“It’s not for me to judge my betters, sir,” Alys said, acknowledging the truth of his remark. “Mistress Marjorie is to be married soon, so I hear, so I suppose some gentleman finds her comely enough for his liking.”
“No doubt he does.”
“I suppose it will be a grand affair,” Alys said, suddenly wondering if Puritans celebrated weddings or just said their vows and retired directly to the bedchamber.
“I doubt that,” Jeremy Lockwood said. “With the bride’s father so recently deceased, it’ll be a quiet family celebration.”
“You seem to know a lot about it,” Alys remarked.
Master Lockwood had opened his mouth to reply when Alys saw Bess hurrying toward her, her eyes blazing with anger.
“Where have ye been? Will is mad with worry,” Bess cried as soon as she reached them. She eyed Master Lockwood suspiciously before turning back to Alys.
“I went for a walk and came upon Master Lockwood. His horse lost a shoe. I was showing him the way to the smithy.”
“It’s right this way, sir,” Bess said, her tone honeyed at the prospect of a paying customer. “My husband will see to yer beast. Get back to the house, Alys,” she hissed. “There are chores to be done. I’ll see to Master Lockwood.”
“Thank you, Mistress Bailey,” the man said, addressing Bess. “I’d be grateful for your assistance.”
He turned away from Bess and smiled warmly at Alys. “And thank you for showing me the way. You are most kind.” He bowed to Alys and walked away, leaving her to stand alone in the middle of the lane.
Chapter 9
Jeremy
Having left his horse with the blacksmith, Jeremy paid handsomely for the use of the man’s own horse and continued to the manor. It wouldn’t do to show up on foot and so late, especially since he had been the one to request this interview with his future bride. Perhaps he should have stayed away, as his father had requested, but he’d never dealt well with uncertainty and always felt it was better to know the worst of it rather than live in anticipation of disaster.
Jeremy fervently hoped his father had his best interests at heart and this marriage would prove beneficial to both families, but the fact that his father had chosen to betroth him without so much as introducing him to the lady did not bode well. Had his future bride been beautiful and accomplished, his father would have used her charms to convince Jeremy of his good intentions. Instead, he’d bullied and threatened, a tactic he’d used on all his sons since they were old enough to be useful to his ambitions. If Mistress Marjorie had been subjected to the same treatment, Jeremy hoped to either put her mind at rest or confirm her worst suspicions, and possibly his own.
When it finally came into view, the house looked grand and well maintained. The Ashcombes were both land and cash rich, unlike many prominent families that had land aplenty but no coin to spare. All the Ashcombes lacked was a man to take up the reins and assure future generations.
“Cyril Ashcombe hoped until the very last that he’d be blessed with a son,” Viscount Lockwood had told Jeremy when he announced his betrothal. “A man can hope, I suppose, but his wife had long been past childbearing age, and unless he set her aside and married again, his hopes were in vain.”
Jeremy felt sympathy for the man. Cyril Ashcombe had been only thirty-nine when he passed last year. He might easily have had a son, but all he’d left behind was one daughter. He’d stipulated that the wedding was not to take place until Marjorie turned eighteen, a mandate Jeremy’s father had chosen not to challenge. Marjorie had turned eighteen in May, so now there was no further need to delay. Jeremy sighed as the horse trotted through the gates and up the drive.
Asa Lockwood was a shrewd man who’d done well by his boys. Jeremy’s oldest brother, Walter, would inherit the estate and everything that went with it once Asa shed his mortal coil. Walter’s wife had already given him two children and, if Walter had it his way, would be expecting a third before the year was out. The middle son, John, had married advantageously but left his bride and their newborn son on their own much of the time, preferring the life of a soldier. Perhaps he’d be coming home soon, since His Majesty Charles I had recently issued a proclamation promising to negotiate with the Covenanters and not to invade Scotland. John would be disappointed, Jeremy thought. He wasn’t cut out for a life of sedate domesticity, but the peace would no doubt be short-lived. It always was.
Thanks to his father’s ambition, marriage to Marjorie Ashcombe would furnish Jeremy with a sizeable estate, something every younger son dreamed of. He would never have to rely on Walter’s generosity, not that Walter wouldn’t look after him. They had always been close, and it had been Walter who’d advised Jeremy not to challenge their father’s choice of bride. Marriage was a means to an end, not the end in itself, Walter had counseled him. There were other paths to happiness, but Jeremy didn’t agree. He believed in the sanctity of marriage and meant to be faithful to his wife, which was why the choice of bride mattered so much.
If only Marjorie Ashcombe bore some resemblance to the little maid he’d met in the woods. Even with her faded gown and hair covered modestly by a linen cap, she was breathtaking. Ethereal, Jeremy amended reverently, all the more so because she’d shown no awareness of her looks. She seemed modest and shy, and a little frightened to find herself alone with a strange man. He’d done his best to put her mind at rest and had been
