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moved
closer to the fire. 'Some three generations back, I believe. My
great-grandfather was brother to Edward's great-grandfather, which makes
us...well, second or third cousins, I suppose. And I had no expectation of
this inheritance, of course.'
    'I heard about your
brother's recent death, my lord. And that of your wife and son. I am sorry for
your tragic loss. It must be very hard to accept it.' He heard a note of true
regret in her voice. Even as he mentally withdrew from further expressions of
sympathy—had he not suffered enough for one day?—he saw a shiver run through
her so that he surprised himself and her by reaching out to cover her clasped
hands with his own. And he kept the contact even when the wolfhound showed her
teeth in silent warning.
    Her hands were icy.
    'You are frozen, my lady.
This is no place for you.'
    Honoria choked back the
sudden threat of tears at such an unexpected expression of consideration,
silently horrified at how little it took to disturb her.
    'It is no matter,' she
answered in a low voice. 'I will see to the clearing of the repast now. I will
talk to Master Foxton and Mistress Morgan.'
    'You will not.' Sir Francis
turned her hands within his own, aware of the soft skin and slender fingers.
Such small hands to be burdened with such responsibility. He snapped his
concentration back to the immediate. 'Is there a fire in the solar?'
    'I believe so.'
    'Then come. You have been
on your feet all morning and should rest a little. And some wine will be
acceptable, I think.'
    'But Sir Joshua—'
    'Sir Joshua can fend for
himself admirably. Have you eaten today?'
    'It is not important...'
    'I suppose that means no.
No wonder you look so pale and tired.' Mansell took her arm, in a gentle grasp,
but one which brooked no more argument and allowed her no room for rebellion.
He led her to the stair. The wolfhound shook herself and pattered after them,
her blunt claws clicking on the stone treads.
    Soon Lady Mansell found
herself ensconced in a cushioned settle before the smouldering, banked fire in
the solar.
    'Stay there,' he ordered,
frowning down at her. 'I shall return shortly.'
    It was easiest, Honoria
decided, to do just that, although she did not want the inevitable conversation
with the new owner of Brampton Percy. He returned with wine and a platter of
bread and cheese, which he placed at her elbow and then kicked the logs into a
blaze. When he took a seat on the settle facing her, Morrighan stretched before
the warmth with a heavy sigh, but kept her pale eyes on the intruder. Honoria sat
quietly, waiting, ignoring the food and wine.
    'I cannot force you to eat,
of course,' he commented in a clipped tone, disapproval evident in his stern
face.
    'I am not hungry.' The
slightest of shrugs.
    Suppressing the urge to
take issue with her on this point, he decided that it would serve no purpose
and that he should go with impulse to discover what he could about the lady.
'Will you tell me about your marriage?' he asked abruptly. 'I will understand
if you choose not to but... Do I presume correctly that it was not a love
match.'
    'No. It was not.'
    'I see.' What should he say
next?
    'You should not forget, my
lord, that I was an heiress,' the lady obliged him by explaining the situation,
'and my parents were dead.
    The Court of Wards placed
me and my estates under the authority of Sir Robert Denham as my guardian,
until such time as a suitable marriage could be arranged.'
    'Of course. And so Lord
Edward bought your wardship from Sir Robert.'
    'Indeed, my lord. Lord
Edward informed me that he had managed to scrape together enough money from the
estate for the purchase in the hope of a good return on his investments. Not
least an heir. It cost him the noble sum of £2,000 to acquire my hand and my
lands. He begrudged every penny of it and the effort it took to raise it from
his unwilling tenants. He lost no opportunity to inform me of it.'
    The statement of events was
delivered in such a soft, flat