The Unwilling Bride. Margaret Moore
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Sir Henry stepped toward Beatrice, whose face turned nearly as red as his surcoat when he gave her one of the most disarming smiles Constance had ever seen. “And who is this lovely young lady?”
“That is my daughter, Lady Beatrice,” Lord Carrell said stiffly.
“And she is my cousin,” Constance added, a note of warning in her voice. Beatrice was young and had a head full of romance; Sir Henry was handsome and flattering.
“Then I am even more delighted to meet her,” Sir Henry said.
Constance caught the look that passed between Merrick and his other friend—a sort of patient forbearance. So this Sir Henry was the sort who enjoyed charming women. She would warn Beatrice, and the maidservants, too. “I was expecting you to have more of an escort, my lord,” she said, loud enough to draw the attention of everyone nearby, including Sir Henry.
“There was no need,” Merrick replied. “I regret I neglected to inform you, but I had other things on my mind.”
Although she wasn’t sure if he was alluding to their marriage—and everything that went with it—Constance felt the heat of a blush steal up her face and tried to will it away. “What of your baggage, my lord?”
“A carter is bringing it.”
“Shall we retire, nephew?” Lord Algernon asked, a bead of perspiration running down his plump cheek. “We have some fine Bordeaux wine awaiting in the hall.”
“A most welcome suggestion,” Merrick replied before turning to Constance. “I shall lead the way into my hall with my bride-to-be by my side, if she will allow me that honor.”
Since she had no choice, Constance lifted her hand and lightly put it on Merrick’s muscular forearm.
Which was as hard as iron.
An unexpected flutter of heat spread through her body, but she fought to ignore the sensation. So what if he was strong and well built? Had his father not been handsome in his day? Yet look how he had ended. She must not, she would not, tie herself to a man who might turn out the same.
When the group reached the dais, she immediately lifted her hand from her betrothed’s arm.
Merrick didn’t seem to notice. Instead, he addressed Lord Algernon. “Is there not somewhere more private? I prefer not to discuss my estate and my wedding where any servant or foot soldier may overhear.”
His wedding. So he did plan to honor the betrothal agreement. So much for the hope that he would wish to be free of her. She would have to implement her scheme to win her freedom, and the sooner, the better.
“The solar, perhaps?” Lord Algernon suggested.
Merrick turned to his friends. “I leave you in Lady Constance’s care.”
She would have to be careful not to go too far, but she wouldn’t wait to begin her campaign for liberty. She would start now. “If you’re going to talk about our wedding, I should come to the solar, too, should I not? After all, I am the bride.”
At Constance’s determined pronouncement, her uncle stared at her in amazement, while Lord Algernon gaped with undisguised disbelief.
In spite of their obvious surprise, the lord of Tregellas merely raised a coolly inquisitive brow. “As you wish. Lady Beatrice, will you be so good as to take charge of my friends?”
Beatrice blushed to the roots of her honey-blond hair. “Yes, o-of course, my lord,” she whispered as if she were afraid to speak any louder, while Sir Henry smiled as if he’d just been given a present.
Yes, he would bear watching, and Beatrice, too. Constance loved her cousin, and didn’t want Beatrice’s heart broken—or worse, for Beatrice to be dishonored by a charming seducer her betrothed had brought into their midst.
Merrick paused in his progress toward the steps and glanced back over his shoulder. “Well, my lady, will you join us or not?”
Despite his imperious tone, she made no effort to rush as she followed the new lord of Tregellas.
Who seemed to be very much his father’s son after all.
CHAPTER TWO
MAKING SURE NO PART OF HER came into contact with Merrick as he waited by the door, Constance followed the uncles into the solar, the small chamber Lord William had used for his private business.
As in the hall, expensive and colorful tapestries lined the walls to keep out the chill. A massive trestle table, pitted and scared from Lord William’s blows and missiles, stood near the window. A wooden, bossed chest holding all the various parchments detailing the tenants and the tithes rested in the corner. There Merrick would also find a copy of his father’s will, a document that had elicited many a raving tantrum before it had finally been completed to Lord William’s satisfaction.
The lord’s chair—a huge, heavy thing of carved oak with a cushioned seat—was behind the table. The only other seats were stools, set against the wall, and rarely used in Lord William’s time. He preferred to have those brought before him standing like humble petitioners, no matter what their rank or worth.
“We hear you’ve been to court many times, my lord,” Lord Carrell began as they arranged themselves like a line of soldiers about to be inspected. “You must have met the king and queen, for which I envy you. Tell me, what do you think of our young ruler?”
Merrick didn’t go around the table and take his seat, as she expected. Instead, he stood in front of it and crossed his muscular arms, regarding them steadily. “King Henry is my sovereign lord.”
“Your liege lord, the earl of Cornwall, often disagrees with his brother the king,” Lord Carrell replied. “Indeed, we hear many barons fear King Henry is too much influenced by his French wife.”
The corners of Merrick’s full lips curved downward in a frown. “Whatever the king does or does not do is not for me to question, and how he comes to his decisions is not for me to ponder.”
Merrick was obviously the sort of nobleman who was loyal no matter what the king did, even if Henry and his French queen were leading the country down the road to rebellion.
And if Merrick, like most noblemen, believed a woman’s place was confined solely to the hearth and home and children, her observations on the political situation, as well as her suggestions as to how he should deal with the earl and the king, would surely be unwelcome. So she blithely began to tell her intended husband exactly what she thought.
“From what I understand of the court, there’s a great deal of conflict between the English barons and the relatives of the queen. The king seems to be making a terrible mistake giving Queen Eleanor’s relatives so much power. As for her insisting that her uncle be made Archbishop of Canterbury, is there a more ambitious, greedy candidate? If that man is holy, I’m a nun. Thank heavens he has yet to be confirmed because the pope is in such difficulty. Now we hear the earl of Cornwall might marry Eleanor’s sister. No doubt the queen seeks to bind him closer to prevent him from leading a rebellion, since there are many who would prefer him to his brother when it comes to commanding the kingdom. After all, it’s because of Richard’s diplomacy that Henry is free after his failed campaign to win back lands in France. And then there’s the matter of Simon de Mont-fort’s marriage to the king’s sister. Is it true de Mont-fort seduced her, or is that just gossip?”
She felt the uncles’ gaze upon her, but she ignored them and continued to look at Merrick, her brows raised in query. “What if Henry does something stupid again and the earl doesn’t rescue him? What if Richard finally turns against him?”
Merrick straightened, lowered his arms and regarded her sternly. “You speak of rebellion and treason, my lady. I will have no such talk, or even the suggestion of it, for any reason, in Tregellas while I command here. If the earl of Cornwall rebels against his brother, if this country is torn apart by civil war, then I shall choose which side to support,