The Master of Winterbourne

When she simply stared at him, he added more gently, ‘You are now free to fulfil your proper role in life – marriage, the raising of children. And you will soon have a husband to govern and guide you in all these things.’

Only pride and a stubborn refusal to break down in front of Matthew Sheridan kept her on her feet and her voice steady. An hour ago she would have welcomed the thought of a husband, someone to help her with Winterbourne, someone to build a life with. Now the idea of a husband guiding and governing her made her want to break things. ‘I shall leave you now, sir. You must have legal matters to discuss with the new master here. I thank you for your counsel. Please send for my… for the steward whenever you are ready for him.’

She had to go before that man reached her side as he seemed intent on doing, because she did not think she would be answerable for her actions if he touched her. Stiffly she curtsied to Lawyer Stone, then, head high, walked through the door, closing it with great care behind her.

Her dignity lasted for three steps beyond, then she lifted her skirts in both hands and fled pell-mell down the stairs, her high heels clattering on the wooden treads and then across the flags of the hall. She had the briefest impression of the look of surprise on Alice's face as she passed her, then she was out into the warm spring air.

Where to go? Henrietta paused, irresolute, on the gravel. She needed to be alone, away from the questioning looks of the servants, from Lawyer Stone's dry legal advice, Aunt Susan's fussing. There weren't even any household tasks she could immerse herself in. In any case, none of it was her responsibility now. The bunch of keys that always hung at her waist like a badge of office weighed like lead. Henrietta snatched it off and flung it on to the stone steps.

A bee bumbled past her cheek on heavy wings and she remembered one duty she must still perform. The bee skips stood in orderly rows in the orchard, their inhabitants busy in the sun-warmed blossom. The bees must be told of the change of master, it was one of the many rules she had been taught for looking after them. Country lore held that the bees were told of every death, of every major change, otherwise they would die themselves or fly away to seek a new master.

Henrietta picked her way through the long grass under the fruit trees, brushing aside the low branches heavy with flowers. When she reached the plaited straw skips she sank down and watched the worker bees buzzing in and out of the entrances, their back legs laden with pollen. Winterbourne belonged to Sir Matthew Sheridan. If Mr Stone said it was so, it must be so, and all that which had been hers this morning, her home for eighteen years, now belonged to a stranger.

For five years the sole purpose of her life had been to keep this place alive and flourishing for her brothers and the household which was their responsibility. She hadn't wanted it when Francis had died for the position or the wealth that went with the estate, but because it was all she knew. There were no male Wynters left, but their blood flowed through her veins too. She loved Winterbourne as they had done. It was her life.

She knew her duty. Resolutely she stood up, her back to the house, and addressed the hives clearly, as if she

were addressing her assembled household. ‘Winterbourne has a new master. His name is Matthew Sheridan.’ Her voice shook and she rubbed the back of one hand angrily across her eyes, daring the tears to flow. ‘You…you must be loyal to him and work hard and you will continue to be safe here.’

‘All of Winterbourne will be safe with me,’ a voice said behind her.

Henrietta wheeled round to confront him, stumbling on the tussocky grass. ‘Leave me alone. Surely you have enough to do without persecuting me?’

Matthew Sheridan cocked an eyebrow. ‘Am I persecuting you? I came to see all was right with you.’

‘Why should you care how I am, sir? I am not your responsibility.’ How could he stand there, so composed and watchful and ask if all was right?

‘But you are. Or don't you believe what you have just told the bees? I am master here now.’

‘You are neither my father nor my brother nor my husband. You bear no responsibility for me, nor do I claim it.’ Henrietta knew her cheeks were burning unbecomingly, but she did not care.

‘Walk with me, Henrietta.’ He held out one hand to her.

Bitter words sprang to her lips, then the years of Aunt Susan's rigorous training asserted themselves. She was a lady, schooled to restrain her emotions, behave with an elegant deference to the men in authority over her, however much she might wish to flout them, to upend a bee skip over their heads. ‘If you wish, sir.’ She ignored his hand and turned to pick her way through the rough orchard grass to the bank of the old moat where a weeping willow overhung a small pond.

‘I am sorry this has come as such a shock to you. I too was unaware I had distant kin in Hertfordshire until Lawyer Stone sought me out.’

It seemed to her he was attempting to be conciliatory, but Henrietta moved through the orchard contriving to keep her face averted from him.

‘Your father left Stone sealed instructions should anything befall your brothers. The rift between our grandfathers was so great, a matter of religious conscience at root, as well as the question of the marriage, that neither spoke of the other again. My grandfather's change of name made even an accidental meeting a remote possibility.’

His concern, his assumption that she needed explanations for comfort, hurt her pride. ‘I need neither your apologies, nor your explanations, sir.’ Henrietta ducked beneath a low bough of the willow, putting its gnarled width between them before she turned to face him at last. He made no attempt to follow her, leaning instead against the trunk, his eyes on the startled gyrations of a pair of coots on the pond.

She needed to be alone, come to terms with what was happening. And think what she could do now Winterbourne was no longer her home. She could not think with Matthew Sheridan there. Why was he haunting her footsteps? Now he had what he'd come for, why couldn't he leave her in peace?

‘No doubt you will wish to look over the estate after dinner. I will send Robert Weldon, the steward, to you. Aunt Clifford will show you the house whenever you desire.’ Why wouldn't he look at her? She turned her back on him deliberately, hoping her cold formality would discomfort him.

‘I had hoped you would show me both the house and the estate yourself.’ Matthew Sheridan was not so easily dislodged.

Henrietta turned back, feeling her temper fray. ‘You are cruel, sir. I have acknowledged you, a complete stranger, master in my brother's place. You cannot expect me to act as your guide when every room, every field and ditch holds memories for me of what I have lost.’

Her composure was in shreds, her dignity with it. Any moment now there would be shameful tears. She bit the inside of her lip and told herself that a Wynter never wept. Matthew swore softly under his breath, ducking under the low branch to envelop her in his arms. Henrietta stiffened, pushed and found he was to strong for her.

‘Hush. If you do not want to show me the estate I shall not force you. You have had a heavy burden to carry far too long. Weep if you must, there is no one to see you.’

Except you, Henrietta thought confusedly, then gave in to the comforting strength of his arms, as he pulled her head down to rest on his chest. No man had held her since the last embrace her brother had given her when he rode off to war, and now, her cheek against Matthew's heart, Henrietta realised how much she'd missed that strength, how solitary she'd been in the company of women.

It must be the shock making me so weak, she thought hazily, as she let him hold her closer still, the warm cloth of his shirt absorbing the tears she had not realised she was shedding. Then his hand began to stroke her curls and his breath was warm on her forehead. Beneath her cheek the rhythm of his heart quickened and suddenly the embrace was no longer brotherly, her own responses no longer those of a sister. Henrietta pushed him away sharply, more angry with herself than him.