Satan's Mark. Anne HerriesЧитать онлайн книгу.
before this, but now found herself wondering what kind of a man her uncle would choose to be her husband. She hoped it would be someone she could like and trust.
For a moment the picture of a man’s laughing eyes flashed into her mind, but she dismissed it at once. It was unlikely that her uncle would choose a follower of the King he despised. Besides, she could not wish for such an alliance. She had been taught to think ill of such men, though now and then she rebelled in her heart. Her own father had been one of them, and her dear mother had died of love for him, so they could not all be as evil as her uncle claimed, could they?
How wicked she was! No, no, she would not consider the idea for a moment; it could only bring unhappiness. A good, sober man of her uncle’s choosing would surely make a comfortable companion and she would be a fool to ask more.
Indeed, she did not expect to meet the stranger again. She thrust the memory of his handsome face from her mind and hurried into the house to give Aunt Prudence the message from Mistress Hale.
‘My God, Justin,’ Ralph muttered as he threw himself down on an oak settle and took up the tankard of ale Robert’s man had poured for him. ‘This is a sorry homecoming for that young scamp. ’Pon my word, I never expected to find the estate so neglected.’
The two of them were alone in the parlour, the only comfortable room in the house, their host having gone off for a walk to cool his temper. Which, considering the neglect they had found, was perhaps the best thing Robert could have done.
‘I dare say it is as well,’ Justin remarked wryly. ‘Had it been flourishing, Rob would have found himself fighting through the courts for possession.’
‘As you must,’ Ralph said, nodding. ‘It is fortunate that you have not been idle these past years, my friend. At least you do not need to be a burden to your companions.’
Ralph Saunders had lost everything he had left behind. A devoted supporter of Charles I from the first, he had beggared himself by giving away his plate and gold in the King’s cause. His house was in ruins after a fiercely resisted siege, and the land had been neglected so long it had gone wild. Due to the generosity of Justin he was not a pauper, but it irked him to live on another’s charity.
‘We may be able to do something about your house,’ Justin said, frowning as he saw the flicker of anger in the other man’s eyes. ‘No, no, don’t poker up like that, Ralph. I have more than enough for my needs. If your house can be restored, I shall lend you the money—and you may repay me at your leisure.’
‘Damned good of you, but I don’t like it,’ Ralph muttered. ‘The Black Boy has promised to give me a pension, but God knows when I shall get it—you know he is surrounded by petitioners on all sides.’
Justin smiled at the irreverent description of the King; those who had shared Charles’s exile during his years of wandering had many a name for him.
‘And it does not suit your pride to join them?’ Justin mocked, the light of battle in his eyes. ‘Well, my finicky friend, we must find you a rich heiress to marry.’
‘Now don’t start that again,’ Ralph protested, throwing up his hands. ‘No woman of fortune would take me—why should she? I’m damned near forty, too heavy, and set in my ways—and I never was a catch, even as a young man.’
‘You wrong yourself,’ Justin said, smiling at his companion of many years. ‘You are no beauty, but you have a good heart. I am sure we can find you an honest widow, who will be willing to share both her fortune and her bed with you of a cold night.’
It was now that the character Annelise had glimpsed won through. To strangers, Justin might at times appear stern, distant, but to his friends he gave generously of both his money and his self.
Ralph scowled at him. ‘Mock me if you will, wretch! If you were not such a damned fine swordsman I would call you out—speaking of which, what did you think of the Puritan wench? Now if she would glance my way, I might consider marriage. I have seldom seen such a beauty, even at the court of France.’
‘You would compare her to Mademoiselle Dubonnet?’ Justin asked with raised brows. ‘Or the Comtesse Migonet? I thought her a pretty little sparrow but she cannot compare to Mirabelle Varennes.’
‘Your chère aimée?’ Ralph lifted an eyebrow. ‘Few women can compare with her, Justin. She will be missing you. I dare swear she expected a proposal of marriage from you now that her period of mourning is over.’
Justin frowned, his eyes narrowing in thought. ‘Yes, I imagine you are right. Mirabelle’s temper will not have improved since we left Paris. I am not sure that I want to marry her, Ralph. She is beautiful, charming, sophisticated—everything a man could desire in a wife—and yet I hesitate. It was in my mind to ask her, but I was reminded that I had a duty here and I decided to settle that first.’
Ralph looked at him curiously. ‘What are you going to do about that—the girl, I mean? Her father’s will makes you her guardian and custodian of his estate, but it was meant to be your father who stood guardian, Justin. Woodward could not have known that the date he wrote out the document was two weeks after your father was killed—that he was in fact making you his daughter’s guardian. You were not much more than a lad at the time.’
‘If he had written down the third Marquis Saintjohn, the will would have become void,’ Justin said, his brow furrowing. ‘He must have written it in a desperate state, knowing he was dying, forgetting that my father was the third Marquis Saintjohn and that I would be the fourth. If he had made his wishes plain, I should not be in this awkward position. All reports of Featherstone say that he is an honest man—and was a true friend of Cromwell, who you know I admired, despite his misguided actions in regard to His Majesty’s father.
‘Had the will been clear, I should not have sought to interfere—but I feel obliged to at least make sure she is being properly cared for. The estate is hers by right. Her mother’s brother has no claim to it, despite the stewardship granted by Parliament. If I chose to fight him through the courts, I should undoubtedly win.’
‘But you are not sure you want to do that—is that not so?’
Justin took a turn about the room, glancing out of the window at the neglected drive. He had promised Robert help with restoring his estate. It would take weeks of hard work to bring this place back to its former state, and that time would give him an opportunity to look about him, to make discreet enquiries and discover what he could of Mistress Annelise Woodward and her guardian.
‘I am thirty-four,’ Justin said at last with a wry smile. ‘Half my life has been spent abroad. I have made a fortune from a trade some would call piracy—though I sailed under the French flag and had a licence from the Crown—and now I am back in England I must fight to gain my rightful lands. If I am to have an heir I must marry soon. I have little time to dance attendance on a young girl. She has no husband. Her guardian has been remiss in this: he could surely have found someone to take her with an estate of that size?’
‘She must be nineteen or twenty by now,’ Ralph said. ‘Not so very young. You could do worse than wed her yourself, especially if you seek an heir. At least you could be certain the child was yours, for she’s hardly likely to have had a lover; these Puritans keep their women close.’
‘She is probably as plain as a pikestaff,’ Justin said, his sense of the ridiculous coming to his rescue. He chuckled deep in his throat. ‘Indeed, she must be, or Featherstone would have matched her long ago. No, no, Ralph. Spare me that sorry fate, I beg you. If I marry, it will be to a lady of the court—a woman in her twenties, a widow, perhaps—who will understand my ways and give me a son without expecting me to love her. I have no time for courtship and pretty words.’
‘You are asking much,’ Ralph said, lifting his brows. ‘Most women desire at least a show of tenderness. Even I know that!’
‘Tenderness?’ Justin arched his brows mockingly. ‘I am not sure I know how to love, my friend. I have been too busy staying alive these last years to have time for tenderness. What do I know but