from the room, his rigid shoulders expressing his intense disapproval.
Sir Henry sat silently for a long moment, contemplating his clasped hands, and then with the slightest of shrugs continued where he had left off before Simon Hotham’s departure. ‘It is a matter of inheritance and politics.’ He fixed Kate with a stern stare. ‘The future of Winteringham Priory is still in doubt. If your father had been more aware of his domestic duties and had been present to fight off the attack in 1643, this would never have occurred.’
‘But we did not give up our land willingly. No one could ever say that. Why should it not be restored to us now? Who can possibly have a better claim than I have?’
‘I am sympathetic to your family pride, Katherine, but we have to face the realities of the situation.’
‘Surely the reality is that the house was snatched from us: we were driven out with Royalist cavalry at our backs.’
‘Very true, my dear. And it became to all intents and purposes a Royalist estate, used by Viscount Marlbrooke to aid the King and his cause. Where do you think the rents went in the years before Charles was defeated? Why do you think there is no trace of the family silver? Sold! Or melted down! The result is the same.’ Sir Henry shrugged, extracted a document from a pile before him and held it out to Kate. ‘Here is the latest intelligence from London concerning the settlement of claims. If you can understand the legalities!’
Kate carried the letter to the window to struggle through the legalistic words and phrasing. The implications were only too clear.
‘I understand,’ she finally admitted with a sigh. ‘It seems that my inheritance will be given to whoever has the largest purse or the loudest voice at Court.’
‘Exactly. It will not be the Harley family, I fear.’ Sir Henry retrieved the document from his niece with a slight shrug. ‘A female claim is always unsatisfactory. And, of course, your father left no will, presuming that the entail would stand. If the land had been willed to you, it might have been different. But as it stands, there is little hope.’
‘What about Richard?’ Lady Philippa had recovered from her bout of tears and had followed enough of the discussion to see the possibilities for her favourite nephew. ‘Is he not the male heir to the Priory?’
‘Never! A foolish suggestion, which would be a disaster for the family. Besides, his claim is also through a female line, through his mother. But it is beside the point.’ Sir Henry threw back his head in an impatient gesture. ‘Marlbrooke is rich. He has the ear of the King. He has submitted his claim to the Priory and the Courts are likely to uphold it against us.’ He slammed his hands down on to the desk, sending up a cloud of dust motes to dance in the slanting sunshine. ‘It appears to be a hopeless case.’
‘Would the new King really be so unfair?’ Kate’s voice registered shocked surprise.
‘Ha!’ Sir Henry’s bitterness was clear. ‘Is it unfair to reward your own followers at the expense of those who took the sword against you? I think not. That, Katherine, is what I meant when I spoke of realities.’
He crossed the room towards her. He was still tall and upright in spite of advancing years, his hair showing only the faintest sprinkle of grey. His objective was now clearly to make amends and apologise for his earlier harsh approach to the problem. He stretched out a hand in supplication.
‘I’m sorry, Kate. I have fought hard for your rights. Not simply for the family, but because you have been the daughter I never had. It would have pleased me to see you re-established at the Priory in your own right. But we must now of necessity revise our plans to match present circumstances.’
‘I can see why you wish me to marry Viscount Marlbrooke.’ Kate’s tone indicated a dull acceptance of the inevitable.
‘Of course you do! You’re an intelligent girl. So come, let us work for a propitious outcome. What better way to restore out fortunes and mend our relations with the Royal Court than through this one marriage?’
‘I understand. Might I ask what Viscount Marlbrooke’s feelings are?’
‘That is immaterial. He has made an offer. It provides an excellent settlement and I will not allow you to throw it away. It is a political marriage and you should not look for emotional involvement. You will grow to like him well enough, I expect, and if you don’t—well, it will still have served its purpose and your children will give you plenty to occupy your time!’
Kate took another deep breath and threw caution to the winds. There was little point in doing otherwise. ‘I feel that I should tell you …’ she was angry to note the uncertainty in her voice but ploughed on ‘… I wish to marry Richard. I love him. And I know that he wishes to marry me.’
Any sympathy that Sir Henry might have felt came to an abrupt end as he swept aside her admission with an impatient gesture and returned to his chair behind the desk to take up his habitual position of authority.
‘Forget your cousin. And any of those ridiculous notions expressed by Simon Hotham. Richard has no claim on you.’ He began to shuffle the documents before him into a neat pile as if Kate’s announcement was of supreme unimportance.
‘But I love him,’ she whispered, struggling to prevent tears from gathering as she realised the strength of her uncle’s will.
‘Marriage to a Parliamentarian traitor would be less than advantageous to us at a time like this.’
‘Surely Richard’s family were no more traitors than we were,’ Kate pleaded in despair. ‘We have all been pardoned. How can you condemn him like this? Please let him speak to you.’
‘It is not the same at all. Simon was too close to those who signed King Charles’s death warrant for my liking. I would hesitate to discuss this in his presence—but it is none the less true. If there is a renewed demand from the Anglican Church to pursue a policy of revenge against those still alive, Simon Hotham’s name might just head the list. And where would that leave us, if you were married to Richard? It is not a situation I am willing to risk.’
Kate, acknowledging the truth of Sir Henry’s reading of the situation, found that there was nothing she could say. Sir Henry, sensing her hopelessness, tried for a more conciliatory tone, hoping to win her acceptance of a marriage that he had always known would be distasteful.
‘Come, my dear. You will do well to put Richard out of your mind. Look at the advantages in marriage to Marlbrooke. Wealth. Status. Recognition from the new King and a position at Court. You will be able to return to the Priory as your rightful home. You are twenty years old. It is high time you were married, you know.’
Kate shook her head, anything but co-operative. ‘I will not marry Viscount Marlbrooke!’
‘Then I have no alternative—’ Sir Henry was interrupted by the quiet opening of the library door. Swynford entered with some reluctance.
‘Well? I thought I gave orders we should not be disturbed.’
Swynford inclined his head respectfully, well used to his lordship’s peremptory tones. ‘Indeed you did, my lord. But a visitor has arrived. And I believed it best to inform you immediately.’
‘Well?’
‘Viscount Marlbrooke, my lord.’ Swynford opened the library door wider to admit the unexpected guest. Three pairs of eyes were riveted on the figure in the doorway. The unexpected visitor paused, supremely aware of his audience.
Kate received an instant impression of wealth and elegance—and of confidence. Marcus Oxenden, Viscount Marlbrooke, only son of the villain of her childhood and her proposed future husband, made a worthy entrance in the deliberate magnificence of full Court dress. Unfashionable as it might be, he wore his own hair, black and dense as midnight, fashioned to fall elaborately in ordered waves and curls to his shoulders. Otherwise he wore the latest Court fashion: a black velvet, knee-length coat and waistcoat, heavily decorated with silver embroidery and ribbon loops at the shoulder. Kate’s lips took on a derisory twist at the obvious