The Master of Winterbourne

‘And you would not have welcomed that?’

‘No.’ His voice was suddenly vehement. ‘We have been married in the sight of God.’ Then almost to himself he added, ‘Sometimes I fear this fervour for reform has gone too far.’

The last cottage on the outskirts of the village was Widow Perrott's. The wisewoman was waiting for them, a small sheaf of ripe wheat stems plaited into a dolly in her hands. ‘A blessing on you, Mistress.’ She curtsied before them, pressing the brittle figure into Henrietta's hands.

‘Thank you, Goodwife.’ Henrietta blushed as she took the traditional offering and met Matthew's quizzical gaze. ‘It is a token of fertility. Each village has its own design,’ she whispered to him. ‘Do you not know the custom?’

‘I have never been to a country wedding, although I appreciate the offer of assistance.’ There was laughter in his voice and Henrietta's blush deepened. ‘But I cannot but feel it is a matter you and I must discuss alone tonight.’

‘Matthew!’ But she was too full of this unexpected happiness to protest too hard.

The slow procession continued down the dusty road towards the big house. Behind them rose the babble of happy conversation from the party on foot, the creak of wheels from the coach carrying Lady Willoughby and the older guests. In front, village boys skipped and hollered, revelling in the unaccustomed licence, mimicking the stately progress of their betters, secure in the knowledge that this was one day they could get away with such mischief without a beating.

The gatehouse had been hung with swags of evergreen and myrtle and the stable boys who had been set the task were still on their vantage-point waving makeshift banners in honour of their newly-united master and mistress.

Henrietta could make out Sim, freckles shining on a face unaccustomedly clean and pink. ‘I hope none of them falls,’ she worried.

‘A coin for you if you will come down for it.’ Matthew tilted back his head and called up to the youths above. The heads disappeared as if my magic and seconds later the lads piled out of the gatehouse door, palms ready for the largesse.

The driveway was freshly raked, among the apple trees white ribbons fluttered like flags from the bee-skips and as the procession neared the house the household staff emerged, Letty at their head, to line the steps and strew more herbs under their feet. Aunt Susan had attired them all in new caps and aprons over their Sunday dresses and before leaving for the church Henrietta had given each girl a knot of ribbon for her hair.

Henrietta had one foot on the bottom step when she was swept up into Matthew's arms, held hard against the broad strength of his chest. ‘This is one custom that holds good for both town and country weddings.’ For a moment he stood looking down into her face, his eyes bright with desire. ‘If I had my way I'd take you up to my chamber now, throw away the key and leave your aunt to entertain this throng.’ His voice was a husky whisper for her alone and for one breath-stopping moment Henrietta thought he would do it.

He carried her over the threshold and set her on her feet in the hall to the cheers of the guests waiting to file through the door with their good wishes and gifts.

Henrietta schooled her face to composure but her heart beat wildly and her fingers tightened on Matthew's sleeve. With a shock of self-discovery she realised that she would have gladly gone with him, abandoned their guests, scandalised convention to be in his arms alone.

Surely it was immodest to think like this even though he was her husband now? Henrietta cast a quick, upward glance at his face and was scorched by the heat of his answering look. All the anger and mistrust of the day before had left him and the message in his eyes was unmistakable. Then she turned back to her guests and gradually the trembling subsided.

A late dinner would be served in an hour, at five o'clock, then the servants would retire for their own celebrations, leaving the wedding party to dance in the long gallery. As Henrietta kissed her guests, opened and exclaimed over gifts of scented gloves, gilded gingerbread, embroidered kerchiefs and several pairs of scissors for good luck, she was aware of the smooth organisation around her.

She took advantage of a moment's lull to seek out Mistress Clifford. ‘Aunt.’ She hugged her fiercely, regardless of crushed silks and lace. ‘Thank you so much for today and for all the past years. My own dear mother could have wished no better, nor been more loving for me.’

‘And I could have wished for no better daughter, lacking children of my own.’ Sentimental tears were standing in her aunt's grey eyes. ‘And soon, God willing, you'll be giving me grandnephews and nieces to love.’

‘Lady Sheridan, forgive our lateness.’ One of their more distant neighbours was waiting at her elbow, and Henrietta turned from her aunt, realising with a thrill of surprise that she was Lady Sheridan, no longer Henrietta Wynter. Everything was changing and now she was no longer the unmarried keeper of her dead brothers' patrimony, but the wife and helpmeet of the master of Winterbourne.

The wedding feast was set out down the burnished length of the oak table. Aunt Susan had ordered the best silver retrieved from its hiding-place behind the casks in the cellars where it had spent the long, uncertain years of war. Now, polished and gleaming, it caught the late afternoon light illuminating the big chamber, reflecting off the jewels and silver lace of the guests.

Matthew took Henrietta's hand and escorted her with due ceremony to the mistress's place at the foot of the table before assuming his own at the head. There was a moment's silence while Mr Halsey said grace, then the wedding party sat down and fell to with a will.

There was a rich variety of pies and pasties, baked and roast meat and fish, sallets served warm, possets and custards. Aunt Susan and Lady Willoughby had had their heads together for days, poring over family kitchen books, considering the latest French receipts. Thanks to Robert's good husbandry wine and ale flowed in abundance and the voices diminished to a conversational buzz while the guests, most of whom had not eaten since they broke their fast, ate and drank heartily.

Henrietta looked up and found Matthew’s pensive gaze on her. Uncertainly she smiled and was rewarded with one of his rare, warm smiles in return. She felt reassured. All would be well later, when they were alone. He would make it so.

*

As he swept her a low bow at the end of the third dance Henrietta drew her husband to one side, leaving their guests to form sets while the musicians retuned for a country measure. ‘Now would be a good time for us to visit the household. They will be at their feasting and ready to drink our health.’

Alice, swung by on Robert's arm as the musicians struck up a rumbust

ious tune and paused to whisper, ‘Is all aright? I could wish the master would send that long-faced Puritan out of the room – I expect him to stand up and announce we are all damned at any moment. His face could curdle milk and I vow he quite spoils my pleasure.’

Henrietta followed Alice's nod. Nathaniel Cobham stood by the window, his face as black as thunder as he watched the swirl of dancers. ‘Forget him, Alice.’ She shrugged. ’He finds as much satisfaction in his disapproval as we in our dancing: he shall not spoil my wedding day.’

A servant came and whispered low to Robert, who excused himself and followed the man below. One of the local farmers immediately claimed Alice as his partner and Henrietta and Matthew left as she was swept off laughing.

Away from the hubbub of the long gallery Matthew caught her arm. ‘We are but a step from our bedchamber, no one will miss us if we slip away now.’ He pulled her to him, his breath warm on her neck, his arms holding her hard against the length of him, then his lips claimed hers, possessive and demanding as they had never been before. Henrietta responded immediately, her guests, the servants, everything forgotten in the heat of the moment.