry, and if not with her—then who? With himself, his mother—or the King? Surely not His Majesty, unless he was displeased that his request for an interview had not been granted immediately? Of course, that must be it.

They made stately progress down the line.

‘You must be careful, Annelise,’ he said. ‘I have warned you before. There are those who would take advantage of your innocence. You are new come to Court and cannot know how to behave.’

She had spoken to no one but the King, and then only modestly, in answer to his questions. Surely her guardian could not have objected to that? He was being unfair to her!

She lifted her head, hurt by his odd manner and determined not to let it spoil her evening. Why was he being so stern with her? She had done nothing to bring his censure on her—and she was tired of being treated like a child. Lady Emily had spent hours teaching her how to curtsey, how to hold her fan, how to catch the eye of a gentleman across the room.

She saw a man looking in her direction. He was tall, attractive in a rather harsh way, and clearly interested in her. His approval was balm to her wounded spirit. She dropped her gaze in the manner Lady Emily had shown her, but let her mouth curve just a little at the corners to signal that she was not entirely displeased with his attention.

The music had come to an end. Justin took hold of her arm once more, steering her to the side of the room. It was his intention to restore her to his mother’s care, but they were waylaid by the man who had been staring so particularly at Annelise.

‘Good evening, Saintjohn,’ the man said, his dark eyes giving Annelise such a hot look that she was overcome with confusion. ‘Will you not introduce me to your beautiful companion? Madam, I am overwhelmed. They told me there was new star in the heavens but I did not believe them…until I saw you.’

‘God damn it!’ Justin said, firing up immediately. ‘No, I shall not introduce you, Rathbone. This lady wishes to have nothing to do with you or your kind. Lay a finger on her and I shall kill you.’

A sneer curled the other man’s lips. He bowed mockingly towards Annelise. ‘Forgive me, I did not know he had put his mark on you—but should you tire of his clumsy attentions I am Earl Rathbone, always at your service.’

He walked away before either she or Justin could answer. Annelise was the first to recover from the shock. She tipped her head to one side, gazing naughtily up at her guardian.

‘Was he one of the gentlemen you meant when you warned me earlier, sir? He seemed to imagine I was your mistress—I wonder why? How could he have made such a mistake?’

‘No doubt my mother has kept you informed of my misdemeanours,’ Justin said, amused despite himself. He gave her a look meant to quell her impertinence. That look in her eye was too challenging to be innocent. She was attempting to flirt with him, but he would not be drawn. ‘I do not pretend to have led a blameless life, Mistress Woodward—but I am a man. You are a woman and as yet unmarried. If you do not wish to be thought spoilt goods, you will stay well clear of Rathbone and his kind.’

‘And when I am married?’ Annelise was beginning to enjoy herself. If he was angry with her, so much the better. He might be her guardian, but Lady Emily had told her she had a right to her own opinions and she was determined not to be crushed by his disapproval. Especially as she had done nothing to deserve it! Besides, if he was angry, he was not indifferent. ‘May I choose my own friends, then, sir?’

‘You would be a fool to choose Rathbone even then,’ Justin said, glaring at her. He was no longer amused. Had she not a grain of sense in her head? ‘There are men who make women happy—and those who care only for themselves. I would not like to see you at the mercy of such a monster.’

‘You need not be concerned,’ Annelise said, a husky laugh escaping her as she discovered how easy it was to provoke him. ‘I do not particularly care for the Earl.’

‘We must be thankful you have sense enough for that,’ he said, and would have continued in the same vein had not two men come up to them at that very moment. ‘Ralph…Robert,’ he said, and suddenly he was smiling as he turned to Annelise. ‘I believe you know these gentlemen? My friends—I would like to introduce you to my ward, Mistress Woodward.’

‘Oddsfish!’ Ralph exclaimed as he took a second look at her. ‘I’ll be damned if it isn’t the little Puritan wench…’ Seeing Justin’s quick frown, he amended his tone, becoming instantly respectful. ‘I beg your pardon, Mistress Woodward. Your beauty has robbed me of what little wits I had, and Justin will tell you they were never of the best order.’

Annelise liked the way he turned the jest against himself. Nothing could deny the fact that he was ill-favoured, and at their first meeting she had not liked him, but now she sensed the warmth of his nature and that he was her guardian’s true friend.

‘I shall forgive you,’ she said, giving him a smile that would have melted harder hearts than poor Ralph’s. He fell instantly in love with her, knew his cause was hopeless, and vowed then and there to serve her as a friend. ‘Providing you will dance with me. This is my first time at Court, sir—and I would make the most of it.’

‘Mistress, I would die for you.’ Ralph swept her a reverent bow. ‘But dance I cannot—unless you wish me to crush your toes?’ He turned to Sir Robert Harris. ‘I dare say Rob here would be glad to serve where I cannot?’

‘Gladly,’ Sir Robert said at once. Like Ralph, he had fallen immediately under Annelise’s spell, but, unlike his wiser friend, he did not know his cause was hopeless. ‘You could not wish to dance with a clumsy bear when I am here to do your bidding.’

‘Then Ralph shall bring me some wine when we have done,’ Annelise said, her smile embracing them both. She laid her hand on the younger man’s arm. ‘Come, sir. I would have news of Cambridgeshire. Tell me, how do you go on with the restoration of your estates?’

Ralph stood with Justin as the two went off, clearly in harmony with one another. He saw the way his friend clenched his jaw and guessed at at least a part of his thoughts. Justin was attracted to the wench himself, though perhaps he was not yet fully aware of his feelings towards her.

‘Surprising, isn’t it? One would not have thought it from our first sight of her—but she is a heartbreaker, a born courtesan,’ he remarked. ‘I am not sure if she realises her power just now—but give her time and she will have us all her slaves.’

‘My mother says Lady Woodward was much the same in her youth,’ replied Justin, a nerve flicking in his throat. ‘I was concerned that her spirit might have been broken—but now I fear she will need a tight rein if she is not to bring herself to grief.’

‘Surely not?’ Ralph said mildly. ‘She is merely trying her legs, like a newborn foal. She could be gentled to the bridle, Justin.’

‘All women are faithless,’ he replied with a wry look at his friend. ‘It would be a wasted effort to try. No, I desire only that she should have a care for her reputation until she is safely wed—after that she may go to hell in her own way.’

Ralph stared as Justin walked off, leaving the ballroom without a backward glance. He had sometimes wondered what drove his friend of late. What was he looking for—why so bitter? He had always been quick to fire up, but he had also known how to laugh at adversity and himself.

It was true that Justin had been forged in the heat of battle, that his childhood had been unhappy—but many had. Children of the aristocracy were left to the care of a nurse, and the sons of the house often spent half their life in the household of a stranger, to learn of duty and to serve. Justin was not alone in that, nor in having been forced to live as an exile for years. He had always in the past possessed a strong sense of humour; surely this anger could not merely be because he thought all women cast in the same mould as his mother?

Something had happened to Justin—but what?

Had he already begun to suffer the pangs of unrequited love? Ralph had fallen for the little Puritan wench instantly, but it was the kind of love which was as happy to serve as to possess. Justin would love very differently. He would need to own…he would demand perfection.

‘And where, pray, is my ward this noon?’ Justin asked of his mother. He had found her alone in the small salon overlooking the garden at the back of the house, and bent to kiss her cheek. ‘I wish to speak with her.’

‘Do not frown so,’ Lady Emily replied, smiling inwardly as she saw his impatient look. As a child he had been quick, impatient—but so loving! Even now, there were times when he showed her a careless affection. ‘There is not the least need for this stern mood, Justin. Indeed, it is not like you to take such a moral stand. Why should you deny her the pleasures you would not deny others? Annelise has done nothing that you could possibly disapprove of—and at this moment she is walking by the river, accompanied by your own friends.’

‘Why did you not go with her?’

Lady Emily arched her brows in surprise. ‘A servant is attending her. Surely you do not imagine her to be in danger, either moral or physical, with Ralph there? He is a gentleman, Justin—and, unless I mistake the matter, cares for her.’

‘She is safe enough with him,’ he agreed. He took up a quill and twisted it between his fingers. ‘Robert is fool enough for anything, but I suppose I may trust Ralph as much as any man.’

‘I suppose you may.’ Lady Emily hid her amusement. This from a man who had hitherto shown no sign of caring for anything or anyone in particular!

Justin looked at her, his manner becoming less tense. ‘Do you need anything? Have you enough money?’

‘You are always generous. I want for nothing in the material sense, thank you.’

He nodded. ‘Who are you writing to, Mother?’

‘A friend—no one you care for.’

‘A lover, I imagine.’ He smiled as she did not deny it, then wandered away to stare out at the gardens, which stretched down towards the riverbank. The river itself was hidden from his view by shrubs and trees, but he could picture it in his mind. Somewhere out there, Annelise was strolling with his friends. He was amused despite himself, despite the mood that had come upon him of late. She had them both eating out of her hands as though they were puppies at her beck and call. They were both devoted to her, ready to do her bidding at the flicker of an eyelid. She had won them both completely within the space of a few days. ‘Have you never loved anyone, Mother?’ he asked without turning round.

‘I have loved you, Justin.’ He made no reply, but she saw by the way he held himself that he did not quite believe her. ‘I might have come to love your father. I was fifteen when they married me to him. He took me for the dowry I brought him. He had his mistresses even then. I was the brood mare he needed to give himself an heir, no more. Once you were born he hardly bothered with me. Do you wonder that I found pleasure elsewhere?’

The quill snapped between Justin’s fingers. He would not look at her as he said, ‘Excuse me, Mother. I believe I see Mistress Woodward returning. I shall go to meet her.’

‘Justin…’

He did not look round as she called his name. Lady Emily sighed. As a boy, Justin had adored her. He had been such a loving, loveable child—until one summer’s afternoon, when he had discovered her in the garden wrapped in her lover’s arms. He had turned against her from that moment, becoming prone to moods and sudden fits of temper and causing her so much trouble that she had given in to his father’s demands that he should be sent away to the house of a relative, where he would complete his education.

She would never forget the look he had given her as he was taken away, a look that had spoken of betrayal and a broken heart. She had not seen him again until he had returned to join his father and fight for King Charles I—and by then he had been so changed she had not known him. The moods had gone, but there was a carelessness about him that disturbed her. He seemed to care for no one and nothing, though his manners were those of the perfect courtier—always gallant, always laughing and ready to rise to a challenge, as though his life meant nothing to him.

She often wondered what might have happened if she had kept him with her…but of course that had not been possible.





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