An unpredictable bride
by
Helen Dickson


MILLS & BOON

"You would have refused entry?"

Jane lifted her head and squared her shoulders, her eyes gleaming in
her proud courageous challenge of his authority.  "Yes.  I find your
presence here in this house offensive, sir."

"I see,".  Edward's eyes narrowed and his smile was icy.  He gave a
barely perceptible nod of his head.  "Then tell me--is it the clothes I
wear that offend you, or my person?"

"Both.  The uniform you wear depicts the man.  You are here against my
will and no longer are you and I betrothed."

Helen Dickson was born and still lives in South Yorkshire with her
husband and two sons on a busy arable farm where she combines writing
with keeping a chaotic farmhouse.  An incurable romantic, she writes
for pleasure, owing much of her inspiration to the beauty of the
countryside.  She enjoys reading and music; history has always
captivated her, and she likes to travel and visiting ancient
buildings.

Recent titles by the same author:

AN ILLUSTRIOUS LORD

LADY DECEIVER

THE RAIN BOROUGH INHERITANCE

KATHERINE '

BRIDE

Helen Dickson

MILLS & BOON'

DID YOU PURCHASE THIS BOOK WITHOUT A COVER?

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First published in Great Britain 1998

Harlequin Mills & Boon Limited,

Eton House, 18-24 Paradise Road, Richmond, Surrey TW9 1SR

Helen Dickson 1998

ISBN 0 263 80707 X

Set in Times'll on 12 pt.  by Rowland Photo.typesetting Limited

Bury St.  Edmunds, Suffolk

04-9803-68609

Printed and bound in Great Britain by Caledonian International Book
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Chapter One

Mortar fire which had been pounding at the walls of besieged Bowden
Manor standing in the north-east of the county of Derbyshire,
mercifully ceased for the first time in twenty-four hours, bringing
with it a strange quiet of eerie expectancy that hung over the great
house like a pall covering a tomb.  With its massive surrounding wall
the manor occupied a position on high ground, which favoured its
defence.  It also stood in an area susceptible to Royalist
influence--until the King's defeat at Naseby had attracted the
attentions of Parliament.

With a small Royalist garrison commanded by Captain Hamilton, and a
combined assortment of loyal workers from her father's estate and a few
female servants, Jane Marlow had courageously withstood the siege of
her enemy--a troop of Roundhead soldiers encamped outside the
walls--for two long months in the hope that rescue would come.  But
after an additional two hundred soldiers had



arrived to join the enemy force, bringing with them more heavy
artillery, the strength of the assault was too great for them to
withstand, and hope, like the battered walls and turrets of Bowden
Manor, was beginning to crumble.

Although of late the results of the siege were' making themselves felt,
an enemy far greater than the one beating against the massive walls had
begun stalking the chambers and passageways of.  the house--starvation.
The food which had been so painstakingly rationed had finally run out
and, seeing how everyone was suffering, in moments of weakness Jane had
almost surrendered to the enemy.  Had they run out of water then their
suffering would have been great indeed, but, because the manor was
supplied by natural underground springs, fresh water had never been a
problem.

From her vantage point in one of the four towers, each housing mounted
guns--although they were of little use now their ammunition was
spent--Jane's eyes focused on the enemy in the distance, beyond the
trenches they had dug around the manor.  The sun had.  gone down and
their fires were lit, the soldiers looking like so many dark demons,
fierce and impressive, their helmets and swords gleaming in the
luminosity of the firelight.  She knew that come the dawn they would
launch a major attack, no longer prepared to wait until the defenders
were forced to surrender.  The parts of the wall already much weakened
b, cannon fire would be breached by the heavier artillery brought by
the reinforcements, and it would not be long before the house was
stormed by the Roundhead force commanded by Captain Dugdale.  She also
knew that the people who had sought refuge within its walls could
expect little in the way of clemency from him.

He was a surly, arrogant man, who had been amused, though somewhat
surprised, to find a woman with courage above her sex so resolutely in
command and refusing to surrender Bowden Manor in the absence of her
father who was serving the King..

A begrimed and weary Tom Carter, her father's ageing, loyal steward,
who had been a tower of strength to her during the two long months of
the siege, came to stand by her side, looking at her with deep concern.
After weeks of siege, of not having enough to eat the bones of her face
stood out sharply beneath her pale flesh, and her body was thin and
screamed out for rest.  He had watched closely as gradually her
strength to go on was eroded, but she had courageously squared her
shoulders, knowing she had to endure, for so many people depended on
her.  Throughout it all she had worn a brave face--a heavy
responsibility, indeed, for a nineteen-year-old girl, when all around
her her whole world was crumbling.

All the days were the same--full of discomfort and a constant struggle
for survival, for the few remaining victuals provided inadequate
nourishment and had to be divided equally among sixty people.  Standing
close by her, Tom could sense the alert tension of all her muscles. 
Her face was grave and sorrowing and the pain oppressing her heart was
great indeed.  She didn't turn, but acknowledged his presence with a
sigh.

"It is almost over, Tom.  We have nothing left with which to fight and
they know it.  Our guns have been silent these past five hours or more.
Like our supplies of food, the powder and match, the bullets--all the
essentials needed to sustain the siege--are gone.  All we have left are
our swords to protect us.  What is' to become of us?"

"As to that, when the time comes we will have to pray Captain Dugdale
shows some mercy."

"From what I remember of him I very much doubt it, Tom.  And any hope I
might have had of our situation being relieved by a trop of Royalist
Soldiers or by a miracle has faded long since.  Little did I think all
those weeks ago when I knew that such a thing as this could
happen--when I began storing provisions and making all necessary
preparations to withstand a siege that it would come to this," she said
quietly.

Jane remembered that, when some of the menfolk of Bowden and the
surrounding villages had left to fight for the King, how life in that
part of Derbyshire--holding no strategic position for either side had
gone on uninterrupted.  The arrival of the Parliament Army had come as
an unwelcome disturbance to their otherwise peaceful lives.  She well
remembered the day when a troop of Parliamentary soldiers, all armed
with pike and muskets--a formidable, terrifying mass of soldiers--had
surrounded the walls of Bowden Manor, and she remembered how her first
terrified impulse had been to run and hide.  But at the thought of
Roundhead soldiers inhabiting and violating her beloved home, rage and
rebellion had leaped in her breast, giving her a strength of mind and
body otherwise unknown to her.

Abiding by the rules governing a siege, Captain Dugdale had issued an
official summons to Jane to.  surrender her father's house without
condition--and her brother James, whom they knew to be sheltering
inside after fleeing north from the battlefield of Naseby.  James had
indeed sought refuge after the battle, but sadly, and unbeknown to
Captain Dugdale, he had also been suffering from smallpox and had died
a few days into the siege.

If she complied with the Captain's demands, then everyone would be
allowed to leave peacefully.  If, however, she refused to surrender,
when Bowden Manor was eventually taken by force no quarter would be
given to those who remained.

Knowing this and having no intention of surrendering, placing all her
faith in the hope that relief would come in the form of Royalist
soldiers, Jane had given all those who wished to leave the oppOrtunity
of doing so.

To protect her two young daughters, Susan and Penelope, her stepmother
Maria had already left Bowden Manor to stay with Maria's sister at
Newington Hall,.  close to the town of Nottingham, as soon as it became
known that James was suffering from smallpox.

Some of the women from the village of Bowden, concerned for their
children's safety, had also left, even though they left their husbands
behind and exposed their own homes to destruction by Parliamentary
soldiers.  But many, both men and women, emboldened by Jane's gallant
determination to



stand firm, had remained to give their support.

But Jane recollected the moment when the massive doors in the
gate-house had slammed shut, how those remaining behind the
seven-foot-thick walls had fallen to their knees and entreated God to
spare them from the enemy, trusting in him for both protection' and
deliverence,

"And had you known that it would come to this," said Tom, 'would you
have conducted things differently?  Would you have surrendered
everything to Captain Dugdale in the beginning and watched him
establish a Parliamentary garrison here--in your father's house?"

Jane shook her head slowly.  "No.  At the time it was unthinkable but
now ... perhaps it would have been more prudent to have behaved in a
more ladylike manner and with more humility.  Maybe I should have
stalled, played for time, instead of defying them outright.  After all,
how do I know my father Will approve of what I have done?"

Having seen how she had worked daily, ceaselessly--how she had cast
bullets from lead which had been stripped from the roof of the house
until her fingers bled; how she had reloaded muskets for the men, often
firing them herself with remarkable accuracy; how she had taken to
sealing any breaches in the walls with sandbags and put out fires
started by incendiary arrows fired over the walls--and at other times
knowing she could be found tending the sick and wounded of which there
were many, Tom thought any man would be proud to have sired such a
daughter.

"Be assured he will be protd of you.  You have displayed a courage way
beyond that expected of a woman."

"These troubled times in which we live have left me and women like me
with little choice, finding ourselves bereft of our men folk," she said
sadly, remembering her dear departed brother.

"Nevertheless, you have fulfilled all the expectations concerning your
sex admirably, for it is the tenderness of the loyalty and love you
feel for your family and home, and those dependent on you, that
impelled you to take the bold step of implementing a siege over the
aggressive might of the Roundheads."

"Even though I have never possessed the stomach for rightings' she
sighed wearily.  "Oh, Tom, if only we knew what was happening--if my
father is alive, even.  Not since the Royalist defeat at Naseby in June
have we heard anything.  Before poor James died, he told me he had not
seen Father--who, as you well know, was fighting under the command of
Prince Rupert--but he heard how he fought bravely throughout the
battle."

"You would expect nothing less," said Tom, shaking.  his head
sorrowfully as he remembered his employer, Sir Ralph Marlow, a
gentleman in every respect, a man he held in the highest regard.  "Your
father is a good man.  Indeed, I know none finer."

Jane cast him a look of gratitude, her lips curving in a gentle smile.
"Thank you, Tom.  Let us pray he is safe and well.  I am only thankful
that my stepmother and stepsisters managed to leave for Newington
before the siege.  You know how susceptible Penelope is to weakness.  I
doubt she would have withstood the hardships of these past two months.
it's



hard to believe that happiness once reigned within this house, that its
walls rang with the laughter of children, when my head was filled with
silly nonsense and girlish fancies and I could think of little else
other than my father taking me to dance at the Court of King Charles
and marrying a handsome lord."

"You may not have succeeded in dancing at the King's Court--but you are
betrothed to a handsome lord."

Jane's face became grim and a hard gleam entered her amber eyes.  "No,
Tom.  It is true that before the war I was betrothed to Lord Talbot but
that was three years ago, before he took up arms against the King.  I
have to say the marriage contract is no longer binding for I have had
no word or letter from him since and have no wish to."

Jane had no mind to dwell on the man she might have married but for the
intervention of the war, when each man had declared his true colours.
When she had the chance to dream it was the image of a young man so
very different who occupied her thoughts--a friend of her brother's,
Sir Simon Butteridge, who had been to Bowden Manor on several occasions
in the days before the war, and often since then between campaigns.

Her first encounter with him had been when she had been an
impressionable sixteen-year-old girl and he had charmingly--and with
all the practised arts of a philanderer--set out to steal her
vulnerable heart and that of her good friend Anne Talbot, the sister of
the man her father had intended her to marry.  Simon was handsome,
debonair--a young man who had danced attendance on her and then
gallantly gone to fight for the King's cause with James.

She remembered how James had teased her mercilessly about 'him, leading
her to believe he might have asked for her hand in marriage were she
not betrothed to Lord Talbot.  But he had warned her about Simon's
character, telling her he was somewhat wild and a man of dubious
reputation, which had made it all the more exciting and exhilarating
for her to be in his company.  What had become of him?  she asked
herself, not having seen him for almost two years.  Was he still
alive--or lying dead on a battlefield somewhere?

Tears sprang to her eyes at the recollection her thoughts conjured up
of her childhood--for what was the use in thinking of all that now when
defeat and possibly death was staring her in the face?  Her eyes,
shifting from the ghostly figures of the Roundhead soldiers where they
huddled around their camp fires exposed to all the rig ours the weather
imposed on them and the discomforts of being forced to sleep in the
open--looked skyward, seeing heavy clouds beginning to settle over the
surrounding hills.  Feeling a cool August wind beginning to penetrate
her clothes, she shivered, her stomach wringing with hunger.

"No matter what kind of day the morning gives birth to, Tom, at least
we will sleep warm in our beds tonight.  Goodnight."

She bowed her head, which Tom saw' as a palpable gesture of defeat, but
as she turned and moved away from him she drew her shawl tightly about
her with hands scorched by handling flaming grenades, squaring her
narrow shoulders courageously.  It was this gesture, after weeks of
watching her conduct the defence of Bowden Manor with a gallantry and
valour equal to that of any man, that won his undying admiration--but
it was also a gesture which wrung his heart the most.

Descending the stone steps to the courtyard below she crossed to the
house, stopping to speak to those who huddled around fires heating iron
pots to melt the remaining pitch--which would be poured over the walls
should the enemy attempt to scale them with their ladders.  Others
tried to settle down for a brief period of respite before the dawn,
and, unable to offer them any words of reassurance, she went directly
to her chamber.

Her heart was empty and a sense of her own helplessness overwhelmed
her.  A sickening hunger compounded with tiredness and exhaustion
engulfed her and her tired brain refused to think of what the morrow
would bring as she threw herself onto her bed, longing to shed her
clothes but too weary to do so--and afraid lest she was wanted during
the night.

As expected, the final Parliamentary assault came with the dawn.  and
Jane was woken from her brief slumber by the sound of fresh
bombardment.  Stiff and sore, she rose from the bed, knowing
instinctively that today it would be over.  It was cold for there was
no fire in her room, and when she looked out of the window it was to
see a sky heavy with rain.

After swilling her face with cold water, she hurried down to the
courtyard, finding herself once again caught up in the mayhem that
prevailed.  She was filled with a deep sense of foreboding for by
tonight things would be different hey might all be dead.

After a maelstrom of fire and noise, the heavy guns blasting without
ceasing until one' of the towers toppled and a wide breach was made in
the wall, with the air filled with a choking black smoke, the Roundhead
soldiers stormed the house, pouring through the breach and over the
high walls from their scaling ladders like ants on a hill.  Pandemonium
broke out.  The dozen or so soldiers of the defending garrison put up a
brave fight but several were brutally slain.  Others, too weak from
hunger to do little other than cringe in fear, begged for mercy and, to
everyone's amazoment, it was given--for usually the victors slew anyone
without respect, stripping and spoiling without regard for those who
begged for quarter.

With a heavy heart Jane turned and went into the house, into the great
vaulted hall to await her enemy, who would enter and take over this
house, her home, contaminating this blessed building with his vile
presence.

She heard Captain Dugdale approach before he entered the hall, his
booted feet ringing out on the stone slabs in the antechamber outside.
The sound was ominous and threatening, and she quailed, grappling with
her fear and exhaustion, not knowing what to expect at the hands of the
Parliamentary Captain.  But some instinct deep within her drove out
fear and gave her a determination to defy him.

Without ceremony, Captain Dugdale crossed to where she stood watching
him with authority and dignity.  He removed his three-barred helmet to
reveal his short-cropped and greying hair.  He was of medium height
with a full, florid face and the neck and shoulders of a bull.  After
suffering the humiliation of being bested by a woman, he savoured his
victory over Jane Marlow with relish, but he was tired.  In the
beginning, not for one moment had he thought that taking Bowden Manor
would be a problem but the two months it had taken to break the siege
seemed more like two long miserable years which could have been better
employed elsewhere.

He was in an ill humour, for shortly before they had stormed the walls
as victors, fully expecting to plunder the house--which, it was
believed, held sufficient treasures to make the two months of siege
well worth it--a messenger had arrived with orders from a higher
authority, instructing him that the surrender of Bowden Manor must be
secured with little or no bloodshed and that the house must not be
sacked of any of its possessions.  Which was a pity, Captain Dugdale
thought salaciously, feeling a stirring of carnality in his loins and
experiencing a sharp pang of disappointment when he took in the full
measure of Mistress Marlow's beauty, of her thick coil of pale blonde
hair which had come loose of its pins and snaked its way down to her
waist.  Thin, she might be, and begrimed too after the days storming of
the house, but she was certainly a beauty.

He had been hard put to persuade his soldiers not to avenge themselves
on the defenders of Bowden Manor--usually they would have been put to
the sword at once.  The slaying of the defending Royalist soldiers had
been unavoidable.

"Well Mistress Marlow--what have you to say to me now?  Still defiant,
are you?  Still foolishly determined to hold on to Bowden Manor?"

Jane ignored his question.  "Forgive me if I do not welcome you into my
home, Captain Dugdale--although I have to say I did not expect such
leniency from you."

Captain Dugdale glared at her, her contemptuous expression and the
manner in which She held herself erect and with pride after all she had
endured angering him further.  His small, glittering eyes narrowed and
his face became ugly.

"It is not I you have to thank for that.  If I'd had my way, you would
have been given no quarter You would all have perished under.  the
sword.  To my mind you sealed your own fate the day you refused to
surrender Bowden Manor to me."

"Then to whom am I indebted?"

He shrugged his massive shoulders, moving away from her, leaving her
question unanswered and looking around the great hall with greedy
admiration, assessing the fine quality of the contents and fixing each
individual item with a price; coming from humble origins, what he saw
eclipsed anything he could Possibly hope to gain in his lifetime with
honour.

"As you are aware, Mistress Marlow, I have been ordered to install a
garrison here at Bowden Manor."

'l fail to see why Parliament feels the need to hold my home as a
garrison," Jane argued.  "Situated where it is, it can hardly be of
strategic value."

"None the less, it must be secured for Parliament.  Now we have taken
possession, you will all move out.  is that understood?  Unless, of
course, you wish to remain and keep me company, Mistress Marlow," he
remarked, his eyes sweeping over her with bold insolence, the
underlying implication of his words causing Jane to shudder with
disgust.

"I would rather die than continue living here under your conditions,
Captain Dugdale."

Again he shrugged.  "That can easily be arranged.  Accidents happen. It
could be explained and your name would be filed away on a report as
just one more casualty of the war."

Seeming totally unconcerned by the noise coming from outside the house,
he continued to walk calmly around the hall, continuing to assess its
contents before speaking at length, his question taking Jane completely
unawares.

"Where is your brother, Mistress Marlow?"

She stared at him, momentarily at a loss for words.  "My-my brother?"
she asked hesitantly.

"Yes---your brother.  You do have a brother?"

"Of course.  What gives you reason to suppose he is here?"

Suspecting she was going to prove difficult in divulging her brother's
whereabouts, Captain Dugdale came to stand in front of her, hoping she
would feel intimidated by his nearness.

"Come, now, tell me the truth.  A warrant is out for his arrest.  He
was last seen heading this way after the battle at Naseby.  Questioning
some of the villagers employed here in the house--who wisely chose not
to get caught up in the siege--i was informed that he did indeed come
here but was not seen to leave."  He thrust his angry face close to

Jane's, forcing her to step back.  "Your brother is hiding here in the
house.  Is that not so, Mistress Marlow?  Come--admit it."

Thinking of James's unburied body lying hidden deep in the cellars of
the house, awaiting the time when it could be taken to Bowden Church
and interred within the Marlow family vault, she answered with enom, "I
admit nothing."

"Deny it all you like, but I do not believe you," he hissed.

"You may believe what you like.  I care nothing for your bullying."

"This is not a game I play, Mistress Marlow."

"Game!"  she scorned.  "Games are for children, Captain.  I do not care
for games."

"Nor I, Mistress Marlow.  Nor I," a voice rang out sharply from across
the hall.

Jane spun round to see who had spoken and her heart lurched in her
breast, beginning to pound in fear and disbelief.  The tall stranger
crossing towards her had a commanding presence, forbidding and
intimidating, and she felt the full force of his ruthless vitality.
With a menacing-looking sword swinging at his side, he bore himself
with military distinction.  He was dressed in the uniform of a
Parliamentarian, his buff leather coat tied around with an orange sash,
and high 'boots spattered with mud, which told her he had ridden hard.
His head was bare, his thick, short dark hair rough and tangled.

His presence stirred her memory, taking her back to the days before the
war.  His mouth had acquired a bitter line, but his clearly defined
features she



recognised--although she did not remember him, as being so tall or so
handsome.

She stared aghast into the imperious dark eyes that bored down into her
own, for the man was none other than her betrothed, Lord Talbot, neigh
bout and once good friend of her family--now traitor and-commander of a
regiment of horse in the Parliament Army.

Chapter Two

Edward turned his eyes on Captain Dugdale who, for the first time since
he had' found his way into the great hall, was at a loss for words at
being con-fronteby the illustrious Lord Talbot, a man thought highly of
by both Cromwell and General Sir Thomas Fairfax.

Lord Talbot was already an able and experienced soldier, having
acquired his training in military arts in the Netherlands prior to the
Civil War and, the speed with which he took decisions and acted in the
field had elevated him to a cavalry leader of undeniable skill and
courage.  He was fearless in danger and inspired the respect and
loyalty of his troops, but he would not tolerate incompetence or was
not one with whom to cross swords.

Edward did not care for Captain Dugdale, who was renowned throughout
the ranks for his butchery.  Alarmed upon hearing of the siege at
Bowden Manor and that jane would be at his mercy once it was broken,
and knowing she could expect no clemency from Dugdale, he had hastened
to prevent any bloodshed.

"I am relieved to find you obeyed my orders, Captain.  Now leave us,"
he commanded, his voice harsh and deep.  'l wish to speak with'
Mistress Marlow alone.  See to it that the dead are buried and the
living fed before you find you have to bury them also.  I'm sure you
have provisions enough to see to it."

No longer inflated by his own importance, Captain Dugdale made a hasty
departure to do his bidding, and once again Jane became the object of
Edward's scrutiny.  Her expression was remote and unreadable, and there
was nothing about it that told him she was pleased to see him.

He could see she was much changed but it could not entirely be put down
to the siege.  All signs of her habitual childishness had gone and he
suspected it was some time past since her feet had skipped and run in
the meadows around Bowden, when her delighted laughter had filled the
air like music and her eyes had sparkled with mischief and merriment.

Her wonderful wealth of blonde hair, liberally streaked with silver,
coiled down her back, and there were smudges of dirt on her face.  She
was as slender as a wand and as fragile as lace.  If he were to lift
her up, he was sure she would be as light as swansdown, giving the
impression that a puff of wind would blow her away.

Her had lifted.  Now that the shock of that first awkward moment had
disappeared, she was studying him unreservedly and with a measure of
unsmiling resentment, with eyes the colour of amber flecked with green
huge in her.  pale face, which gave her a wraith-like, saintly
appearance.  Yet, despite the ravages she had endured over the past
months, she was still lovely to look at---achingly so, with a full,
passionate mouth.

He had known her from the day she was born, watching her grow.  She had
been small and elfin-like, extremely pretty with huge, inquisitive
eyes; until this moment he had never thought of her as anything other
than an innocent child, but she now exhibited a self possession he had
not thought her capable of.

Their families were hereditary friends, acting as guardians,
godfathers, executors and trustees to each other.  Edward, remembered
when he had come home from serving with the army in the Netherlands,
when he had intended settling down at Deighton and their betrothal had
been celebrated by both families, and how, in a twilight haze, he had
been content to let everyone arrange it--for it had seemed a good match
and neither party had raised any objection.

But studying Jane now I Edward, eight years her senior, looked at her
as if for the first time, seeing her as a woman and not a child.  He
was happy to see that in her robust, patriotic endeavour to stand so
heroically against Parliament she had lost none of her femininity.  He
was astonished--how Could he have neglected to think of her for so
long?  There had been times when she had ceased to exist for him as he
became embroiled in affairs troubling the country in those turbulent
pre-war days.

"You remember me, I think, Jane?"

Jane had watched him, feeling sick inside and



cold with nervous apprehension, but she faced him bravely, meeting his
gaze directly, the heat of rebellion which had spurred her on through
those early weeks of the siege beginning to stir again inside her
breast.

'l have not laid eyes on you for three years---but I am hardly likely
to forget the man to whom I was once betrothed, sir."

His dark eyes narrowed and his arrogant lips curled across his even
white teeth.  "Was?  Why--what is this?  Nothing is changed."

Jane's eyes narrowed angrily.  "How can you say that?  You disappear
out of my life and then turn up--quite out of the blue--and say nothing
is changed between us.  Why--your impudence astounds me."

Edward's' dark eyebrows arched and his eyes gleamed hard.  "Impudence
is not something I am often accused of.  However--I repeat nothing is
changed."

"Only your allegiance."

"My allegiance to you is as it always was.  As to my allegiance to my
country to right and the preservation of our laws and liberties that
has not changed either.  Whether I fight on the right or the wrong
side, only time will tell--and if it happens to be the wrong side then
that is something I shall have to live with.  I would have come to
Bowden Manor before, but it is only in recent days that the unfortunate
events taking place here were brought to my attention:'

'l see.  So you came directly.  i am flattered to discover !  rate so
highly on your list of priorities," she said with a heavy trace of
irony.  "However, had you arrived before Captain Dugdale's final
assault, then you would have been a long time knocking on my door."

"What?  You would have refused me entry?"  Jane lifted her head and
squared her shoulders her eyes gleaming in her proud courageous
challenge of his authority.  "Yes.  I find your presence here in this
house offensive, sir."

"I see."  Edward's eyes narrowed and his smile was icy.  He gave a
barely perceptible nod of his head.  Then tell me--is it the clothes I
wear that offend you, or my person?"

"Both.  The uniform you wear depicts the man.  You are here against my
will and no longer are you and I betrothyd."

"No?  Then can you tell me what has changed?"  he asked, one dark brow
arched, his eyes gleaming derisively,

She tossed her head defiantly and the stubborn set to her chin told him
how she had hardened her heart and her attitude towards him.  Her look
dared him to attempt control of her,

"A little matter of the war and our opposing sides."  Her eyes snapped
and her lips clamped wiifully.

Edward shrugged, as though he considered the matter to be of little
importance, but his eyes glowed dangerous and dark.  "My own mother
remains loyal to the King, but our relationship remains civilised2'
"Civilised!  You call war civilised?"

"No," he answered sharply, his-jaw tightening.  "War is never
civilised.  You did realise, when you closed your doors on Captain
Dugdale, that under the terms of a siege you would be given no
quarter?"

"I knew that and expected none."

"Then it is fortunate for all of you that I chanted to hear of it and
was able to prevent any bloodshed.  After having fought in the battle
at Naseby, there was much to be done in the aftermath and I had not
returned to London.  In my opinion, I find it an unbecoming and
unnatural occupation for a woman to conduct a siege.  Where is your
stepmother?"

"Fortfiiately she left for Newington with my sisters before the siege."
She cast him a challenging look.  "So--you reproach me for defending my
home--even though I was left with little choice?"  "You risked your
life."

"And where would you have had me go, pray?"

"My mother would have happily accommodated you."

"I have great affection' and respect for Lady Blanche, as you know.
When my own mother died she was of great comfort to me.  But my duty,
as I saw it at the time, was to defend my home.  Besides--as far as I
was concerned all connections between us were severed when I learned of
your intention to take up arms against the King."

"I understand that you were compelled by circumstances to act as you
did, but now the siege is over I expect you to surrender with grace."

"And turn myself over to your subjection, no doubt."

Edward sighed and his expression softened, for he remembered that by
nature Jane--who had been a bright, precocious child--was a gentle
creature and quite submissive, which was why he had been all the more
shocked when he heard how she was standing against the Parliament Army
alone, and surprised at the pain he had felt when he thought of her
distress.  He came to stand close to her, looking deep into her hostile
eyes..

"Clearly the past two months have' changed you.  I remember a gentle,
harmless, iridescent young creature with never a thought in her head
for warfare."

"If I appear changed to you, then any gentleness and weakness I may
have possessed has been sorely challenged by the aggressive nature of
your contemporaries."

"Then I am sorry to hear it.  Women should not be associated with
battle."

"Nevertheless, through man's doing that is where they are often to be
found."

He nodded slowly.  "Yes--you are right.  However, I did not come here
to argue with you."  He frowned, seeming curious suddenly, looking at
her closely.  "I overheard Captain Dugdale questioning you about James.
Is he here within the house?  Because if so, you must tell me.  Is he
the reason why you did not accompany your stepmother to Newington?"

Swallowing hard, Jane looked at him, her back poker straight and her
gaze unwavering, but Edward saw at a glance that she was close to
tears, that her lower lip trembled and it was with great difficulty
that she answered his question.

"Yes.  James came here after fleeing from Naseby.  Sadly he contracted
smallpox and died shortly after the siege began."

The immense shock registering in Edward's eyes showed how he was deeply
affected by her words, for James and he had been close friends
throughout



their lives, all through the years of their education which had been
spent at Oxford--and not even their divided allegiance in the King's
favour had come between them..

"James is dead?"

She nodded, swallowing down the hard lump that' had risen in her
throat, for whenever she thought of her handsome brother's cold and
lifeless body lying deep in the cellars of Bowden Manor, she was
overwhelmed with a deep sense of sorrow.

Edward turned away as he tried to come to terms with this unhappy news.
When he again looked at her, his face was taut with an emotion which
astonished her, for it gave her a brief insight into a softer side to
his nature--one she was beginning to believe he had lost on the field
of battle.

"Then what can I say?  I am grieved and so sorry.  I loved him as you
did--you know that--and shall miss him sorely.  But where is he
buried?"  he asked, his voice low with compassion.

"His body lies in a coffin hidden in the cellars awaiting the time when
it can be taken to Bowden Church for interment."

Edward was touched by Jane's frail and tragic appearance.  Even in the
depths of his own sadness he felt her despair, and a wave of almost
unbearable pity and tenderness swept over him as he fought the impulse
to take her in his arms and hold her close, knowing there had been an
absence of family to offer her comfort in her misery.  How much harder
it was for him to tell her of the other matter that had brought him to
Bowden Manor today.  He sighed, knowing it could not be put off.

"Jane--I have another reason for being here today one which, I know,
will cause you some distress-doubly.  so--because of James."

Observing puzzlement and fear in her eyes, he took her hand and led her
towards a settle beside the' great stone hearth, the fire unlit in its
iron grate.  She sat watching him, like a marble statuette, waiting for
him to speak, a feeling of impending doom invading her body, her
instinct telling her she was going to need all her strength for what he
was about to disclose.

"It concerns your father, Jane.  It grieves me sorely to have to tell
you that he too is dead."

Jane was stunned and grief-stricken by this latest tragedy.  It ca, me
as a devastating, crushing blow, causing pain to tear through her
heart.  She stared at Edward piteously, like a lost child, shaking her
head slowly in disbelief, unable to comprehend his words at first, then
not wanting to, refusing to absorb the awful truth that she had lost
both her father and brother in the space of two months.

"My father is dead?  But how?  When?"

"He was wounded at Naseby and taken prisoner.  Sadly, he never
recovered from his wound."

At last the impact of the tragedy burst upon Jane and an awful cry of
grief broke from her.  Her body dissolved into tears, tears of anguish
and absolute distress, piercing Edward to his very heart.  Un-'
resisting, she allowed him to draw her tenderly into his arms, to
cradle her head against his chest and hold her as she cried, her tears
unstoppable.

Smoothing her hair away from her face, he placed his lips against her
brow and murmured, "Weep,



Jane.  Weep for them both--for they are worthy of your tears."

She wept until she Could weep no more, and when her sobbing ceased she
slowly disentangled herself from his arms and rose, her legs
trembling.

"Please excuse me.  I--I think I'll go to my room for a while."

Overcome by a tide of dizziness she swayed, the solid walls of the hall
seeming to sway around her.  Reaching out her hand, she groped for the
edge of the settle to prevent herself from falling.  But it was useless
for, on the verge of collapse, darkness was falling like a curtain over
her eyes.  With a little sigh she gave in to it, but before she hit the
floor she felt herself being scooped up into two strong arms and
carried across the hall towards the stairs.

When next Jane opened her eyes it was to find darkness had fallen
outside and that a fire had been lit and had burned to a red glow.
Finding herself alone she gave way to a few silent tears of grief.  Her
father was dead.  No more would she feel the protection of his love
wrapped around her.

One of the few remaining serving maids at Bowden Manor came in carrying
a bowl of steaming broth--the first proper meal Jane had seen in weeks.
After being without food for so long, her stomach revolted at the thick
broth, but she forced it down and immediately began to feel a little
better.

She i'efused to give in to her sorrow further, to lie in bed when there
was so much to be done.  She must see what was happening--and Tom had
to be told of her father's death.  After washing herself free of the
grime that still clung to her skin, caused by the smoke of the
Parliamentary guns during their final assault, she donned a clean
dress---but her heart was too heavy to appreciate the caress of the
soft scented material against her skin.  She brushed her hair and
proceeded to go swiftly and with purpose down to the courtyard; a
deadly calm and a coldness stealing over her that were to see her
through that day and the next---until the time came when she could
dwell on her loss without the agonising pain that seared and ripped her
heart in two.

Stepping out into the cool night air made her shiver, even though it
was still late August and the days were sunny and warm.  She paused for
a moment, taking in the unfamiliar and unwelcome scene before her.
Smoke still hung heavy in the air and the ravages of the siege were
everywhere, but clearly some attempts were being made to have them
removed.

Many of the people who had shared the horrendous hardships of the past
two months had been allowed to return unmolested to their cottages--or
What was left of them, for Bowden village had not remained immune from
the soldiers' plundering.  Farms had also been robbed of corn, sheep
and cattle, and anything else that could be carried away to sustain the
besieging soldiers, callous individuals who cared not which side they
fought on, caring little for either cause provided they got pay and
plunder.

It made Jane's blood boil to see impudent and coarse Roundhead soldiers
loafing against the walls, men who had been intent on destruction and
now behaved as though they belonged at Bowden Manor.



She thought of her father and the manner of his death, of him being
wounded at Naseby and never recovering from that wound.  A murderous
rage burned within her as she looked at these intruders in an agony of
grief and anger--and frustration at not being able to order them out of
her home, for it was men such as these who had caused his death.

She looked to where a group of them stood laughing and jeering as they
mercilessly tormented an elderly man she knew to be one who had shared
the months of siege, showering him with odious and obscene insults.  He
was clearly distressed at being so set upon and humiliated by these
coarse ruffians who sheltered under the guise of soldiers, and fell to
the ground when he was purposely tripped up by one of them.  When he
tried to rise he was brutally shoved back down to the ground by a
soldier's boot.

Quickly Jane went to the poor man's aid, ignoring the soldiers and
helping him get shakily to his feet.  The ordeal having temporarily
caused him to lose command of his tongue, he stumbled away.  Throwing
the soldiers a blazing glance of absolute contempt she turned away,
hearing them laugh derisively at her retreating back.

"My, my--what a pretty sight," one of the soldiers mocked.

"Not so haughty now, is she?"  another sneered, spitting into the dust
beside him as she swept by.

Jane saw Edward striding towards her across the courtyard; he had seen
what was taking place.  After speaking harshly to the soldiers, who
immediately sidled away--although it was clear they were unmoved by his
harsh reprimand--he turned his attention to Jane, his firmly marked
eyebrows drawn together.

"How are you?"  he asked with concern.

"As well as I can be," she replied tersely, wishing she could treat him
with detachment, with indifference but she was powerless to prevent him
slipping through her guard, to force her into an awareness of him when
all she wanted was to avoid and forget him.  I apologise for my
weakness earlier.  I am not in the habit of giving way to outbursts of
such emotion.  It can only be put down to hunger.  I am better now that
I've eaten--for which I have you to thank, I believe."

"After all you have endured--and after receiving the tragic news of
your father--it is hardly surprising you gave vent to your emotions."

"As you will have seen from the sick--and others who died during the
siege, from both wounds sustained in attacks and sickness, and have yet
to be buried--we could not hold out much longer.  Fortunately, the
smallpox James contracted was contained with just one other
casualty."

"And did it not concern you that you were in danger of contracting the
disease yourself?."

She looked at him directly.  "At the time I cannot say that it did.  I
had no choice, you see.  Someone had to take care of Jamesnd there was
no one else.  Besides, I did not think I would become infected.  My
mother firmly believed--and it has shown--that the disease might be
prevented by placing children in contact with a person suffering from
it.  This is what she did with me as a child when



a smallpox epidemic swept through Bowden and the surrounding
villages."

"And did you not become infected?"

'l suffered just a mild attack and on recovery had none of the
disfiguring scars which frequently occur with the disease."

"So I see.  Your complexion is quite unblemished."  Edward smiled
crookedly, beginning to realise there was so much about her he didn't
know that would never cease to amaze him.

Confronted by Jane in her clean dress, and with her hair brushed like a
halo framing her lovely face, he looked at her appreciatively, this
beautiful girl with her finely chiselled features, and was happy to see
a little colour had been restored to her cheeks.  Whether from the food
she had eaten or the cool wind blowing from the north, he knew not
which, but he thought it most becoming.

But he could feel her nerves stretched tight.  She had weathered the
storm of the siege admirably, although he would have preferred her to
have surrendered to Captain Dugdale in the beginning.  However, he
understood her reasons for not doing so and admired her strength and
courage.  Few women would have withstood what she had over the past
weeks.  Noticing how she was attracting the leering glances of the men
around them, he took her arm and steered her towards the house.

"Your dress is inadequate to keep out the cool wind.  Have you no cloak
with which to cover yourself?"

'l am warm enough.  It is unnecessary for you to express concern for my
well-being."

"Nevertheless, please go inside if you wish to avoid insults from the
soldiers."

"And if I wish to take a walk to the village?"

'! would not advise it," he answered drily.  "Especir ally not in the
dark."

"Would you try to prevent me?"

"Yes."

"And why, pray?  Oh--do forgive me," she said with haughty sarcasm.
"How soon I forget.  You are my gaoler, are you not?"

"You are not my prisoner--and nor am I your enemy, Jane.  It is simply
that I cannot vouch for the conduct of the soldiers," he said, unmoved
by her fit of temper.  Having made him aware that her Parliamentary
prejudices were very strong, and after enduring weeks of having her
home besieged, Jane seemed to find that his presence gave her something
tangible on which to vent all her bitterness.  "If you must go to the
village, then I shall arrange an escort for you tomorrow.  But tonight
I have to talk to you.  There are urgent matters concerning us both
which must be discussed.  If you feel up to it, that is."

"As far as I am concerned, we have nothing to discuss."

"Yes, we have," he said, refusing to let her taunting attitude cause
him to lose his hold on his precarious temper.  "Come inside where we
can be alone."

They went into the house to a small room off from the hall, which
Jane's father had used as his study.

"Come and warm yourself," Edward said, crossing towards the hearth
where a welcome fire had been lit.  "The night has come in cold."

In silence Jane moved forward, glad to feel the



warmth, letting the heat seep into her body.  They stood together,
silently looking down into the flames before Edward turned to look at
her, his expression silent and thoughtful, studying her delicate
profile,

watching as the light played on her hair.  One minute it appeared pale
and tawny and the next it was the colour of golden honey, folding
softly about her shoulders and down her back.

She really was lovely--a harmonious combination of her hair and warm
amber eyes.  For a moment it was as though a window had been flung
open, and the sunlight had rushed in.  Why had he never truly seen or
looked at her beauty before?  Why had he never noticed?

Since reaching Bowden, he had been made aware by Captain Dugdale of a
matter that would be of interest to her, which he was reluctant to
impart, for he sensed it would cause her further anxiety.  It concerned
Sir Simon Butteridge--a man he did not know well but whose reputation
had done little to credit him in his eyes.  Knowing of the close
friendship that had existed between Sir Simon and James, that he had
visited Bowden Manor often in the past, he had intended telling her of
a fierce skirmish that had occurred several miles to the east of
Bowden.

It would seem that Sir Simon Butteridge, who was accompanying the
King--who had over two thousand men and had intended marching to
Scotland, but had been forced to turn back at Don castEr on being
warned of a large enemy force approaching, and was constrained to move
south-east instead--was with a foraging party when they came upon a
local troop of Roundheads.

The attack by the Royalists led by Sir Simon, and the defence by the
Roundheads, had been savage and bloody.  It had been reported to him
that Sir Simon--easily recognised by his flowing blond locks--and one
other, were the only Royalist survivors, that both had been wounded but
managed to escape under cover of darkness.

It was suspected that they were still in the region and were being
sought, although with the countryside being almost bereft of
Parliamentary troops--for the New Model Army was still campaigning in
the West Country there was little chance of them being captured.
However, because of Jane's weakened state and deep sadness, he thought
it best to keep this from her.  No, thing could be achieved by telling
her except further sorrow.

"What is this matter of such importance you wish to discuss with me?"
Jane asked, her eyes, wide and questioning, coming to rest on his.

"First of all, I think you might like to know that l have arranged for
your father's body to be brought back to Bowden," he said gently.

Disarmed by the mention of her father, Jane had to force down the tears
which threatened to flow once more.  She lowered her eyes.  "Thank you.
Father and James can be interred together in the church."

'l have also obtained a protection for Bowden Manor from Parliament.
You can rest assured that it will remain intact."

"And the garrison?"

"Is to remain here for the time being."  Observing how her expression
hardened to one of resentment, he sighed.  "Perhaps it will help if I
tell you that there



will only be a small contingent of soldiers---a dozen at the most and
well disciplined-and that Captain

Dugdale is to be relieved of his command."

"Why should it?"  she replied coldly.  "One Roundhead commander is as
much like another to my eyes.  And how long do I have to share my home
with the' garrison imposed on me?"

"A few days, that is all.  As soon as the funeral of your father and
James has taken place, it is my intention to take you to my
home--Deighton Hall."

Jane stared at him in stunned disbelief.  "You mean that I am to
abandon my home to the Roundheads?"

"You will not be abandoning anything?"

"That is not how I see it.  When they leave doubtless I shall find it
plundered and spoiled beyond all recovery.  No," she said finally.  "I
will not leave.  I refuse."

Edward gave her an impatient look.  "Yes, you will.  I cannot remain
here indefinitely nd from what I have seen of your household there are
few to take care of you.  Your housekeeper and remaining maidservants
have fled to their homes in the village.  You will go to Deighton and
stay with my mother and sister for the time being.  My mother, I know,
has been most anxious about you over the past months--and with good
reason."

"I am sorry to be the cause of any anxiety Lady Blanche might feel--but
by what right do you appoint yourself my keeper?"

"Since your father appointed me as such."

Jane stared at him aghast.  "My father?"

"Yes.  As you know, he strongly disapproved of me taking up arms
against the King" but it made little difference as far as our remaining
friends was concerned.  I will say no more on the subject until you
have read his letter."

"Letter?"  she asked in bewilderment.

"Yes," he said, taking a letter from inside his coat and holding it in
his hand.  "The savage nature of this war prompted him to write it just
before he died.  In the event of his own death--which he knew would be
soon--and should your brother not live to see the end of the war, it
was important to him that you, your stepmother and sisters, and Bowden
Manor, would be taken care of.  No doubt you will question what he has
written, but I sincerely hope you decide to abide by his wishes."

Jane stared at the letter in his hand.  How heavy the silence hung
between them.  She said nothing as she continued to stare at it,
feeling reluctant to read what her father had written.  Her expression
was fixed, her eyes betraying neither surprise at the production of the
letter nor grief, but tears started to her eyes, rolling down her
cheeks and piercing Edward's heart.  Reaching out her hand, she took
the letter from him.

"I shall leave you for a while.  I'm sure you would rather be alone."

She nodded dumbly, unable to speak as she continued to stare down at
the letter addressed to her in her father's hand.  When she was alone
she brushed away her tears and slowly opened it, stating at the
familiar writing on the parchment.  Feeling her legs begin to tremble,
she seated herself in front of the



fire and began to read, unable to shake off the hurdn o pounds doom
that descended on her the more she read of her father's letter.

Chapter Three

The letter was long and contained many legal matters which Jane could
not fully understand just then, but one thing was clear to her: should
James not survive the war, then Edward Talbot was to take over her
guardianship.  It was also her father's dearest wish that she would
abide by her betrothal and become his wife.

He explained that of the many battles fought since the beginning of the
Rebellion, more were lost than gained of late, with the impenetrable
strength of Cromwell's Ironsides being left in charge of the
battlefields.  He had come to lose heart, and after the bitter and
brutal defeat of the Royalists at Naseby he strongly suspected that the
King's cause was doomed.

Suffering.  greatly from a sword wound in his side, his thoughts had
turned to his loved ones, to Bowden Manor and what would become of them
all--and if James were to perish also, then his wife and daughters
would be truly alone in a hostile world.  Haunted by these thoughts as
he lay in his prison in Coventry,



he had enquired of his captors as to Lord Talbot's whereabouts.  Being
in the area--for he had also fought at Naseby--and made aware of Sir
Ralph Marlow's tragic plight, Edward had gone immediately to be by his
side.

Jane stared down at the letter, her mind in such a turmoil she felt
faint.  She was unable to fully comprehend what she had read, what it
was her father asked of her--which was all the more terrible because
she could not contradict him now he was dead.

When Edward returned, he found her standing deep in thought, the letter
open on the table beside her.

"I can see that what you have read has surprised and shocked you.  I
knew you would receive it badly.

What have you to say?"

"What can I say?  How can he ask this of me?"

she said fiercely.  "Am I to have no say in the matter?

Do I have to answer to my father even though he is dead?"

"You wish to challenge it?"

She shook her head in defeat.  "No I did not challenge him in life--I
cannot do so in death."

"So you agree to honour your trot ho become my wife?"  '

Jane turned from him, staring down into the flames once more, trying to
whip up her anger, to not forget who he was or what he stood for--for
by marrying him it would seem that she had turned against everything
she had been fighting for, even against the King himself.

"You have no obligation to me of any sort,"

Edward said quietly, sensing the struggle going on inside her.  "Feel
free to change your mind.  I shall not force you.  Remember, a
betrothal can always be broken--whereas marriage is a great step and
for life.  But I ask you to think back to the day of our betrothal,
and, if you can, recollect the words your father said--for l shall
never forget them, He said, "Nothing will make me happier than to see
our two families united by marriage--to tie a knot between you so
blessed by both our houses that nothing can divide."

The almost-forgotten words brought tears to Jane's eyes.  How strange,
she thought, that after all this time Edward should remember them.
"Yes, I too remember whgt he said.  But how fragile a knot can be when
there is such discord between the two people concerned."

"Then we must put whatever discord there is behind us.  Come, Jane,
what is your answer to be?"

Bowed down by a force stronger than her own she sighed, lowering her
head in decorous acceptance, knowing where her duty lay.  "I have an
obligation to honour the promise I made one which I know my father
would expect me to fulfill," she said, feeling physically, mentally and
emotionally exhausted, having no wish to go on fighting.  "But
understand that I do so out of duty and for the future security of my
family and Bowden Manor and for no other reason.  It is my father's
wish and I shall honour that."

Edward subjected her to a long, cool stare, his lips taking on an
ironic twist.  "Thank you."  he said drily.  "Although I 'have to say I
would have preferred a more favourable response to my proposal.  I
admire your loyalty to your family and how staunchly you defend your
home and I can hardly blame you for being angry with me or for the way
everything has turned out.  But I am relieved you see the sense and
wisdom of your father's letter."

"Why are you willing to accede to my father's wishes?"  she asked,
suddenly curious as to what his own feedings were on the matter.
"Surely a marriage between' us cannot be favourable to you, either."

"This is not about what is happening to the country but to us, Jane. 
We must not allow outside influences to interfere in something that is
of a highly personal.  nature.  Your father and I remained staunch
friends to the end.  He understood that I did my duty as I conceived it
and followed the dictates of my conscience and fought for the
principles I believed in.  In the face of the threat posed by the
King's policies to our liberties, property and religion, I felt the
need to oppose him by every legal means.  I am only sorry that many,
sharing my own views, were willing to carry their opposition to the
extreme of arms.  Your father understood that my grievances were
towards the King and his advisors and his unwillingness to accept the
constitutional reforms put forward by Parliamentrebut that I bore him
no personal animosity."

"His letter states that you saw him in prison."

"Yes.  It may be of some comfort to you to know

! was with him when he died."

"Yes--yes, it is.  Did--did he support the King to the end?"

"Yes.  I well remember, when Parliament was called in sixteen forty,
that almost the entire members of the two houses were critical of the
King's policies and administration.  Your father was among those who
insisted legislation should be forced through to prevent the King from
exploiting his prerogative rights to increase taxes.  But when the time
came to take sides, he never forgot his duty lay with the King.  He
never lost faith in himself or the cause.  I always hold him in the
highest regard--and I believe you know that."

'of course.  But it is not my father you will be marrying.  Clearly you
were not enamoured of me on our betrothal--for when the King raised his
standard at Nottingham and you chose to fight against him, I received
no word, no letter from you.  What was I to think?"

"Yes--that was inconsiderate of me.  I do apologise."

"Clearly you spared me not a moment's thought.  Come, admit it.  Spare
me and yourself any embarrassment.  I think we know each other too
well."

He moved close to her.  looking down, his eyes penetrating and
searching her own.

"Do we?  I beg to differ.  Yes, I admit we have known each other almost
all our lives, but does that mean we know each other--really know each
other as well as two people should who are to marry, to spend the rest
of their lives together?  Think of it, Jane---and you will realise we
are almost strangers to one another."

His lips curved in a smile, his teeth flashing from between his parted
lips, and his eyes came to rest on her mouth, soft and full-fleshed.
"It should be interesting getting to know one another, don't



you think, within the confines of marriage?"

His voice was as smooth as the finest silk and his dark eyes, almost
black in the dim light, danced as though he found the confusion which
engulfed her vastly entertaining.  She took a step back from him, her
aversion to him heavy in her breast.  And yet what was it about him
that filled her with bewilderment, that made her feel so very
vulnerable and want to question her reasons for disliking him?

She trembled with a strange kind of emotion--revulsion mixed with
fascination, cringing and yet drawn towards him when she remembered
their past relationship--yet, if she could swing from anger and
rebellion to doubt and to question her own better judgement with the
same man, then how could she ever trust her emotions?  All the years
from childhood through to womanhood she had known him, and yet her life
under her father's strict rule had been sheltered and guarded, which
had prevented any kind of intimacy between them.  But what he said was
right.  They were acquainted yet strangers.  But the kind of intimacy
he spoke of that came only with marriage perplexed and embarrassed her,
for she had never given much thought to what would happen past her
wedding day.  And yet, recollecting the strength of his arms when he
had held her earlier as she had sobbed against his chest and he had
comforted her how gentle' he had been and how soft his lips had felt on
her brow then she realized that any social barriers that had existed
between them were beginning to crumble and no longer did he see her as
a child.

Hot-faced, she looked away in an attempt to hide her confusion.
"So--l--I am to live at Deighton."

Yes."

"And Bowden?"

"Belongs to me."

What he said seared into Jane's heart.  A wave of sickness swept over
her and she stepped back.  She must be going mad to think that Bowden
Manor no longer belonged to her family--that it had been passed on to
this Parliamentarian, who was so cool, so self-assured.  After all she
had been through, it was like having the final nail hammered into her
coffin.  Her throat constricted painfully and suddenly she wanted to
cry, but she forced herself to remain calm.

"But if Janes were still alive then, now Bowden Manor has fallen into
the hands of Parliament, am I right in thinking a sequestration order
would have been passed?  That all my family's goods and property would
be confiscated?"

"Yes that would be the case."

"Then allow me to congratulate you," she said tartly.  Having composed
her feeling, she was able once more to meet his gaze directly.  "It
would seem that the misfortunes which have befallen my family have
turned out in your favour."

Edward's eyes narrowed with anger.  "I did not acquire your father's
house and lands by any dubious means.  When I agreed to the terms of
his will--which he has explained to you fully in your letter--I did not
anticipate James's untimely death.  The last thing I wanted was to
profit by it."

And my stepmother and stepsisters?  What will become of them?"

"Financially they will benefit very little from your father's estate, A
succession of bad harvests and his generosity in helping fill the
King's coffers to finance the Royalist cause virtually ruined him.  But
you may set your mind at rest that they will not starve and will
continue to live here as always."

"And if my stepmother should remarry?"

"Then the manor will be disposed of at my will.

It may be passed on to either Susan or Penelope on their marriage or to
any offspring we might have."

"I see.  It would appear that everything has been taken care of."
Sighing, she turned from him.  "I must write to my stepmother
immediately.  She will be quite devastated to learn of my father's
death and will want to return to Bowden at once.  Can we delay the
funeral until then, do you think?"

"I don't see why not.  If you write her a letter, I will see that it is
sent to her at Newington without delay."

"Thank you.  Aand you still insist that I leave with you for Deighton
after the funeral?"

"Yes," he replied firmly, with a note of finality, completely assured
in his masculinity that he would have his own way in this, however
painful she might find it, with utter disregard for her feelings.

"And---and our marriage?"  she asked hesitantly, feeling herself
flushing, unable to look at him.  "When...?"

He smiled crookedly when she left her question unfinished, but was able
to provide her with an answer.  "I am not so insensitive to all you
have been through.  Normally !  would be prepared to wait until you
feel you are ready before we marry, but unfortunately these are not
normal times.  I do realise that because you are in mourning we should
wait for a respect tiff period, but since I cannot remain at Deighton
long, it is best for the ceremony to take place before I leave."

Jane turned and looked with fresh eyes at the man who was to be her
husband--whose name she was to bear--the man her father had signed his
property and his daughter over to in the hope that he would be their
salvation.  He was handsome enough, that was plain, being tall and lean
but with a well-muscled frame, and he carried himself with a languid,
aristocratic grace.  His eyes and hair were dark, his features firm and
his chin strong, and there was an arrogant curl to his lips.

There was also a hardness about him, an inflexibility of mind and will,
and a toughness imbued by his military life.  There was also something
about him that made her feel uneasy, something about the way he was
looking at her now that was unnervingly intent.

She turned away in confusion to avoid his penetrating gaze but, feeling
like a trapped bird, as if he compelled her, she turned again to face
her captor, standing stiffly, every nerve in her body tense, her eyes
wary as she watched him.

"What is it?"  Edward asked softly, finding the atmosphere within the
room more relaxed.  She was a seductive vision of loveliness, bathed in
the orange glow of firelight.  Her saintly fragility had a power beyond
beauty.  He crossed to where she stood.  "Don't you find marriage to me
palatable?  You don't love me, is that it?"  When she didn't reply he
smiled,



reaching out and taking her hands in his.  'l know of few well-bred
young ladies who married for love but in many cases it comes with
marriage.  I have to say that when I first saw you earlier I hardly
recognised you."

"To my advantage, I hope," she said, disconcerted by the feel of her
hands in his.  "I--I have had three years in which to grow up."

"To' become a very beautiful and desirable young woman."

Jane flushed, unused to such compliments.  "I must cut a sorry figure
in your eyes."

"No.  Quite the opposite, in fact," he said, turning her hands palm
upwards, showing no surprise on seeing the startling evidence of the
part she had played in helping to maintain the siege.  They were red
and sore; a half-healed ugly blister staring up at him.

Jane grimaced.  "They are hardly the hands of a well-bred young
lady."

"They are beautiful hands hands to be proud of,"

he murmured, bending his head and kissing them slowly, taking her
completely by surprise.  "I doubt you will find it so very terrible
being my wife."

Jane stared up at him mutely, like a moth mesmerised by a flame,
riveted by the darkness of his eyes, seeing something in their depths
she was too innocent and inexperienced to understand, but it made her
heart beat wildly at the same time as a softness seemed to enter it.
His strength, his masculinity, unnerved her, and all at once his hands
were on her shoulders.  He seemed so large as he towered over her, his
powerful body emanating heat and strength.

She wanted to turn, to leave the room and this threat he posed to her
sensibilities.  Taking her chin gently between his fingers, his touch
gentle yet strong, he tilted her face up to his, lowering his head to
hers, his lips brushing hers in the gentlest of caresses, kissing her
slowly, kindling a flame inside her, causing her heart to beat as
though it would burst.  She quivered under his touch, confused by his
tender assault of her lips, but she did not draw back.

But she also experienced a feeling of power in those lips, a power that
had the ability to east her down into the realms of damnation if she
married him--and yet his lips, so soft, so warm, made her feel-that
damnation could be sweet.

Only whan he raised his head and released his hold on her shoulders did
she step back, her cheeks flushed in bewilderment so that she did not
know what to think.  He had awoken in her a need otherwise unknown to
her, one she did not understand.  She had struggled and fought the
Roundheads for two long months, enduring without complaint all the
indignities, sufferings and hardships a siege imposed,-but it had taken
just one kiss from Edward Talbot to break down every barrier of her
carefully held reserve.

Edward smiled slowly, watching her go, knowing as she did so that his
kiss had stirred an unknown passion in her innocent heart.  She was
like a fragile flower, fragrant and sweet, and as yet ignorant of just
how tantalising and sensual she was she had no doubt that she would
delight in their marriage bed.



With a gradual lightening of fear and some semblance of normality being
restored to Bowden ManOr following the siege, Sir Ralph Marlow's body
was transported back to his home, causing a heavy sorrow to descend
upon the whole community.  His distraught wife, Maria, also arrived
from Newington with their two small daughters, Susan and Penelope.

Jane's forthcoming marriage to Lord Talbot was received by Maria with
understanding and she gave her blessing, having a high regard for Lord
Talbot, despite his decision to take up arms against the King--a
decision, she knew, he had not made lightly.  But in all conscience,
feeling as he did, he could not have done otherwise.  She also
understood why it had been her husband's wish that Lord Talbot's
marriage to Jane should still take place--that both Bowden and his
family would be well taken care of in the event of both his and his son
James's deaths.

Sadly, the close-knit community of Bowden did not share Maria's
understanding.  As Jane had feared, most of them believed that, coming
from a staunchly Royalist family, she had gone over to the enemy and
betrayed both her father and the King, and the honour of them all, and
that she was abOUt to destroy the solid front they had shown to the
besieging Parliamentarians.

When her father's body was brought-from Coventry, where he had been
imprisoned before his death, most offered polite words of sympathy, for
he had been held in the highest esteem by the whole community of Bowden
and the surrounding villages, but only Tom Carter, her father's loyal
steward,

understood and approved of what she was doing, knowing it was Sir
Ralph's express wish that she marry Lord Talbot and that he would not
have advocated this had he not had good reason for doing so.

"Better to have Bowden Manor in the capable hands of Lord Talbot,
despite the fact that he was a Parliamentarian, than have the manor and
the estate sequestered to some unknown.

Because of Tom's undimmed loyalty to the Marlow family, Edward saw no
reason why he should not retain his position at the manor and continue
with his duties as before.

The melancholy proceedings of the funeral service in the church were
attended by few mourners, for half the male polulation of Bowden had
accompanied Sir Ralph Marlow to the war and many had not returned. Some
had shared the same fate and others were either prisoners of the
Roundheads or fugitives;

After Sir Ralph and his son had been sealed for eternity with their
ancestors in the dark crypt of Bowden church, the mourners returned to
their cottages immediately, leaving Jane deeply hurt by their reaction
to her orth coming marriage.  All through the ceremony, standing beside
the tall, stiff figure of Edward, she had felt their staring, accusing
eyes burning holes into her back, which had added to her sorrow but,
sadly, it was as she had expected and, in all fairness, she could not
blame them.

After the funeral service, when they returned to the manor and Jane was
alone with Maria, she expressed her anxiety to her stepmother of her
remaining alone at Bowden.

Of excellent birth, Maria was quite tall, a delicate looking woman, her
skin translucent--Jane's senior by some fifteen years.  Her features
were too thin to be described as beautiful, but her grey eyes were full
of kindness and intelligence and her bearing did not lack the nobility
she had acquired at birth.  She had married Sir Ralph Marlow three
years after the death of his first wife, when Jane was eight years old,
providing him with two daughters whom Jane adored.

Jane had mourned her mother's passing but had welcomed her father's new
wife warmly, their relationship over the years having developed into a
deep friendship.

Maria was heartbroken by her husband's death and deeply saddened to
learn that James had also died, but she had borne up well, conducting
herself with dignity and grace ever since she had returned to Bowden.
There was a grim, knowing smile on her face as she tried to put Jane's
mind at rest, determined to remain in her husband's home but saddened
that Jane was to leave for Deighton.  Yet, aware of the deep feeling of
hostility directed against Jane over her forthcoming marriage to Lord
Talbot, she thought perhaps it was for the best.  "Besides, the
perpetual peace and tranquillity of Deighton Hall might help heal the
scars exacted on her by the siege.

"Don't worry about me, Jane," said Maria, smiling kindly.  Putting out
a slender white hand, she drew her stepdaughter down beside her on the
sofa, still as disturbed by her appearance as when she first saw Jane
on her return to Bowden----she was so thin, with pain-filled eyes and
despair in her heart.  "I have the comfort of Bowden and your sisters
to sustain me.  And l do still have Tom.  I shall miss you, of course,
but Deighton is only ten miles away--and what is ten miles to a stout
carriage and pair?"

Jane smiled at her, knowing she' was trying to make her leaving easier,
and she loved her for it and was grateful.  "And you will visit me
often?"

"Of course I shall.  I know you are anxious about your forthcoming
marriage to Lord Talbot, but I am sure you worry needlessly.  He is the
same man you became betrothed to--a good man, with your best interests
at heart.  He will take care of you.  You 'have been through a great
deal, my dear.  Putting the welfare of others before your own needs has
'quite worn you out.  You are too pale too thin.  Deighton and Lady
Blanche's ministerings will be beneficial to you."

"Yes," she acceded with a deep sigh.  "I'm sure you're fight, Maria.
But I have missed you and my sisters so much these past weeks--I hate
having to leave so soon.  I cannot see why I have to go to
Deighton--why I cannot be married from here, my home, which would be in
the order of things?"

"Feelings against your marriage are running high in Bowden, so it is
not a bad thing for Lord Talbot to take you away at this time to be
married from Deighton.  Try not to worry too much about what people are
saying.  It will Pass when the war ends--and when one hears of the
sorry state of the Royalists after their defeat at Naseby, then I
suspect it cannot be long."

"But I do mind what people are saying, Maria, and that's the problem.
it hurts so much.  Most of the



people who live in and around Bowden I have known all my life.  They
are the people who stood by my side during the siege--who faced hunger
and death in their loyalty to defend Bowden.  I know exactly how my
marrying Lord Talbot must seem to them that I have changed betrayed
them but I am still the same.  Edward knows my feelings--and that come
what may I remain loyal to the Royalist cause.

Oh, why did my father have to place me in such an impossible
situation?"

Maria was aware that over the days following the end of the siege Jane
had put on a brave face-not once had she seen her cry or heard her
complain, but she knew that inside Jane was extremely unhappy and
hurting desperately, having to come to terms with the double tragedy of
losing her beloved father and brother, and also her home.  She also
knew she stood in awe of Lord Talbot and that her heart was filled with
doubt and fear for the future.

"Let us not talk of it, my dear.  Clearly it distresses you.  But I
shudder to think what might have happened to you had Lord Talbot not
learned of the siege and come immediately.  I believe you do like him,
don't yoU--more than you care to admit, perhaps?"

"Like him!  If I am to marry him, Maria, I should more than like him.
However," she sighed, "I have to say that where Lord Talbot is
concerned my feelings are all confusion, so that I know not what to
think."

Tired as she was following a long and sorrowful day, Jane could not
sleep that night--the last she was to spend at Bowden until she knew
not when.  She rose before daybreak, feeling stifled inside the house
and in need of some fresh air.  Wrapping herself in a heavy cloak, she
slipped silently out of the still sleeping house into the clear morning
air.

The soldier of the garrison on guard duty at the gate house, although
curious as to where she could be going at such' an early hour, let her
pass unhin-dere& Until the siege, the war had had little impact on the
village of Bowden, but now, outside the walls of the manor, brutal
evidence of it lay all about her: the beautiful, undulating countryside
ravaged with ugly earthworks for the batteries still remaining--until
April, when spring green and meadow grass would cloak, the scars.
Thankfully the soldiers had moved on.

Absently she took the rutted lane down the hill to the village,
listening to the mournful sighing of the wind as it blew through the
branches of the trees on either side of her, their boughs meeting
overhead like fingers laced together.  In summer time the lane was
always sweet smelling and cool.  Feeling the need to be close to her
father and brother, her feet took her towards the church standing a
little apart from the village, its square, squat shape looming darkly
ahead of her.  To be alone in the church with her thoughts and prayer
might ease some of the sorrow that hung heavy in her heart.

Passing silently through the lych gate, she walked up the narrow path
to the porch, reaching out and gingerly pushing the heavy wooden door
open on its hinges and stepping inside.  It closed behind her with a
muffled thud.  The interior was dim, with just a



thin grey light beginning to penetrate through the windows.  Moving
slowly down the nave, she looked towards the chancel, her eyes
fastening on the golden crucifix glowing dully on the altar.

The church smelt dank and musty and the air was cold, but the
atmosphere was one of peace.  Drawing her cloak about her, she slipped
into one of the pews and sank to her knees, placing her head on her
folded hands and beginning to pray, finding the nearness of her father
and brother where they lay at peace with her mother comforting.

Her thoughts began to wander from her prayers and to dwell on other
things the most prominent being her marriage to Edward.  In spite ofber
father's wish that they should marry, and the fact that Edward had done
everything within his power to restore her home to some form of
normality following the siege, still her mind was not easy and she was
in no hurry for the wedding to take place, or to enter into any form of
bondage that was hateful to her.  Her tormented heart cried out to be
set free, to be allowed to remain at Bowden and choose her own
destiny.

But, since the war, nothing was the same.  She must not look back--it
was too painful for her to remember how things had been.  But in the
mists of her mind she saw a young girl with flowers in her hair,
laughing and warm, dancing with a fair young man in the great hall of
Bowden Manor, of sunlight rippling through the windows like white silk
and setting alight the flowing blond locks of this handsome visitor to
her home, Simon Butteridge, who had merry twinkling blue eyes and was
clad in the finest clothes.

Oft were the 'times when he would arrive with James and, with a
nonchalant air, charm the young Jane into rapturous awe.  How very
different her marriage to the arrogant and assured Edward Talbot would
be.  She sighed sadly.  Was she being selfish?  Was it so very wrong of
her to dream of love and passion--to want to be close to the man she
was to marry?

There had been no gentle courtship between her and Edward, no shared
and cherished glances, no touching of hands or gentle cares sess--no
exchanging of hearts.  How could they be close---become husband and
wife in the true sense when they weren't even friends--when his stance
against the King set her solidly against him?

And yet she found herself thinking back to the trauma of the previous
day, which had passed in a haze of grief.  Few words had been exchanged
between them,-but he had remained close by her throughout.  In some
strange way she had derived comfort from his nearness and his strength,
feeling a closeness between them she had never felt before.

She also remembered how disturbed she had been when he had kissed her
on his arrival at Bowden after the siege--feeling an unaccustomed
warmth steal through her when she remembered the feel of his lips on
hers, the sardonic tilt of his dark eyebrows and the awareness of her
body coming alive beneath the caressing boldness of his hands--and she
realised she had not wanted to face up to the fact that his kiss had
given her pleasure, had made her aware of her own body's weakness and
its readiness to betray everything she fought against.



There were times in his presence when she would find her eyes drawn to
him, remembering his kiss, his embrace.  Sensing her watching him, he
would meet her gaze boldly, seeming to possess a keen ability to know
the reason for the confusion which would swamp her at times like these
and cause her to blush like a young girl and avert her gaze.  He would
smile knowingly, amused by it, and it would infuriate her.

So lost was she in her thoughts that the noise when it came--a low moan
and a faint rustling from the back of the church made her eyes open
wide in fear.  She knelt, silent and frozen, too afraid to turn, but
knowing she must.  Slowly she rose, turning and staring into the murky
light at the back of the church, seeing the fleeting glimpse of a
shadow which seemed to retreat and shrink towards the gloom.

"Who's there?"  she cried, her voice echoing inside the hollow
emptiness of the church.

Gathering all her wits about her, she looked to where she had seen the
shadow, her eyes huge and transfixed.  She listened, straining her
ears, beginning to move to the back of the church, the silence so
profound she could almost hear the old building's foundations creaking,
and the collective breathing of all those sleeping in the vaults
below.

Chapter Four

Who is it?  Who is there?"  Jane asked again, her voice trembling.

In answer, to her question there was a gentle rustling and her heart
almost ceased to beat when two shapes emerged out of the gloom near the
taller of the two, stepping forward and speaking quietly, while the
other seemed to lean against one of the stone pillars for support.

"Jane?  Jane--is that you?"

The figure who spoke her name with such familiarity stepped into the
grey light that was beginning to lighten the church.  Jane stood frozen
to the spot, unable to move, staring at the man who emerged with fear
and disbelief--as if he had stepped out from her dream--for it was none
other than Simon Butteridge, the man who had occupied her thoughts just
a moment ago.  He stopped before her, his eyes fixed on hers.  He was
wearing simple peasant clothes, dirty and torn, his boots old and worn,
with a tall, battered hat held in his hands which he threw down
carelessly on to one of the pews.

Jane had a sudden vision of how she had last seen him, in his
wide-brimmed hat entwined with blue-and-white plumes dancing merrily as
he had ridden away from Bowden with James, with a song.  on his lips
and his cloak flapping behind him like the wings of some gigantic bird.
Surely this person who resembled a vagrant could not be the same.  But
then he smiled, the same charming, irresistible, beguiling smile she
remembered so well lighting up his eyes.  Reaching out, he took her
hands in his own; despite his ragged appearance, he adopted his
habitual good-humoured expression.

"So it is you, Jane.  Little did I know you would come to me.  I
thought I would have to be the one to seek you out at the manor," he
laughed softly, speaking in his familiar, incredulous drawl.

Jane stared at him with undisguised amazement.  "But but--what are you
doing here in Bowden--in the church--and in such sorry attire?"

"I could ask the same question of you.  What errand brings you here at
this ungodly hour--for I do not remember you being so dedicated to your
devotions?"

Jane sighed deeply.  "None the less, that is my reason for being here.
This is one time I feel the need for solitude and prayer."

Simon looked at her with some concern, his smile fading.  If he thought
her changed in appearance he did not mention it.

'l sense all is not well with you.  What news have you of James?  What
has happened since last we met?"

That was the moment when Jane realised that

Simon did not know of James's death--or her father' st Quickly and
haltingly she gave him an account of what had transpired, watching his
face drain of colour and his expression become tense as she spoke, his
eyes filling with pain 'and disbelief, for he was unprepared for what
she was telling him.

"Dear Lord," he breathed softly when she had fallen silent.  "I knew
none of this.  James--is dead?."  Jane nodded.  "Yes.  And my
father."

Simon shook his head, stricken by what she had told him.  "But--ow?
What caused James's death?"  he asked quietly.  "I was width him at
Naseby.  We became separated but I do not recall him being wounded."

"No.  It--it was smallpox.  He died here at Bowden.  Unfortunately, we
were besieged by Parliament soldiers at the time--it lasted two months.
James died a few days into the siege but could not be buried until
yesterday--with Father, who was wounded at Naseby and died recently as
a prisoner in Coventry.  Lord Talbot saw to it that his body was
brought back to Bowden.."

Simon's eyes were full of pity when he looked at Jane, evidence of the
terrible strain she had been under and the deep sorrow her father's and
brother's deaths had caused her staring out at him from her huge
eyes.

'l am so sorry, Jane.  How you must have suffered.  I shall miss James
sorely--as you know, he was my closest friend.  But--Lord Talbot?"  he
said, his expression becoming grim and curious.  "Is he not your
betrothed?"

"Yes."

 e

"Then--forgive me but does he not command a cavalry regiment in the
Parliament Army?"  he asked,

expressing some bewilderment.

"Yes."

"And you are still to marry him?"

"Yes," she answered, a faint, cynical smile touching her lips.  "My
hand was promised to him long ago.  Nothing has changed.  We leave for
Deighton Hall, his home ten miles or so to the west of here this very
day."

"I do not believe it," Simon said incredulously, unable to hide the
resentment and bitterness he felt for the man who had secured the hand
of James's sister before the war, a position he had once coveted
himself.  Although there had also been a time when he had aspired to
the idea of a match between himself and the charming Anne, the pretty
young sister of the aforesaid gentleman, who had succeeded in making a
deep and lasting impression on his fickle heart.  "I do not believe you
could marry a traitor, Jane.  You cannot love him?"

This was true, but Jane did not care to admit it.  "No matter what my
feelings are concerning Lord Talbot, Simon, we are to marry," she said
resignedly.

"Then what can I say but to wish you joy on your forthcoming nuptials.
But tell me about his charming sister, Anne.  How fare's she?"

Jane felt an unaccustomed pang of resentment when he mentioned Anne,
for she saw in his eyes a warm glow and a soft smile curved his
handsome lips.

"Anne is well, I believe.  We have seen very little of each other since
the outbreak of war."  However, I

am very much looking forward to seeing her later today."

"And what of your stepmother and stepsisters?  Are they in good health,
also?"

"Apart from their obvious griefs yes they are very well.  However,
Bowden Manor now belongs to Lord Talbot.  My father bequeathed the
house and manor to him on the event of his own and James's death,
knowing Parliament would confiscate them and give them to some unknown
otherwise."

"Better the devil you know, eh," retorted Simon, his tone heavy with
irony.

Jane gave him a trembling little smile "Perhaps.  But whatever my
father's reasons, Simon, he was always a good, judge of character and
was extremely fond of Edward," she said softly.  "However, it is not a
matter I feel inclined to discuss just now.  Tell me what you are doing
here?  You were at Naseby, you said?"

He nodded grimly."  "Yes--and like the cause, which is full of
dissension and chaos, I have been bedevilled by ill luck ever since.
With what remained of the cavalry after the battle--which can only be
described as a military disaster for the King--I marched with him to
Hereford and on to Wales, where he hoped to recruit fresh infantry to
replace those who had surrendered at Naseby, but there was little
support to be got from Wales.

"There are many Royalists, myself among them, who, disheartened by
their defeat at Naseby, share the opinion of the King's nephew, Prince
Rupert.  He believes there is no other way the King can preserve his
kingdom and posterity but by a treaty.  Better to



retain something than to lose all is what Prince

Rupert is reported as saying--and I agree with him wholeheartedly.  But
the King refused to consider this and marched north, determined to go
to Scotland in the hope that an alliance might be made with the

Scottish Covenanters."

"And you went with him?"

"Yes.  However?  after reaching Doncaster and hearing of huge enemy
forces gathering to the north and others approaching from the west, we
were-again forced south.  Captain Digby and I were in a foraging party
a few miles to the east of Bowden," he said, indicating his companion,
who had sunk on to one of the pews, his head having fallen forward as
if in prayer or sleep.  "We became separated from the main body of the
army and came upon a local Roundhead troop.  Unable to do other than
stand and fight, we led the attack, but soon realised our mistake.
Under cover of darkness we failed to notice the Roundheads had
superiority in numbers.

"All those in the foraging party--apart from myself and Captain
Digby--were killed in the skirmish.  We were forced to abandon our
horses, but managed to escape.  Unfortunately, Digby here was wounded.
I was recognised and an attempt was made at pursuit.  We have been
forced into hiding many times--and to take on the guise of peasants, as
you see," he said with wry humour, drawing Jane's attention once again
to his poor attire.  "The journey here has been hazardous--and I
believe we are still being sought, but !  came in the hope that should
James or your father be at Bowden then we could beg the use of fresh
horses."

'l understand," Jane said pityingly.  "But, as you see, it would be
impossible for me to attempt to shield you at the manor.  Lord Talbot
has' installed a garrison there.  On the whole, this part of Derbyshire
remains loyal to the King, but since "Bowden fell to Parliament it is
not safe for you to remain in the area.  However," she said, observing
his tiredness, thinking how changed he was, that he was much more
serious than the man she remembered and that war had done that to him,
'you are weary, l can see, and in need of refreshment.  I shall do what
I can."

Because of the close friendship that had existed between Simon and her
brother, Jane saw she had no choice but to do all in her power to help
him and his friend.  Calmly she accepted her decision but in doing so
she also accepted the possibility of her own destruction, for the
penalty for aiding fugitives was severe indeed.

Refusing to think of the seriousness of what she was about to do or the
anger it would arouse in

Edward should he discover his betrothed was involving herself in
something that would cause him acute embarrassment should it become
known--she thought of Tom's cottage standing close by on the edge of
the village.  It was no secret to her that he had played an active part
before the siege in aiding fugitives--and there had been many after the
battle at Marston Moor, finding their way south.

'l shall see to it that food is brought to you and direction to a safe
house is recommended--although obtaining horses may be another matter.
Since the siege the stables at Bowden Manor are depleted--all the
horses have been requisitioned by the



army.  How badly is your friend wounded?"

"It's just a flesh wounds but he has lost a lot of blood and is very
weak.  He needs rest, that is all."

"And what of you?"  she asked with some concern, noticing how he seemed
to wince slightly, as if with sudden pain, as he took a step back. 
"Are you hurt, also?"

"Only slightly in the leg--which is not serious enough to worry about,
I assure you," he grinned.

"I see," said Jane, not entirely convinced, suspecting he spoke lightly
of his wound to prevent her from worrying.  "My father's steward lives
close by and is most trustworthy.  Stay here inside the church--it will
be safe enough for the time being--and I will send him to you."

"Thank you, but you must take care not to endanger yourself on our
account."

"I will be careful, I promise."

After saying a hasty, fond farewell to Simon, who promised her they
would meet again, she slipped quietly away.  After alerting Tom to the
fugitives hiding inside the church---he promised to see them fed and
directed to a place of safety until Captain Digby was recovered enough
to travel--Jane hurried up the lane back to the manor.  She felt a
lightness of heart on meeting Simon again and frantically invoked the
protection of every prayer and saint she knew to keep him and his
friend safe from harm.

Jane was about to enter the house at the exact moment the door opened
and a glowering Edward stood there.  So lost was she in her thoughts
that it took her a moment to comprehend that he was there.

She started violently when she became aware of him, which forced her to
take a step back and bright colour to flood her cheeks.  A scowl of
deep displeasure marred his darkly handsome features.  Clearly he was
angry on finding she had been up and about before dawn outside the
protective boundary of the manor.

"Looking out of the window, l thought it was you I saw coming through
the gatehouse.  Would you mind telling me where you have been to at
this hour?"

Jane clenched her fists in the folds of her dress to keep herself from
trembling.  "I--I couldn't sleep.  I felt the need of some fresh air
and went for a walk," she said as he stepped aside, allowing her to
sweep past him into the hall, but he continued to frown, noticing how,
she averted her gaze, the slight tremble to her voice robbing it of its
conviction.

"Really!  I Would prefer it if you did not go roaming about the
countryside at such an unearthly hour."

"And why not, pray?"  she retorted, facing him mutinously.  "Now the
soldiers have gone I feel it is safe to do so."

"Nevertheless, you will do as I say.  All manner of undesirables are
wandering about at this time."

'l fnd your overprotection and high-handed manner irksome, my lord.  I
told you--I have merely been out walking--and I am quite capable of
doing so without having to ask your permission for my every move.  You
seem to forget I have spent the past two months protecting myself."

Coming to stand over her, Edward looked down at her with a faintly
quizzical expression, for her behaviour he found strange, giving rise
to suspicion.  "Come--join me for breakfast and tell me where



it is you've been walking to that is so stimulating,

that causes you to return with such bright colour to your cheeks and
your eyes to sparkle like they used to when you were guilty of some
misdemeanour.  Is it merely the sharpness of the morning-or some thing
else..  which has brought about this change?"

He sounded amiable enough, but there was an underlying harshness to his
voice.  He was studying her intently, one of his strongly marked
eyebrows raised, his gaze altogether too penetrating---beneath which
Jane was beginning to feel decidedly uncomfortable and quite perplexed.
She stood mutely, feeling herself flushing and unable to meet his eyes,
at a loss to know what to say.  This was unusual for her, for she was
usually in command of herself--although deception was something which
did not come easy to her, for she was not adept in concealing her
thoughts and emotions.

"S-something else?  Why--l--I'm sure I don't know what you mean.  What
else could there be?"

Edward Continued to eye her curiously, making her conscious of a sudden
feeling of embarrassment and also of guilt, which was quite ridiculous,
for how could he possibly know she had met and talked with Simon in the
church?

"I don't know.  I was hoping you would tell me.  There is something, I
know, for your lack of composure gives you away."

Jane's eyes slid away from his and she shrugged nervously, turning away
from him.  "I really do not know what you're talking about.  There is
nothing to tell," she replied, removing her cloak and beginning to move
away from him.  "I thank you for inviting me to join you at breakfast
but I have no taste for food.  However--l--I have a favour to ask of
you," she said hesitantly, turning to look at him once more.  "One
which I hope you will grant."

Edward's black brows drew together, for his suspicion-his soldier's
instinct that something was amiss--was something he could not shake
off.  "Then you only have to ask," he said, speaking in a carefully
lowered voice.  "What is it?"

"After the events of yesterday I--I feel rather tired and not much like
travelling.  Must I leave with you today?  Can I not remain here a
while and travel to Deighton in a week or so?  And besides--I would
like to spend a little more time with Susan and Penelope.  I've seen so
little 'of them of late and have missed them dreadfully."

Edward looked at her sharply.  "Maria is at liberty to take them to
Deighton at any time.  My mother is always more than happy to see
them--you know that.  I know yesterday was a terrible ordeal-for you,
and I am sorry if you feel tired, but you will have plenty of time to
rest when we reach my home.  It is only a short distance and the
carriage I've had sent over from Deighton will be comfortable
enough."

Fearing for Simon's safety and not wanting to leave Bowden until Tom
could reassure her he was quite safe, there was an expression of
desperation in her eyes when she looked at Edward.

"Please, Edward--just a few more days," she implored.

"No.  We leave together," he said firmly, in a voice that implied there
was nothing more to be said on the subject, a voice which gave Jane an
insight into



the iron control he normally employed with his troops, one which told
her he was used to obedience from those about him.  "It is all
arranged.  My mother is expecting you."

'l am sure Lady Blanche would understand--besides, normally a bride
would leave for the church on her wedding day from her father's house,"
she persisted defiantly.

"Normally, yes but as I remember saying to you before, these are not
normal times.  Hostility towards an alliance between us is running high
hereabouts, and to have our union sanctified in Bowden Church would not
be received with favour.  Indeed, it might even result in outright
rebellion--a situation I know we both wish to avoid."

Jane looked at him indignantly.  "Am I to have no say in the matter at
all?"

"No," he answered harshly, his mouth tightening slightly and his
expression becoming one of exasperation.  "It would seem that you have
a propensity to flout my wishes and argue at every turn.  I care not
for this new Jane Marlow.  I would have you as you were before the
war."

"Ha!"  she exclaimed.  "A foolish simpleton of a girl, you mean?  Let
me tell you, Edward, that I am not like that any more.  Like everyone
else the war has changed me-if not for the better, then that is no
fault of mine.  Whether you approve or not matters little to me.  If
you marry me, you will have no alternative but to put up with it."

Unusually for Edward, he was not dressed in his buff coat or flaunting
his orange sash, which was always so offensive to Jane's eyes--like a
badge never letting her forget that he was her enemy.  Dressed in his
white shirt open at the neck to reveal the strong muscles of his neck,
and leather waistcoat, he seemed younger somehow, although his features
as he stared at her were as if made of stone.  But then a faint smile
lightened his sombre countenance and his eyes gleamed appreciatively at
the sight of her lovely face turned towards him.  Without taking his
eyes from hers, slowly he strode towards her.

"Despite the harshness of your tongue and your hostility towards me,
Jane, I have seen that in your eyes and felt the response in your lips
when I kissed you that gives 'me hope for a better understanding in our
future relationship."

"Hope!"  he snapped, the amusement in his tone making her blood boil,
finding it impossible to conceal her feelings.  "I fear, my lord, that
you are mistaken.  Your kiss I found offensive contrary to what you may
think."

He nodded slowly, continuing to smile.  "We shall sec.  Perhaps when I
begin to repeat the offence often--when we are wed and you are maid no
longer and it is time for me to leave Deightonhen l will have you at my
mercy and begging me to return with haste."

Jane's cheeks stung with heat and her eyes blazed with anger and
defiance.  "How dare you speak to me in this-this cavalier fashion?"
she fumed.

Edward's smile broadened, his dark eyes alight' with laughter, but when
he looked at her, seeing her slender body moulded beneath her dress,
how her angular cheek bones were flushed with anger and her amber eyes
shone almost yellow as they sparked

 e

With fire, he found himself wanting her.

"Cavalier!  An odd choice of word to apply to a soldier in the
Parliament Army, don't you think?  However," he said, his eyes
fastening on her sot lips, "I have a mind to repeat the offence this
very minute if you continue to glare at me in that belligerent
manner."

Jane took a step back in alarm, afraid he would do just that.  But she
was not unmoved by his close proximity, and the memory of his kiss, his
touch--and how he had succeeded in stirring up deep, hidden pleasures
inside her---roused her to fresh paroxysms of anger.

"Don't touch me," she said angrily, 'and you delude yourself if you
think you will have me at your mercy.  When we are man and wife I shall
do my duty and that is all."

EdWard shrugged casually, continuing to smile infuriatingly, his face
set in an expression of smiling challenge.  "Duties you will not find
so offensive, I promise you.  In no time at all you will learn what
pleasures can be had and enjoyed under the cloak of marriage, and to
look on them as pleasant and perform them willingly and happily."

"Never.  If you think I will love you and swear eternal devotion to
you, then you are under a false illusion.  I do not care for you in the
slightest."

Edward's black eyebrows rose, his eyes travelling from her face to the
gentle swell of her breasts beneath he bodice of her dress before
fixing them selves again on her eyes.

"Hate!  Love!  What's the difference?  Both inspire passion--which I
believe you possess in abundance,

my dear.  A passion I intend savouring to the full in the
not-too-distant future."

The soft flush that man tied Jane's cheeks deepened to bright crimson
and she gasped, appalled that he should speak to her' in this unseemly
manner.  "Why--why how dare you?"  and without further ado, unwilling
to-prolong a conversation which was only succeeding 'in putting her at
a disadvantage, furiously she stormed off across the hall as though
she'd been violated, hearing Edward chuckling infuriatingly behind
her.

Edward's smile was replaced by a worried frown as he watched Jane cross
to the stairs and disappear into the darkness above.  Arriving back at
the manor, she had seemed more than a little startled at seeing him in
the doorway.  In fact, he thought she resembled a young animal which
had become trapped in the sudden glare of a bright light, and before
she'd had time to defend herself with her feminine instinct from his
sharp eyes, he had seen there was a look of enchantment in her eyes,
that she glowed with the fragile beauty of a young girl recently awoken
to love.  There was a softness to her features and a lightness to her
step which, did he not know beer, would have told him she was returning
from a secret tryst with a lover.

But no, this he would not believe.  There had never been any suggestion
of this.  She was virtuous, of this he was gertain, but she was also
young, of an impressionable age, whose head could easily be turned by a
handsome youth.  it was the thought of just such a youth that brought
Sir Simon Butteridge



to mind, bringing him a sudden feeling of unease.

Why he should think of him now he knew not once again, maybe it was his
soldier's instinct that made him think that Simon, wounded, would seek
the aid of people he knew in the region, people like the Marlows,

Was it possible that he had made contact with Jane---that he had sought
her out and that she had seen and talked with him?  That Simon
Butteridge was a Royalist and a fugitive mattered not to-him.  There
were thousands like him all over England, but it was not his task to
hunt them out.  What did matter and concern him deeply was how Jane
felt towards him.

He recalled the deep impression Simon had made on his sister Anne when
she had met him on occasion during her visits to Bowden Manor to see
Jane.  In fact, she had even imagined herself to be in love with him,
which he thought was quite ridiculous.  But, more importantly, what
impression had he made on Jane's young and vulnerable heart?  Had she
also fallen under his spell--fallen for his winning ways and easy
charm?

Whatever the truth behind her absence from the house before daybreak,
the first seeds of suspicion had been sown, making him determined to be
more vigilant--and even more determined to take her with him when he
left for Deighton.

Besides, he had no mind to be parted from her in a hurry.  He was
beginning to feel her magnetism the more he was with her, making him
realise the full measure of her beauty, which had begun to disturb him
greatly.  The siege had taught her to think for herself; her will to
succeed, to survive, had given her a self-possession he understood. 
But he also saw the change it had made in her.  Her amber eyes shone
with bitter pain and memory of endurance, and her pallor and weight
loss gave her a soft, fawn-like, fragile vulnerability--an ethereal
look, one he found did not detract from her beauty in the slightest,
and one which gave him a strong impulse to protect her.

Her deportment since the ending of the siege had been dignified and
admirable, and she appeared to be coping with her grief well--although
he knew exactly how she suffered.  But however much she wanted to
remain at Bowden, he would not allow it.  Their relationship was one of
unease and there would never be harnony between them i pounds he
granted her her wish and let her remain.  Because they had been apart
for so long, it was important that they spend as much time together as
possible if they were to be married.

But as he turned away to go outside to find the captain of the
garrison, he wondered at the true reason for her wanting to remain at
Bowden, for he did not believe it had anything to do with her weariness
or wanting to remain with her sisters a little longer.

Very soon he would have to leave Derbyshire.  His regiment, much
weakened by desertions and loss of life after Nascby, had been
disbanded and the remaining soldiers were being integrated into a newly
formed regiment of the New Model Army which trained at Windsor.  He was
expecting to be summoned to take up a new command at any time and it
was his wish for the wedding to take place



before his departure, for as Jane was proving unwilling though
complaisant about her marriage to him,

in making her his wife he would be sure she would be waiting for him on
his return.

He fully intended being at Deighton for the winter months, when it was
not unusual for many soldiers' and officers to be given extended
furloughs to go home to be with their families, to concentrate on the
management of their estates and spend the cold season in more
comfortable quarters.

On the point of leaving Bowden Manor, Jane stood by the window in her
room looking out over the glowing heights of the hills to the west,
towards Deighton, letting her eyes drink their fill of the distant
moors clothed in the full flush of purple heather, which would soon.
turn to the deepest russet brown and copper fire, before giving in to
the subdued drabness of grey and black for the long months of winter,
when cold wet gusts of wind would sweep down from the lofty grit stone
peaks to the valleys below, heralding the whiteness of snow.

She had looked upon this prospect many times, which brought to mind the
memory of herself as a girl who had inhabited this house since she was
born, had slept every night under its roof, and who was now to leave
its protective shell at last.  The sadness that this caused her,
combined with the deep sorrow she felt over losing her father and
brother, was heavy to bear, but seeing Simon again, and knowing of his
sorry plight, had placed an added burden on her heart and was making it
more difficult for her to leave Bowden.

She remembered how her body had exploded with joy when she had
recognised him in the church earlier, how glad she had been to see him
again, although how she wished circumstances had been different and he
wasn't in danger of being captured by Roundheads.

Absently she found herself comparing him with Edward, thinking how,
apart from them both being the sons of lords, they were different in
every aspect.  Having perfect breeding and manners, with an air of
indolence and easy wit and charm, Simon was the male epitome every
young woman dreamed about.  He was appealing in every sense--and a
memory of James's gentle warning that he was often in the habit-of
compromising ladies' reputations only added excitement to his
attraction, whereas Edward, with his dark, forbidding looks,
essentially masculine, and strong, well-muscled body, was of a more
serious nature.  There was a hard, cruel force inside him, an
indomitable will that drove him on.

How could she endure it?  How could she endure being married to a man
she did not love, to live in his house, magnificent though it was,
which had no part of her, to make it her own as Bowden had been?  The
only consolation she would have would be the moor she heather-clad
moors would still be there for her to look upon.

Chapter Five

Maria entered Jane's room to have a quiet word with her before she left
for Deighton, saddened by the unhappiness she saw in her eyes when she
turned, noticing how the weight of her sorrow caused her shoulders to
droop.  Knowing how difficult Jane was finding it to leave Bowden,
quickly Maria moved across to where she stood.

"Don't fret so, Jane.  Deighton is not far from Bowden.  We will see
each other quite often.  Look on your leaving here and your marriage as
a new beginning.  Lord Talbot is a fine man.  He will make a good
husband."

"How do we know that?  How can we know that?"  she cried tearfully,
with all her pent-up misery.  "I don't love him, Maria.  How can I love
a man I don't even like?"

Maria sighed.  "Love is not always present when two people marry, Jane.
It is only One side of the relationship.  That will come later--I'm
sure."

"No.  I know exactly what it is I feel for Edward and it certainly
isn't love or friendship, even.  But you loved my father, didn't you,
Maria?"

"Yes.  I was fortunate.  I could not fail to love such a good man.  We
loved each other deeply--as he did your mother before me."

"Then why can't it be like that for me?  Why does it have to like this?
Why oh, why do I have to leave Bowden?"  she asked, her voice rising
with something in it of a frustrated, frightened child.

Maria hated seeing her so distraught and for an instant was tempted to
reach out and place her arm about her shoulders in a gesture of
affection.  But she hesitated, for in trying to check Jane's emotions
she was every bit in danger of weakening her own.  "Because you must,
my dear," she answered.  "But I don't want to," cried Jane, tears of
rage and misery spilling over her lashes, which she angrily dashed away
with the back of her hand.

Hearing the violence in her voice Mafia was suddenly alarmed and cast
her a harsh, suspicious look.

"What is this?"  she asked quietly.  "What has happened to shatter your
composure Until last night you were resigned to leaving Bowden."  She
looked at Jane sharply.  "COuld your reluctance to wed Edward be that
you have a preference for some other?  Is that it, Jane?  Is there
someone else who has found his way into your affections?"

Jane looked away from Maria as though she could not bear to see her,
knowing it was her meeting with Simon that had brought about this
doubt, this change in her.  Oh, why did images and memories of
childhood have to rise up and haunt her now?  Were they to do so her
whole life through?  Maria looked at her, her expression one of
bewilderment.

"Jane--what is it?"  she asked, her voice almost a whisper, dreading
what her stepdaughter would tell her.

When Jane stubbornly continued to avert her eyes Maria reached out and
gripped her upper arms, forcing her to look at her, sensing she was in
the grip of some powerful emotion and able to feel the resistance
pouring out of her.  Her face was flushed with a combination of anger
and fear that she was faced with little choice but to obey Edward and
leave Bowden.

"What is it?"  she repeated insistently.  "What has happened?"

Jane swallowed nervously, eyeing Maria warily, unsure as to how she
would react to what she had to tell her.  "It's Simon, Maria.  I've
seen Simon," she said quietly.

Maria stared at her, trying to comprehend what she was saying--what her
words implied.  "Simon?

You--you mean Simon Butteridge?"

Jane nodded.

"But--but where?  How can you have seen him?  To my knowledge he hasn't
been to Bowden in at least eighteen months or more."

Maria listened in an appalled silence as quickly Jane recounted her
meeting with Simon in the church, of the unfortunate events which had
brought him there, and how she had enlisted Tom's help and was waiting
for him to come to the manor to assure her of his safety before she
left for Deighton.

It was no surprise to Maria that Jane had turned to Tom for help. 
There was a network of people all over the country loyal to the King's
cause who hid eminent fugitives in their homes and either saw that they
reached their regiments or left the country.  They had played an active
part themselves on occasion, especially after the battle of Marston
Moor a year ago, which had seen the defeat of the Royalists and lost
the King the north.

"You speak as if there is something between the two of you----but--if
my memory serves me correctly, he was James's friend and nothing more.
Tell me I am not wrong Jane?"

"No, you are not wrong.  But Simon is part of everything I hold
dear--James, Father--the happy times before the war.  Oh--I could love
him, Maria," she said, her voice quivering with passion.  "I know-I
could."  ,

Mafia saw a vibrancy shining in Jane's eyes she had not seen in a long
time---but how she wished it had been put there by excitement over her
marriage to Edward.  She remembered Simon Butteridge as being a young
man with delicate, almost effeminate good looks, with a deceptively
mild manner, who flattered every young woman he came into Contact with,
convincing them they were the most beautiful creatures alive.

But Jane had not been the only young lady at Bowden to succumb to his
charms, for she well remembered how willingly Anne Talbot, on her
visits to Jane, had fallen under his spell, how she had been unable to
resist the lure of his flattery which had sent her into paroxysms of
delight, convincing her she would never love another as she did Simon
Butteridge.  On his visits to Bowden Manor with James in the past Maria
had liked him well enough



and he had always showed Jane the most perfect courtesy--but it was
clear he had made an impression on her innocent, tender young heart.

"Oh, Jane," she whispered, "I never expected this.

Has he made any advances towards you?"

"No."

"Then how do you know it is the same with him?"

"I just do.  I know it is only my betrothal to Edward that prevents him
from speaking out."

"Oh, dear Lord.  Should Edward find out about any of this, then I
shudder to think what his reaction will be.  I know of his violent
temper4 is rage will be terrible indeed.  You would do well not to
aggravate him not to provoke him to anger," Maria said in a warning
voice.  "Edward!  I care nothing for him," Jane said fiercely,
dismissing her betrothed with scorn, trying not to think how he had
stirred her emotions with his 'embrace, his kiss, weakening her so that
she did not know herself.

"Nevertheless, he is still the man you are to marry."

"He is a tyrant, Maria--and has been so unreasonable on insisting that
I leave Bowden at this time."

"In the light of what you have just revealed to me, then I have to say
I am thankful," Maria said harshly.  But she sighed sympathetically
when Jane cast her a look of utter despair.  "Oh Jane, you must forget
Simonut him out of your thoughts.  I remember him as being gracious and
charming--a man of the world and an expert in breaking the hearts of
many young ladies.  He is not for you and it is no use dreaming of what
might have been.  Besides--if he is a fugitive, then it is imperative
that he leaves the district before he is caught.  If he can find his
way back to his regiment, all well and good but either way you have to
accept that you may never see him again."

Blinded by scalding tears that sprung once more to her eyes and
trembling with the force of her emotions, Jane uttered a painful cry
and turned away.  "I must--I will see lhim again, Maria.  I have to."

Saddened by this unfortunate turn of events and unable to encourage or
approve of the kind of relationship Jane wanted to exist between
herself and Simon, believing that, in her misery, Jane saw him as a
means of holding on to the past rather than as a serious romantic
attachment, gently Maria put a comforting land on her arm.

"What we want we don't always get, my dear, and you must recognise and
accept that.  Look to the future and receive your new life with
courage.  Promise me you will try and make it work.  Remember it was
your father's dearest wish that you should marry Edward--for our two
families to be united in marriage."

Dry-eyed, Jane stared at Maria, suddenly remembering what Edward had
said to her when she had read her father's letter and he had asked her
if she intended honouring her troth.  To tie a knot between us so
blessed by both houses that nothing can divide," she whispered, almost
to herself.

"Yes," murmured Maria, almost overcome with emotion, for she too
remembered her dear husband had spoken those words on the day Jane had
become betrothed to Edward.  'l am so sorry, my poor dear Jane.  I know
exactly what you are feeling and how



painful all this is for you, but what do you expect me to say to you?
Even if you were not to marry

Edward, he is still your guardian, and I cannot urge you to resist his
will.  Will you promise me that you will put all this behind you that
you will try to forget Simon Butteridge?"

Jane bowed her head in dejection, knowing there was little else she
could do and, knowing there was no other excuse she could present to
Edward which would persuade him to relent and allow he rto remain at
Bowden, she nodded.  "I will try to put it behind me, Maria--I do
promise.  But please don't ask me to forget Simon.  That I cannot do.

Relieved, Maria smiled and placed a kiss on her wet cheek.  "Then no
more tears.  Come, you must say goodbye to Susan and Penelope.  They
are quite distraught that you are to leave them so soon after their
return from Newington."

When Jane entered the room where her sisters were waiting to say
goodbye to her, she looked to where Edward was standing by the
fireplace, his hands clasped behind his back, calmly watching her.  She
met his dark eyes but did not speak to him, going instead-to where
Susan and Penelope were sitting on the sofa, unable to understand why
she had to leave at all.

They had been downcast ever since returning to Bowden and learning of
their father's death, but to be told that their beloved elder sister
was to leave them to live on the other side of Derbyshire--which to two
girls of such tender years was like the other -side of the world--was
almost too much for them.

Jane sat between the two little girls with her arms about them, looking
down into their earnest, attentive faces upturned to hers.  Susan was a
robust, forthright girl, whereas Penelope was of a more gentle nature
and more susceptible to illness, which was a constant worry for
Maria.

"Why do you have to go?"  asked Susan, looking at her in dismay, at
seven years old two years older than the tearful Penelope.  "Mama has
told us you are to be married.  May we not be there to see you?"

"Of course you shall.  You shall both come to Deighton for the wedding.
Come dry your eyes, Penelope," she said gently.  "You know what happens
when you cry--you make your face go all blotchy."

"But what' if you don't like living at Deighton?  Will you come back?"
Penelope asked hopefully, having stopped crying, but her lips still
quivered and tears hung on her lahes like huge dew drops.

Jane was aware of Edward's watchful eyes, but she didn't look at him.
"Yes of course--but I'm sure I shall like living there very well
indeed," she said, speaking with a conviction she was far from feeling.
She lited her eyes and glanced across the room at her betrothed,
catching him unawares, and what she saw puzzled her.

There was a softness in his expression and his eyes were warm as he
watched her, quite enchanted and bewitched by the delightful picture
she presented sitting between the two little girls, doing her best to
reassure them that all would be well.  She was so very feminine, soft,
womanly and beautiful, as pure and graceful as the swans that swam on
the lake in



the grounds of Deighton Hall, his to possess in'a short time.

But she was still young and so very vulnerable, which meant he would
have to be gentle with her, not to subdue the sweet wild essence of her
nature which was so essentially her.  Drawn compulsively towards her,
he crossed the room, pausing and looking down into her eyes.

"Susan and Penelope may come to Deighton whenever they wish, is that
not so, Edward?"

"Yes, of course'.  He smiled.  "Any time Maria cares to bring them over
they will be welcome.  And now, if you don't mind, Jane, I think we
should be on our way while there is still plenty of daylight left."

Jane nodded.  "Yes, but first I must say goodbye to Tom.  Please excuse
me.  I will not be long."

Ignoring Edward's expression of impatience, she went in search of Tom,
finding him bent at his desk.  He rose when she walked in, knowing she
had come to bid him farewell, but also to ask after the young man.

"Did Simon and his friend manage to get away, Tom?"  she asked with a
note of urgency, fearful that someone would walk in on them before he
was able to tell her what it was she wanted to know.

He nodded.  "They ate and rested awhile in the church until the man I
employed to act as their guide arrived to take them to their
destination.  They should be Well away by now.  Much better to get them
out of the district altogether after their attempt to lead an attack on
a Roundhead troop failed.  It is known who they are and information has
it that they are still being sought."

Jane's heart lurched fearfully at the thought of Simon being hunted
down.  "Where did they go, Tom?"

He shook his head, looking grim.  "It's best you don't know that."

"But ... why?"  she asked, puzzled.  "Please--I must know, I have to
know."

"I cannot tell you."

"Why?  Because I am to marry Lord Talbot?  Tom---do you really believe
I would betray Simon's whereabouts, to see him fall into rebel hands?
He was my brother's dearest friend.  After losing both James and my
father, I could not bear it if anything should happen to Simon also."

Tom looked at her steadily, and it was then that Jane knew he had been
talking to Maria---that she had told him not to disclose Simon's
whereabouts,.  believing it was best that she tried to put him from her
mind completely.  She felt a rush of bitterness enter her heart,
annoyed that Maria should have interfered in a matter that was emirely
personal, but it soon dispersed, for she knew that Maria only had her
best interests at heart, and in all truth she could not blame her.

'l see," she said, understanding his reluctance.  "Then I can only
assume that Maria has asked you to keep it from me."

"Forgive me but that is the 'reason Tom said, knowing her well enough
after their many weeks of being confined together during the sige--and
a lifetime before thato know she would try to make contact with him,
which would bring Lord Talbot's wrath down on them all should it be
found out, and



have them arrested and imprisoned for aiding and abetting.

"Your stepmother desires only your happiness.  When you marry Lord
Talbot you must give up many things from the past however painful that
may be.  Ever since I taught you to ride as a child I have always been
your most affectionate friend and faithful servant.  But in this I must
keep my silence--and I beg you to allow me to have that privilege."

For a long moment Jane looked into the grey eyes beneath the white
gristly brows which stared unflinching into hers.  "I see," she said at
length.  "Then I shall respect your silence.  We have travelled a long
road together, you and I, have we not?  l also have enjoyed a happiness
in our friendship and will do nothing to jeopardise that.  I shall
value and treasure it always.  Goodbye, Tom."

She turned from him, about to leave, but he halted her one last time.

"You may rest assured that your friend will be safe.  There is not a
man or woman loyal to the cause who would betray him or Captain Digby.
They will stay in hiding until Captain Digby is recovered from his
wound and is strong enough to return to the army."

With that Jane had to be content, but if she had seen the worried
expression on Tom's face as she left him, caused by his concern over
Sir Simon's health--for he strongly suspected that the sudden fever
Which had arisen was a result of the wound in his leg having become
infected---then her anxiety over his well-being would have been great
indeed.  One hour later, with a crack of the driver's whip over the
backs of the four snorting black horses Edward had had sent over from
Deighton, the coach carrying Jane and her betrothed left Bowden.

They were alone travelling in the' coach, a large leather vehicle with
a domed roof.  The only view to be had of the passing countryside was
to be seen out of the door, which had a leather curtain suspended from.
an iron bar, raised for the time being.  Jane was quietly, sitting
across from Edward her face like a marble mask, her eyes shuttered, her
gaze never straying from the passing scenery.  It was as though she had
forgotten the still figure of Edward across from her, only speaking
when spoken to, but she was finding the journey excessively trying to
her already overwrought nerves on being in such close proximity with
him for so long.

Although they sat apart she could feel his strength, his warmth, the
complete masculinity of him.  She was immersed in a sea of loneliness,
having accepted the imminence of her fate without further protest, but
she was gripped with a nervous, frantic feeling which she later
realised was fear of what the future held in store for her.

Looking at Jane's stiffly upright figure, her politeness was beginning
to irk Edward.  He was determined to make her relax and unbend a little
before they reached Deightonven if it meant sitting beside her and
repeating the kiss he had given her on his arrival at Bowden Manor
after the siege, the kiss he had given her to remember and which he
knew, by the softness and glowing in her eyes when

she thought he was not watching her, that she had not forgotten.

She looked enchanting with her costume of pale green spread about her,
the full skirt caught back to show an embroidered petticoat underneath,
the tight-fitting jacket emphasising her slender figure.  Her face was
like a pale cameo, her eyes hollow, the contours of her face all soft
shadows and light.  Nineteen she might be, a child still in some
respect, yet he believed that behind her childlike exterior beat the
heart of a sensual and passionate woman.  He wondered what went on
behind her cool expression, behind her shuttered gaze.

"Are you comfortable?"  he asked.

She turned her head and looked to where he lounged indolently across
from her, his dark brown eyes looking at her penetratingly from beneath
heavily fringed thick black lashes.  His words scarcely penetrated the
mists that clouded her mind.  She stared at him, knowing he had spoken
but not comprehending what it was he had said.

"I asked you if you are comfortable?"  he repeated.  "Yes.  Perfectly,
thank you," she answered.  "I am a little tired, but pray do not
concern yourself on my account."  She immediately returned her gaze to
the passing scenery.

"Nevertheless, your welfare is my greatest concern.  When we arrive at
Deighton you will be able to rest."

"Which !  could have done equally as well at Bowden," she retorted
frostily.

Edward scowled with annoyance at her continued coldness towards him,
and it was only out of consideration for her sensitivity at this time
and her exhausted state that he controlled his precariously held
temper.

"Come, Jane," he said, sounding harsher than he intended.  "I will not
have you addressing me like some barely acquainted stranger all the
time.  Seeing that you hold such a low opinion of me, I think it would
not go amiss to use the time we are alone to clear the air a little
between us before we arrive at Deighton."

Jane regarded him in silence, the air tense between them, her eyes
trapped by his compelling gaze.  "Well?"

"If we must.  Although you can hardly blame me for being just a little
apprehensive when I am about to enter the enemy camp--in a manner of
speaking," she plied sharply.

"Of course.  But do not forget that my mother shares your sympathies
for the King's cause or what is left of it."

"Then it will make living at Deighton easier for me to bear."

"I hope so.  The bond of kinship between other members of my family and
myself survives the divisions that war has induced.  From the very
beginning we were determined that the dispute would not create a
quarrel between us.  Knowing we would have many to fight with, we would
not fight among ourselves.  Our affections for one another are
unchanged.  Can you not feel the same?"

"You must forgive me.  It is difficult to think that way when my father
was killed by Roundheads."

"Do not forget that my own father lost, his life 'at

Edgehill."

"I don't.  But do not forget that he too was fighting on the side of
the King--against the cause you so righteously uphold."

Edward's eyes narrowed and his tone became icy.  "Of that I do not need
to be reminded.  It was his allegiance to the King that plunged my
family into serious debt and took him into the war."  His expression
was one of gravity as he leaned forward a little, resting his arms on
his knees and looking at her closely.  I admire you, Jane.  Few women
would have defended their home as courageously as you have done.  But
you must learn to be more lenient towards me.  All men are sinners, are
they not?  Wherever my allegiance lies, do not take it upon yourself to
judge me."

"I was not aware that I did."

"You are resentful towards me because of my support for Parliament--I
understand that--and you are angry with me because I did not write. 
But I confess I am no hand at letter writ ting so let your anger be
punishment enough.  But you did not write to me either," he said
quietly, his voice holding a trace of accusation.

"Forgive meut when you took up arms against the King, I felt unable to
do so.  I--I believed our betrothal to be no longer binding.  The war
has set father against son and brother against brother--dividing almost
every family in the land, I know that."

"That may be---but let me make it perfectly clear that there will be no
division between us, Jane.  Not when we are wed."

Jane raised her chin in defiance.  'l am not your wife yet, Edward--and
when we are married I shall have control over my own mind.  I have no
intention of becoming your obedient servant."

Edward sat back, his expression one of faint.  amusement as he looked
at her from beneath his half-lowered lids.  "Far be it from me to ask
the impossible of you," he laughed softly.  "But you will not always be
so headstrong or so troublesome.  I have my own form of persuasion'
that will subdue your tendency to argue."

"By that do you mean to use force on me, my lord?"

His dark brows rose and his voice was low and seductive.  "Force?  No.
Far from it.  I've never had to resort to force on a woman in my life.
The kind of persuasion I speak of will be of the gentlest form one you
will enjoy, I promise you--and one which I am urged to show you this
very minute.,

His eyes sought out and lingered on Jane's lips and she felt herself
flushing as they travelled to the gentle swell of her breasts outlined
beneath her jacket.

"Then I would beg you to restrain your urge, my lord.  Your conduct is
quite unseemly," she retorted heatedly, taking refuge in anger as she
tried to shake off the effect he was having on her emotions.

"Are you afraid of me, Jane?  I have told you I am not your enemy."

"No.  I am not afraid of you, but how can I rate you in any way other
than as my enemy?"  she asked,



realising as she said this that she was not so very much afraid of him
but of herself and how she would respond if he were to cross the small
divide that was between them in the carriage.  "Your own brother
followed your father's lead and fights for the King,

I believe," she said, making a concerted attempt to divert his
attention to other matters.  "How will you feel should you meet in
battle?"

"That is unlikely.  William is in Ireland at this time.  Besides, after
Naseby, with Parliament in possession of the Royal Standard and every
infantry regiment on the field, the King's cause is in peril.  There
are those on both sides who hope for a settlement, but the King seems
set against it."

"Having been cut off from any news because of the siege at my home, I
fear I am out of touch as to what has been happening in the country.
Where is the King now?"

"After Naseby he marched into Wales.  With his only field army wiped
out.  he was--and still is--desperate to recover his losses by
obtaining fresh recruits.  When support failed to materialise in Wales
he marched north through Derbyshire and into Yorkshire.  But he was
driven back south by Parliamentary forces gathering in the north and
west.  I believe he is again moving towards Wales."

Jane already knew the King had marched into Yorkshire, for was this not
the reason for Simon being in the north?  If the King was- tow am the
Wet Country again, then he would be hard pressed to join him.

"After the battle, along with the King's train of artillery, his
baggage train was taken.  Letters from his wife in France, and also
copies of his letters to her, were seized, revealing plans to bring in
outside assistance in the form of French troops--and, more damning that
that, Confederate Catholic troops from Ireland promising them favours if
they agreed to fight on his side."

"And when one considers the reaction this ever-emotive nation has on
the English population at large, then it is a damaging weapon indeed
for his enemies to use against him," Jane said with a trace of
bitterness, for she was deeply disappointed to learn that the King had
betrayed the trust of those who supported him.

To bring over Catholic troops from Ireland to fight his own people
would not be tolerated.  Undoubtedly, the violent uprising in Ireland
in 1641--when the atrocities committed by Catholics against the
Protestants in that country had shocked the English nation into
disbelief had fuelled the hatred of Catholics and the fear of popery
amongst the English.

"True.  It has resulted in his loss of popularity and prestige.
Scattered pockets of Royalists are giving up many compounding with
Parliament."

"Then it grieves me to hear it," Jane said frankly and with sadness.
"But, whatever he is guilty of, I shall never forget he is the King and
that his majesty is sacrosanct.  My loyalties to the Crown will always
remain steadfast and worthy of sacrifice.  But do you not think it
shameful to have his private letters from his exiled queen opened in
sue ha manner--for the prying eyes of strangers to read that which is
entirely personal?"

"Maybe--and !  too regret that, but it was neees sary all the same.
When those letters were opened', revealing his plans to bring outside
military assistance on to English soil, many who had been sympathetic
have turned their backs on him.  His duplicity has shown him to be a
man who cannot be trusted."

Jane glanced across at him sharply as a thought suddenly occurred to
her.  "You are not a Puritan, are you, Edward?"

Her suggestion caused him some amusement.  His lips widened in a broad
smile to reveal his strong white teeth, and his eyes danced with
merriment.  "Lord, no.  Neither virtues nor vices of my upbringing
harmonise with the Puritan ideal.  Unlike a great many of my
compatriots, I am not motivated by religious zeal--although I have no
liking for popery either.  No doubt you will be relieved to know I
still adhere to the true Protestant religion."

"Then if the King's cause is in such peril as you say it is, it would
seem that choosing to support Parliament ensures the survival of the
Talbots, that your house and lands will remain intact."

Sighing deeply, she became silent and again looked at the passing
scenery unfolding outside the window, the rocking and swaying of the
coach lulling her into a state of semi-inertia.  "When one looks at the
beauty of Derbyshire of the moors--it is hard to believe there is so
much discord and dissension in England, that it is split by Civil War,"
she murmured softly, almost to herself.

Edward smiled crookedly his eyes glowing seductively from between his
half-lowered lids.  "There are many who would disagree with you.  In
court circles before war broke out, Derbyshire was talked of as being
an inhospitable, desolate wilderness, and was acquiring the reputation
of being the place to send troublesome and rebellious wives.".

Jane cast him a cold look.  "Then if that be the case, my lord, when
we, are man and wife you will be saved the trouble of having to send me
anywhere."

Edward grinned roguishly, the sort of grin that must have charmed half
the ladies from Derbyshire to London.  "Why-does this mean you are to
continue to vex me by being as difficult as you have been so far?"

"I shall continue being as difficult as I please."  He smiled at her
reply, not in the least discouraged.  In fact, despite her hostility,
on observing the heightened colour of her cheeks and the glow in her
amber eyes, he was encouraged and well pleased with the way the journey
to Deighton was progressing.

"It is clear you have been allowed to have your own way too often,
Jane.  When we are married, I' shall continue to let you have your way
in many things, but in the privacy of our bedchamber I shall have my
way."

His voice was soft and deep as he conveyed his message to Jane, whose
cheeks burned bright crimson.  Feeling all the power and provocation of
his gaze, she looked away, quite perplexed.  In fact, never had she
known a man so perplexing.  She felt an unexpected quiver pass through
her body beneath her clothes, and also an urgent desire for him to sit
beside her and hold her in the warmth of his embrace but she knew that
if he were to lay one finger on her at that moment she would be beyond
all help.

Shocked by the force of her feelings, she leaned her head against the
soft upholstery of the coach and closed her eyes in an attempt to
banish his face from her mind, but she could not banish the essence of
his warm animal magnetism that filled the inside of the coach.

She felt bemused, utterly and completely bewildered by her feelings, by
her emotions, which made her so unsure of herself.  What was the matter
with her that she should desire the embrace of a man she was so very
much against---even though that man was her betrothed?

She was not as strong as she thought she was; having once felt his arms
about her, tasted the warmth of his lips on hers, and having
experienced the excitement this had given her, was it so very unusual
for her body to want to savour it all again?  Whenever they were
together he troubled her, but was that so very bad when he was to be
her husband in such a short space of time?

"Chapter Six

The hills around Deighton were of a wild, fierce aspect, a region
oozing with antiquity where legends were many, and varied.  The
landscape was of undulating limestone hills scored by the beautifully
wooded Derwent Valley and the River Dove, of high peaks and plateaux
with their crags and grit stone edges and black peat hags, of peculiar
shaped stones and the dark holes of open-mouthed caves.

Along with sheep paths and rough cart tracks disappearing over the
directionless moor to some remote farm, they Were possessed of a
complete system of trade routes, the pack ways the long-distance tracks
used by trains of packhorses for the transport of lead, wool, timber
and charcoal for the smelters.

The moors were possessed of a timeless nature, in late summer through
to autumn they were clad in purple heather with gently swaying cotton
grass, but the burdens of winter could be relentless this was the time
when isolation reigned supreme and it lOl



became an inhospitable region, a bleak and bitter lonely wilderness.

Surrounded by a high ring of hills, magnificent Deighton Hall was built
of golden yellow stone and enriched by splendid carving, which made it
an impressive building.  It was surrounded by walled courtyards and
gardens and situated in a valley full of light and grandeur against a
rich back cloth of woods and a patchwork of open fields; the grounds,
spacious and green, were threaded through With a natural lake-a perfect
habitat for a large colony of swans--fed by water from the
crystal-clear springs high up on the moors.

The vast estate at Deighton had come into the hands of the Talbots in
the fifteenth century.  Since that time, they had been accumulating
wealth largely through lead mining and sheep rearing, with rents from
several scattered tenements.  This had raised the family to a secure
place and brought them virtual right to a peerage.

Lady Blanche, Edward's mother, was a woman small in stature but great
in character.  She was regarded with great respect and reverence and
was known throughout Derbyshire for her thoughtfulness for other
people.  The poor and the beggars who roamed the moors were the objects
of her generosity and charitable good works.  She was waiting on the
steps to welcome Jane to Deighton Hall.

After 'assisting her down from the carriage, Edward took her arm and
led her towards his mother who was coming forward to greet them.  It
was no more than a toUCh but, oddly, Jane was strengthened by it as she
stepped forward, about to embark on her new life at Deighton Hall.

After welcoming and embracing her eldest son affectionately, Lady
Blanche drews.  Jane into her arms, greeting her warmly.

"My dear, dear Jane.  How very good it is to see you," she said,
stepping back and looking closely at her future daughter-in-law,
shocked by her appearance, thinking she looked quite unwell.  "It's
been so long since last we saw you that--why--I hardly recognise you.
"How are you really, my dear?"

"I am well, thank you, considering the terrible events of the past
weeks, Lady Blanche," Jane replied, smiling sotly at her, for there was
no mistaking the genuine warmth in her voice and her eyes.

Lady Blanche was a handsome woman with dark hair, which had become
liberally streaked with grey over the three years since Jane had last
seen her.  Her face was much older than Jane remembered; she quite
rightly thought it had been brought about by the death of Lady
Blanche's husband at Edgehill, which had been a terrible blow to her.
To these cares was added the burden of Edward's dissension over
politics, for his decision to take up arms against the King had come as
a bitter disappointment to the family as a whole.

"Oh, how we have worried about you all at Bowden, when the siege and
how you were courageously standing firm against the Parliament Army was
brought to our notice.  I wrote to Edward immediately, informing him of
what was happening, for him to come at once and secure your safe
release.  Thank goodness he reached you in time."  ,



Jane stared at Edward in surprise, for until that moment she had not
known how he had come to learn about the siege.

"Edward sent a letter on ahead informing us of when to expect you-and
he also told us of James's death.  I was deeply grieved to learn of the
death of your father--but James too!  Oh, my dear--I was so shocked.  I
have been told they fought bravely at Naseby--and that your father was
wounded, which resulted in his death.  He was as good and noble a
friend as any I have known.  May God comfort you in your great loss, my
dear."

Tucking Jane's arm affectionately into her own, she led her into the
house followed closely by Edward, content to let his mother take over
for the time being.  Jane had not set foot in Deighton Hall for over
three years, but it was just as she remembered.  Swans were everywhere
in the decoration, for the swan was the Talbot crest.  The rooms were
rich in tapestries and plaster work and decorated in alabaster and
black Derbyshire marble from the Talbots' own quarries, carved by local
craftsmen.

"This terrible war has been a great trial," Lady Blanche went on.  "Let
us pray it will be over soon.  BUt come--I have had refreshments made
ready.  Ever since we received Edward's letter informing us of your
arrival, Anne has been in a state of excitement.  Indeed, she has
talked of little else.  We also have an added guest... Ah here they are
now."

On entering the hall, they looked up to see a smiling Anne hurrying
down the long stone stairs.  With her was another young woman whom Jane
recognised at once, causing her heart to plummet like a stone.  A
feeling of suffocation came over her, for was it not enough that she'd
had to leave Bowden, without having to endure the insufferable
cOmpanionship of Isabel Marchington, Edward's cousin, at Deighton
Hall?

The daughter of Lady Blanche's brother--an only child who had been
spoilt and indulged shamelessly by both her parents she had frequently
stayed at Deighton in the past, always during the summer months, and
often accompanying Anne to Bowden, which Jane had always found
extremely irritating.  She had little liking.  for Isabel, who was
envious because Jane was to marry Edward.  However, there was little
love lost, for Isabel had no liking for her either.

Whenever Isabel was in Edward's presence, the Way she had of always
following him around like a lovesick calf would annoy Jane immensely.
Indeed, Jane often thought that Edward would have done her a favour had
he succumbed to his cousin's charms and chosen to marry her instead.

With Anne by her side, Isabel swept towards them.  Enveloped in
swirling folds of blue gown, the bodice off the shoulder and cut so low
as to reveal the fullness of her breasts, she was the perfect picture
of loveliness.  She was two years older than Jane, of medium height and
with a curvaceous figure, her dark hair arranged in knots of shining
ringlets on either side of her face.  The elegance of her clothes made
Jane feel countrified and drab in comparison.  Clearly she was still
the same vain, egotistical person she remembered, excitable and
temperamental, and seeing her again--with three years and an oceanful



of misery standing between them made Jane realise just how much she had
changed.

The hunger and terror she had lived through during those awful days of
the siege--when she had conditioned her mind to think no further than
how to cope with the daily sufferings of those who depended on her for
their survival--had taken away what was left of her youth, of her
vibrancy for life.  She had emerged older, more serious, and when she
looked at isabel--beautiful, self-assured, and seemingly untouched by
the unpleasantness of war-then, in a rush, a wave of bitterness rose up
and threatened to overwhelm her.

Anne stepped forward to greet Jane with genuine warmth.  Being the same
age as Jane, her character was vivid and energetic, and she was
frequently chastised by her mother for her mischievousness.  She had an
abundance of unruly auburn hair and soft brown eyes.  They had been
close friends since they were children, although after the outbreak of
the war their visits to each other's homes had ceased.  Isabel smiled
broadly at Edward, but scarcely glanced at Jane.

"You look surprised to see me, Edward."

"Perhaps that's because I am."

"And Jane," she said, as Jane moved to stand beside Edward.

/ For a long moment Isabel and Jane stared at one another.  A wall of
antipathy seemed to spring between ihem and resentment and jealousy
began to rise in Isabel's eyes--but each knew they would have to be
nice to one another whilst at Deighton.

"Hello, Isabel," said Jane.  "How nice to see you.

Forgive me if I seem surprised.  Edward did not tell me you would be at
Deighton."

"That, my dear Jane, is because it is as much a surprise to me as it is
to you," said Edward, bowing politely over his cousin's bejewelled
hand, his lips scarcely brushing her white flesh.  "When did you
arrive, Isabel?"

"Two days ago," she said with just a touch of petulance, putting on an
injured air and seemingly annoyed by his lack of enthusiasm over her
presence at Deighton Hall.  "You did say I would be welcome any time,
Edward, when you called on my mother and myself at Beestone Lodge when
you were in Derby last month."

"Of course," he said graciously.  "Military matters have kept me so
much occupied of late that it quite slipped my mind.  Do forgive me."

Jane noticed that this was said in such a way that she was sure he had
not invited Isabel to Deighton.  However, noticing the wavrnth in his
eyes when he looked down at his cousin and the smile that moved across
his handsome face, she thought he did not appear to be displeased to
see her.  Quite the opposite, in fact, and she was surprised at the
rush of resentment she suddenly felt.

'l had an overwhelming desire to escape the confines of home for a
while," said Isabel.  "I would have journeyed to London, but because of
the danger to travellers at this time Mother was set against it.
Besides--I hear it has become such a dreary place since the theatres
closed and all form of amusement was banned.  I know not whether to
blame your vindictive Mr.  Cromwell and his puritanical beliefs,



Edward, or the King for declining to accept Parliament terms and
prolonging the war--for like everyone else I long for peace."

"I trust you are well, Isabel--and the journey to Deighton was not too
fraught with difficulties," said Jane politely, feeling the last thing
everyone wanted at that moment was to become embroiled in a discussion
which could only cause Lady Blanche great distress, considering
Edward's position as a cavalry leader in the Parliament Army.

"No.  I had quite a pleasant journey on the whole--and Beestone is not
too far from Deighton.  I must commiserate with you over the demise of
both James and your father, Jane," Isabel said on a more sympathetic
note as she remembered her tragic loss, for she too had felt a stab of
regret on learning of the death of James Marlow.  He-had been such a
handsome man.  "What a terrible loss for you to bear."

"Thank you, yes.  It has been a distressing time for all of us at
Bowden."

"One which I hope will be eased for you here at Deighton," said Lady
Blanche kindly, beginning to lead the way up the wide stairs to the
first floor, where the impressive long gallery and rooms where the
family dined and received guests were situated.  "Now come along and
take some refreshment before I show you to your room.  You have no maid
with you, I see, Jane?"

"No.  Everything was in such confusion after the siegemwith few
Servants left at Bowden, those who did remain were needed to take care
of Maria and my sisters."

"Then I shall see to it that one of my own is appointed to you.  How is
Maria coping with your father's death?"

"As Well as she is able.  My sisters are a great consolation to her."

"Yes, I'm sure they must be.  They are all to come to Deighton for the
wedding?"

Jane felt herself flushing--she had forgotten for the moment her real
reason for coming to Deighton.  She became aware that all eyes were
turned on her, including Edward's, and that a faint smile curled on his
lips.

"Yes, of course."

"Then I shall look forward to seeing them.  It will be good to have
young children in the house again."

"Lady Btaacbe," said Jane suddenly, having no wish to sit and make
conversation for a further half-hour before she could' escape to her
room.  "Would you mind terribly if I went directly to my room?"

Lady Blanche looked at her in concern.  "Of course not, my dear.  No
doubt you are tired after your journey."

"Yes--I confess I am," she replied, conscious of increasing weariness;
still feeling terribly depressed at having to leave Bowden, her
forbearance was beginning to wear thin.  "It has been a long day."

She was shown to a chamber at the front of the house, which overlooked
the lake and the wide expanse of moor.  The walls were hung in
tapestries and it was dominated by a huge four-poster bed with hangings
of deep blue silk, heavily embroidered in gold and silver thread, the
principal motif being the swan.

'! thought you would like this room, Jane.  It's familiar to you the
one you always liked when you came to stay because it overlooked the
lake and you could watch the swans.  It's such a warm room and so
light.  The sun is on it for most of the day.  Of course you will move
to a suite of rooms on the second floor when you and Edward marry."

Sensing Jane's unhappiness, she went over to her by the window where
Jane stood looking out at the view.

"I know how distressing all this is for you," she said gently, 'but I
cannot tell you how much it means to me having you here--and that you
and Edward are to marry at last.  He told me about the letter your
father wrote before he died how, in the event of his own and James's
death, Edward was to be your guardian and his heir.  I confess I
thought little of it then.  After all, how could any of us have known
that dear James was dead?"

"I understand why my father did what he did--that it was his way of
taking care of us to protect the future of Bowden and the future
security of his family.  I also know he held Edward in the highest
esteem, despite their divided loyalties to the country.  But... Lady
Blanche," she said hesitantly, looking her straight in the eyes,
thinking how like Edward's they were, "I must be perfectly honest with
you.  I--it is only right that you should know that when Edward took up
arms against the King--when he made no effort whatsoever to contact
me--I considered our betrothal to be at an end.  For three years I did
not hear from him.  No word.  No letter.  What was I to think?"

"Oh, my dear, if only I had known."

"How could you?  You had your husband's death to contend with--and you
were away with Anne for some considerable time staying with your
brother's wife at Beestone.  But I was more than grateful for your
letters--and Anne's.  I was extremely angry and hurt that Edward should
neglect me in such an abominable manner.  As his future wife I.
deserved better."

"Yes, you are right and I cannot blame you for being angry.  But do not
judge him too harshly.  l know that, despite the long separation
between you, you always remained the woman he intended to marry.  It
was never his intention to cause you any unhappiness."

"How coulgl I have known that when he did not write?  It was only when
he appeared at Bowden quite unexpectedly, and made me aware of my
fathers letter and his wishes, that I relented."  "And how do you feel
towards him now?"

"I--I am confused.  He--he is a stranger to me.  I feel that I do not
know him.  I am finding it very difficult coming to terms with
everything that has happened-and I cannot forget that we stand on
different sides in the war."

"Yes--yes, I understand that.  You see, in the beginning, when I
learned he was to take up arms against the King, I felt very much the
same.  My husband and I raised our children to think for themselves to
be true to themselves--but when Edward told us of his intention to
support Parliament--which I know was not a decision taken lightly it
hurt us deeply.  He was convinced of the righteousness of Parliament
and no amount of remonstrance could



sway him from his committment to his conscience.

"His father and I reasoned and argued with him, for it grieved our
hearts that he should be against the King.  But so deeply did we love
and esteem him that we had little choice but to accept his decision--to
respect his views--if we wanted to remain a united family."  She looked
at Jane hard.  "We may be divided by the rebellion that beset the
country, Jane, but not as a family.  Loyalty to each other and family
tradition are paramount to all else.  Can you not find it in your heart
to think as we do to revise your opinion of him?"

Lady Blanche watched the many conflicting emotions pass over Jane's
face as she struggled to accept what she had said.  She herself had
been.  reared in the tradition of great ladies, who acknowledged the
teachings of their parents that women were the weaker sex, accepting
without question that it was a man's world--which was not unusual,
considering the standards of the time.

She was an intelligent woman, though she had been a submissive wife,
obedient to her husband throughout his life, and on his death had
transferred these traits to her son, who was now Lord Talbot and must
be treated with all due respect, despite the fact that his allegiance
was to Parliament and not the King.  However, there was a certain
amount of constraint between her and her eldest son, but she held her
peace and continued to live as she always had as he war went on,
without bitter words.

Jane looked at her steadily and nodded, sighing deeply, finding peace
in her promise of surrender to Lady Blanche bitter though it was.

"I--I will take your words to heart, Lady Blanche.  I promise."

The mid-September day was sunny and mild with.  autumnal colOUrs of
copper and gold' beginning to burnish the leaves on the trees.  From
where he sat in relaxed mood on the grass in the garden, his back
leaning against a low stone wall and his long booted legs stretched out
in front of him, Edward was content to watch Jane from beneath hooded
lids as she walked along the paths with Anne and Isabel.

She had been at D ighton for three days now and he was happy to see
that some of the strain, which had been present on her arrival, was
beginning to disperse.  He observed that her lissom figure moving along
the garden paths was no longer tempered by weariness, and that she was
beginning to take pleasure in her surroundings, pausing now and then to
pick a flower and place it in Anne's basket, which was suspended from
her arm.

In sultry mood, he thought back to when he had first seen her after the
siege at Bowden, how slender and young she was, how large were her eyes
and how fearful she had looked.  His journey to Bowden to relieve the
siege and inform her of her father's death had begun out of a sense of
duty and ended in passion, for as he looked at her now, her bearing
poised and dignified, he felt something mysterious and weakening moving
inside him--a feeling not unwelcome one mingled with desire.

The day was fast approaching when she would be his wife, and h knew, as
he sat with the sun warm on his face, how she would look, how she
would



grace his bed, how warm she would be curled next to him, how her body
would mould to his and how her pale silvery blond hair would flow
sweetly over the pillows like a silken cloth.  He also thought with
growing regret how soon he would have to leave her to resume his
military duties.

Little had he known, when he left the Low Countries with the intention
of settling down at Deighton and assisting his father in running the
estate, that the onset of the Civil War in England would be the
beginning of a new chapter in his military career.  He had quickly
become engulfed in the violent struggle that gripped the country, which
he considered must be the greatest tragedy in the history of England,
begun when King Charles I had managed to squander what respect many had
for the monarchy with a series of blunders.

In the beginning the King had triumphed, winning many battles, but the
years had seen the rise of Oliver Cromwell, a man of power to be feared
and a strong military leader.  The formation of his New Model Army,
which was made up of the most committed of troopers ever to don the red
coat and whom he had trained himself, turning them into a formidable
fighting force--its success over the Royalist forces at Naseby being
proof of this--showed clearly that the tide had turned away from the
King.

Edward was heartily tired of campaigning, of fighting and long marches
in all weathers, of enduring great hardship when conditions were so bad
he often wondered if he would survive it.  Hopefully it wouldn't too
long before a settlement was reached and he could think of retiring
from the army and spending his time at Deighton.

When the ladies moved towards him, he rose at Anne's request that he
walk a little way with them--but he quickly sensed the mood of the
conversation, thinking he would have to be blind as well as deaf not to
feel the tension that existed between Isabel and Jane.

"I must say how changed you look, Jane, how thin you have become,"
Isabel commented.

Dressed in scarlet velvet, Isabel's beauty was quite vibrant, making
Jane feel extremely colourless in comparison.

The friendly words were belied by a poisonous undertone," which lane
detected and reminded her that nothing had changed, that she was still
the same Isabel who had unashamedly and unsuccessfully pursued Edward
in the past But her unkind remark, laced with spite, attracted Edward's
attention and he cast Isabel a stern look of reproof.  His face
remained impassive, but in his eyes a spark flashed, grim and
formidable.

"The responsibilities thrust upon Jane's shoulders during the siege
were heavy enough to bow even the sturdiest back, Isabel," he said
harshly.  "There are few women I know who could have withstood as much.
After the deprivations of the past weeks of starvation staring her in
the face day in and day out--it is hardly surprising her health has
suffered."

Jane cast him a look of gratitude, happy that he had so readily
defended her, but when she looked across at Isabel she intercepted a
long measuring look that carried something far stronger than
contempt.

Edward paused when a footman came up to him,

informing him that a messenger had arrived with a letter of some
importance.  After he had excused him self to the ladies they resumed
their walk in silence,

the moment one of awkwardness in which Isabel struggled to compose
herself.

"How like Edward to speak up for you, Jane," she said at length,
speakingin a high, strained voice.  "He is always the perfect
gentleman, don't you think?  I used to see him often when his duties
took him to London--and I have to tell you that he was feted in all the
great houses.  The ladies are quite wild about him, you know."

Jane cast her a casual glance, smiling tolerantly.  "No, I didn't.  But
I'm sure you're right," she replied, refusing to be overawed by
Isabel's condescending superiority.  She hated to think of her as a
rival--and yet how could she not?  In an extremely sensitive state
after her recent experiences, she felt a touch of uneasiness.  She
might be physically exhausted but mentally she was alert.

Isabel had gone out of her way to imply that she and Edward had seen
much of each other on the times when they had both been in London.  How
much truth there was in this she could only guess at, for with
Parliament's ban on all pleasurable activities, and Edward's military
commitments, she would have thought he'd have had little time for
social ising But it did suggest they had become close.

She wasn't sure why she found the knowledge so painful, why it should
affect her so much when she was not in love with Edward---except that
it might be her pride that was hurt, "to hear another woman speak in
such familiar terms of the man she was to marry.  He did not appear to
resent the proprietorial manner Isabel always showed him, but then,
Edward did not show his feelings, and where Isabel was concerned his
manners were impeccable--apart from his sharp reproof of a moment ago,
before the footman had announced the arrival of a messenger.

"Why are you not marrying at Bowden, Jane?  It does seem peculiar to me
that a bride should not be married from her home."

"The people of Bowden have no liking for Parliament and feelings are
raw and extremely hostile following the siege.  If I were to marry
Edward in Bowden Church, the rebellion would be great indeed.  It is a
situation we both felt we had to avoid.  My family will travel to
Deighton for the ceremony--which I believe is to take place before
Edward returns to the army.

"I see," said Isabel stiffly.  "But why the haste?  With the deaths of
both.  yOur father and James, is a respectful period of mourning not to
be observed?"

"No.  I did suggest it--but Edward is of the opinion that in times of
war such matters can be overlooked, however rigid the rules regarding
mourning are in all families in times of peace.  He is keen to have it
over and done with as soon as possible."

"Then I'm sure you'll be very happy together."

"Let us hope so for both our sakes," Jane replied drily.

"But of course the most important thing in his life is his career-not
that I've given much thought to either cause--although my family, as
you know,.  support the King.  But I firmly believe Mr.  Cromwell



thinks highly of Edward--as does Sir Thomas

Fairfax.  When this hurly-burly is done he will come out of it very
well, I dare say."

"Dear me," said Jane, looking at her in wry humour.  "You make him
sound quite mercenary, Isabel."

Isabel frowned.  crossly.  "Do I?  That was not my intention.  You
misinterpret my words, Jane."

"I'm sorry--but I don't think so.  You insult Edward, Isabel," she
chided.  "I believe I know him well enough to know that in supporting
Parliament he obeys his conscience rather than to gain particular ends.
You make it sound as if he is merely supporting Parliament to be on the
winning side for self-gain."

"No.  I merely implied he was wise in choosing to fight for Parliament,
that is all."

They continued to follow Anne who walked on ahead, through the garden,
stopping from time to time to cut a late bloom and to place it in her
basket.

"You've never been to London or seen much society, have you, Jane?"
Isabel asked after a moment.

"No--and nor have I any desire to."

Isabel looked at her in shocked amazement, unable to understand why
anyone in their right mind had no wish to visit London.  "Have you not?
Then unless you have partaken of its pleasures you have lived the life
of a nun.  Do you mean you have no desire to see a play at the theatre,
to go riding in Hyde Park or to sail on the river?"

"Dear me, Isabel."  laughed Jane.  "If London is as exciting as you say
it is, then I am extremely surprised you could bear to leave it for the
dullness of Derbyshire."

Isabel pulled a face, for she'd had little choice but to do just that.
"I told you--what with the war and everything there's little excitement
there now.  Having instigated a programme of moral reform, the Puritans
have made London quite unbearable."  She sighed as Anne began strolling
back towards them.  "It cannot be compared to the gay, lively place it
used to bend I cannot see how Edward can possibly be associated with
such depressingly dull people who do not care for pleasure or enjoyment
in any form."

"You mean there really are no theatres to go to--no dancing or trips on
the river to enjoy?"

"No.  Although there is more tolerance given than is commonly supposed,
with theatre Productions continuing in private and clandestine ways.
But soldiers often raid the establishments and arrest the actors."

Falling into step beside them, Anne joined in the conversation.  "Sadly
the ban is not confined to London but is in effect throughout the
length and breadth of England, which was once such a merry place.  We
can no longer indulge in simple, innocent pleasures without being told
it is a sin.  Why, even the maypoles have been pulled down those
harmless structures around which people wOUld dance to celebrate our
festivals.  How they can be an offence in the eyes of God eludes me."

Jane smiled 'at her, linking her arm.  "You're right, Anne.  Even
Christmas is not the same any more.  Its festivities have been
suppressed and instead we are faced with a day of fasting."  She sighed
deeply.  "A miserable prospect, don't you think?"



She stared at the house directly ahead of her which was soon to be her
home, a feeling of melancholia creeping over her.  Was this to be her
life now, she wondered, with rigid rules to be adhered to?  As a.

representative of Parliament, would Edward expect'

her to obey his will when they were married?  Fear touched her heart,
which Isabel's sharp ears detected when she next spoke.

"I wonder what Christmas will be like at Deighton Hall this year," she
murmured absently.  "There will be no waits or wassailers, no mummers
acting out St.  George and the Dragon."

"With Beelzebub and the Prince of Paradise as the main characters,"
Anne followed on with a sigh of regret.

"I don't suppose there will be any plum pudding or wassail bowl being
filled again and again with spiced ale, either, as is always the custom
for the people of the neighbourhood to partake of.  I suppose Edward
will insist we abide by the new laws which have been imposed upon
us."

"I do believe Edward takes a more moderate view on such matters,"
remarked Isabel with a malicious smile, pleased to hear Jane sound
somewhat disgruntled.  "He was always one to enjoy himself as much as
the next man--and I do not believe for one minute that he's changed."

"Maybe not," retorted Jane sharply, feeling tired and irritated by
Isabel's high flaunting voice.  "But he will 'have to adhere to the
rules like the rest of us, nevertheless."

"Why--what's this?"  murmured Isabel, her eyes narrowing with a glitter
of malice.  "Do I detect a hint

12 !

of regret in your tone?  Perhaps marriage to Edward is not such a happy
prospect after all."

Beginning to look a little uneasy at the tone of the conversation, Anne
hurriedly suggested they take a walk down to the lake.  Jane readily
accepted--and was thankful when Isabel haughtily declined, remarking
that she was quite worn out by all the walking and would go back to her
chamber to rest a while.

"Take no notice oflsabel, Jane," smiled Anne sympathetically when they
were alone.  "She's envious because you are to marry Edward and not
she.  After the wedding I think she will return to Beestone Lodge
immediately."

Following in Anne's wake down the narrow path to the lake, Jane
couldn't help Wishing Isabel wouldn't wait until after the wedding to
return to her home.  How much happier she would be if she returned
forthwith.  But musing over Edward, she found herself smiling, for she
was discovering things about him that surprised her--like now, when he
had spoken so quickly in her defence.

Since coming to Deighton Hall, she had also discovered he possessed a
sense of humour, and there were times when he would make her
laugh--which was something she hadn't done in a long time.  At dinner,
with promptings from Anne, he would delve into his fascinating store of
news and incidents of his military experiences at home and abroad,
regaling them with stories for them to comment upon and enjoy.  She
sighed, quite confounded by him.

Chapter 5'even

Shaded by willows sweeping the water, Jane was sitting contentedly by
the lake.  Even as a child she had been irresistibly drawn to it by the
swans, for large numbers would congregate on the wide expanse of water
for breeding and the summer moult, most of them remaining throughout
the year.

Quite enchanted, she watched two Mute swans, a cob and its panner, with
bright orange-red bills and black knobs, glide sedately by, carrying
their downy young on their backs, hardly creating a ripple on the still
surface of the lake, whilst Anne, with her legs folded modestly beneath
her skins, quietly and with deep concentration on her face, plaited the
strong stalks' of reed grass dexterously together to form a garland. It
was early evening and the sun was low in the sky, shining down onto the
glassy surface of the lake..

Neither of the girls were aware of Edward's presence until he was upon
them.  He stood looking down, unable to tear his gaze away, thinking
how pretty they looked, a perfect picture of demure elegance as they
sat on the grass.  The birds were singing in a sky dotted with white
clouds and a dappled herd of cows grazed contentedly in the pasture
across the lake.

In her cool beauty Jane was sweet, curving and graceful like the swans
on the water.  Lulled by the sultry warmth and the gentle lapping of
the water on the bank, he sensed her passivity.  Dressed all in yellow
with her skins spread about her like a giant sunflower and her unbound
hair, a curious mixture of bright shades of silver and pale gold,
coiling down to her waist, her face held a sensuous purity as she gazed
wistfully at the water.

t He was glad she hadn't elected to wear the dark-coloured dresses of
mourning, and he was happy to observe that the pale, spent look was
disappearing from her face, and that colour was beginning to glow in
her cheeks.  Only when he stopped beside her did she glance up at him,
her face soft, her eyes sparkling.

Feeling her heartbeat quicken, Jane greeted him with a little smile,
squinting her eyes in the sun's fading brilliance.  He seemed relaxed
and she watched as the gentle breeze played with his short dark locks
and saw how warm his gaze was as he looked down at her.  His shin,
white and loose, was open to halfway down his broad chest, tucked
untidily into the waistband of his black breeches.  Quickly she averted
her eyes.

"You looked far away," he said softly.  "Of what were you thinking?"

"Oh of how beautiful the swans are," she answered softly, falling in
with his mood and watching as two more went gliding serenely by. "They
ac such splendid birds, don't you think, although quite mysterious.  I
have been told by Anne that they usually pair for life-or until the
death of their partner.

Are you aware that there are those who say they carry the souls of our
ancestors?"

"Yes.  Which is why my own chose the swan as their emblem.  One of them
is reputed to have borne it on his pennon at Agincourt.  Their
whiteness has been associated with purity and their spirits forever
elude us.  They are linked with innocence and 'grace' but they are also
remote and unattainable."  Edward looked down at Jane, calmly meeting
her gaze for a long instant, aware of her sparkling amber eyes, wide
and innocent, studying him.  He smiled softly.  "You look like Venus
sitting by a silver pool, and yet you also remind me of a swan,
graceful and innocentot unlike a swan-maiden.  Will you promise me not
to change into a swan and fly away?"

"If I could do that, then I would have done so on the first day of the
siege," she replied softly, 'and I could only do so if I were
immortal."

Still looking into the dark depths of his eyes, Jane could feel herself
being drawn into his mesmeric gaze.  Overcome by a perplexing emotion,
a rose flush spread over her milky-smooth complexion, for she was shy
suddenly, and looked away, feeling a moment of panic when he sat on the
grass close by her.  Anne--having overheard their words and observed
the intimacy that had sprung up between theme-took this as a cue to
leave them alone.

"Anne!  You need not leave us," Jane exclaimed with sudden panic, her
eyes entreating her to stay.

But Anne laughed merrily, her eyes sparkling mischievously, ignoring
her plea.  "Oh--but I think I must.  A betrothed couple reunited after
so long a parting must have time to be alone together before they
marry."  Without another word' she placed her finished garland
playfully on her brother's head and skipped off in the direction of the
house to find her mother.

"We are hardly a couple of star-crossed lovers," Jane retorted sharply,
feeling that the peace of a moment earlier had been broken.

Anne's words caused Edward to chuckle softly as he reached up and
removed the garland from his head, stretching out and placing it on the
water and watching as'it floated away from the bank.

"Nevertheless, it is an appealing thought," he murmured, stretching out
on the grassy bank and turning sideways, lazily lounging on one arm and
admiring her lovely profile as she continued to watch the swans glide
on the calm water of the lake.

"I would say there is another star in the sky, my lord.  One which
outshines me in your eyes, for it would seem you are quite dazzled,"
Jane remarked, still chafing over her conversation with Isabel, and the
overly familiar manner she always adopted when she spoke of Edward.

To her chagrin, instead of looking guilty or abashed, Edward raised a
quizzical eyebrow and smiled infuriatingly.

"By that I can only assume you are referring to Isabel.  Am I
correct?"

Jane found his teasing smile intolerable.  "If you like,"

Edward became thoughtful, aware of the feelings that had prompted that
remark, that Isabel had little liking for Jane--and that for all her
attempt at civility, Jane liked Isabel no better.

"You don't like Isabel very much, do you?"

"She has never made it easy for me to like her--and she has never gone
out of her way to claim my friendship.  She has made it abundantly
clear to me that she wants you for herself."

Edward smiled at her mercilessly, well pleased that Isabel's
attentiveness had succeeded in rousing such emotive feelings within his
'betrothed.

"Is it possible that you are a little jealous of my cousin, Jane?  Is
that it?  Isabel has always been one to make an impression, I grant
you, but I would have thought that such an emotion was beyond you."

"I am not jealous, Edward," said Jane indignantly.  "Far from it.  But
nor am I stupid.  If I am to be your wife I will not be made a fool
of--not by Isabel or any other woman who makes sheep's eyes at you."

"Then you may set your mind at rest.  I am very fond of Isabel, but she
is my cousin--and I have never thought of her as anything else."

"But you are attracted by her."

"No.  At least not in the sense you imply."

"Are you telling me it's all in my imagination?"  'l think you make too
much of it.  Certainly nothing has ever happened between Isabel and me
to substantiate your accusations.  She is very beautiful--and l would
be lying if I said anything to the contrary.  But she is of no
consequence.  It is you I am to marry.  Not Isabel--and I am not
dazzled by her.  You far outshine her in my eyes," he said softly, his
gaze focusing on her mouth, a generous mouth, a mouth made to be
kissed.

"Thank you," said Jane, feeling his warmth, his masculinity and the
power of his body stretched out so close to her own, finding that being
so close 'to him was having a strange effect on her.  She felt
altogether too vulnerable and unsure of how to respond to him as she
tried not to show surprise or emotion, but she felt a peculiar
fluttering in her stomach and a sudden lightness of heart.

He was so essentially worldly that she felt stimulated in a way she
never had before, and she was' not surprised that women like Isabel
were attracted by him, for there was a strong element of physical
sexual allure that she had never encountered in any other man.

Edward laughed softly at the maidenly blush that coloured her cheeks.
"My dear Jane.  Are you not aware that I am attempting to indulge in a
form of seduction?  I tell you that you are one of the most beautiful
women I have ever seen and you merely say "thank you"."

Frowning, Jane looked into his eyes seriously.  "Please don't jest,
Edward."

He ceased to smile.  "I never jest about serious matters."

"It---it's just that I'm not used to being seduced by anyone."

"I am thankful to hear it," he replied, never having doubted her
innocence, for her lack of experience showed in her maidenly blushes
and discomposure whenever he tried to come too close to her.

'i--I am not practised in such things," she.  said



hesitantly, feeling warm and embarrassed beneath-'

his bold look, but not unpleasantly so.

"That can easily be put right on instruction," he said softly,
meaningfully, for sheltered from inquisitive eyes by the curtain of
long, trailing tendrils of the willow trees, it would take only a short
time for him to turn her from a virtuous, innocent girl into a warm and
passionate woman.

Jane's eyes seemed to be caught by his.  They conveyed strange things
to her, stirring her instincts as they had when he had kissed her on
his arrival to Bowden Manor.  He was smiling, but in his dark eyes a
glow began, causing he rto look away in confusion.

"Wh--what is a swan-maiden?"  she asked suddenly, in an attempt to
bring 'some normality back to her rapidly beating heart.  "I--I cannot
say that I've ever heard the expression before."

"What!  Do you mean to tell me you've never seen the tapestry along the
gallery depicting one of the stories that abound about swan-maidens?"

"No.  But then, there are so many tapestries hanging at Deighton Hall
that it has quite escaped my notice."

"Then I can see I shall have to tell you.  The tales which abound in
legend and myths are many and varied, but the one most familiar to me
is the one told to me by my Irish nurse when I was a boy," he said,
watching her face as he spoke.  "It is of an Irish legend, of a young
man who was one of the fairy people, who dreamt he saw the most
beautiful gift in Erin and fell in love with her.  After searching for
her, he came upon a group of young maidens and she was one of them.  It
transpired that she spent alternate years as a girl and a swan---but it
was only as a swan that she could be won.  The young man returned the
following summer to find the group of swans, and on calling her name
she came to him.  After he changed himself into a swan, they flew away
together and were happy ever after."

Wrapped in the timeless lull that had fallen with the early evening,
the dimming light filled with hazy grey shadows, Edward fell silent,
smiling into Jane's eyes, which were wide with wonder.  She looked
quite enchanted, for as she listened to him a curious passivity stole
over her so that she was almost deprived of identity.

"There.  That is one of the legends that exists of a swan-maiden. 
Laugh at it if you must, for my nurse was full of such nonsensical
stories."

"That may be but I cannot laugh at it.  It's a beautiful story and I
believe it implicitly."

"There is another story of another swan-maiden, who can also change her
form at will providing she has an essential garment which is usually a
feather robe.  In this the young man who falls in love with her and
hides the robe to ensure she will remain with him forever.  They marry
and live happily together, until one day she finds the robe.  She cries
as though her heart is broken unable to resist her fate, she is
compelled by an overwhelming urge to change back into a swan.  She
flies away into the unknown to join her own kind, leaving her husband
brokenhearted."

Jane looked at him a little sadly.  "How sad.  I think I prefer the
first story."  But then she brightened, smiling at him from under her
lashes 'a little coyly.  "You astonish me, Edward, With your natural



aptitude for telling stories I think you have missed your role in life.
Any children we might have will have no need of story books with you to
hand.  When shall we be married?"  she asked, the touching tales about
the swan-maidens reminding her of her own situation, stirring her out
of the fantasy world into which Edward's sonorous voice had sent
her--only,

unlike the young men in the-stories, her betrothed was not in love with
her.

"Why?"  he asked, sitting up and raking his fingers through his unruly
hair.  "Does your enquiry mean you are eager for the ceremony to take
place?"

"Of course not," she replied sharply.  "I am merely asking so that I
can write to Maria.  It will take three weeks for the banns to be read,
will it not?"

"Normally that would be the practice---but I cannot wait three weeks. 
I should have told you that I have obtained a special licence.  We are
to be married on Thursday week."

Jane's face whitened and she stared at him aghast, anger replacing her
confusion of a moment before.

"Thursday week!  Why---that is little more than eight days.  Yes,
Edward," she protested, 'you should have told me.  But why?  It--it is
too soon.  If you are in such haste to return to your military duties,
why can we not postpone the wedding until you are next at Deighton?
Unless, of course, you are afraid I will fly away like the swan-maiden
in the story."

"Then I would be forced to hide your feather mantle Which would change
you into a swan--and in so doing prevent you from flying away," he
teased gently.

Jane flushed, hot and indignant, her eyes becoming locked on his as she
refused to let herself be mollified.  "But there's the difference.  The
young men in the stories were deeply in love with their
swan-maidens--whereas you and I do not suffer from the same affliction.
So tell me, Edward.  Do my wishes count for nothing?  Am I not to be
consulted in anything to do with our marriage?"

Edward looked at her hard, his face becoming set in lines of smiling
challenge, making it perfectly clear to Jane when he saw the rebellion
spring to her eyes that she understood he would not be gainsaid.

"In this, no.  After the ceremony I shall have to leave almost
immediately'.  The visitor who came earlier brought me a message making
it abundantly clear that-it is imperative I go to Windsor, where what
remains of m3/old regiment is being integrated into the New Model Army.
I have to leave as soon as possible."

"Then for that I suppose I should be grateful," Jane retorted
sharply.

Edward smiled, his manner infuriatingly calm and superior.

'l said almost immediately.  Not so soon that I shall leave without
first sampling the delights of our marriage.  That is one pleasure I
shall not be deprived of," he said softly, his words full of meaning,
for whether she loved or hated him he had one need, which was to bring
her to life, to make her yielding and soft, pliant to his touch, to
chasten her rebellious heart and east away the invisible cloak of
depression that shrouded her.  He would lead her into the depths of
passion, showings her what joy, what total fulfilment could be achieved
by the merging of two



bodies," so that when he finally left her she would crave his return.

His words caused Jane's anger to increase.  Tossing her head, she
glared at him defiantly.  "No doubt you will take that which pleases
you, my lords-but I can tell you it will be no pleasure for me."

Jane's instinct told her she must go--yet Edward was set on her
staying.  Quickly she rose, but he caught her foot and pulled her down.
She lay on the ground, momentarily stunned by the force of his assault
and as mute as the swans on the lake.  He lay close beside her, poised
above her and blocking out the sky, the light, her surroundings, so
that she felt a rush of helplessness.  and was aware of nothing else
but his overwhelming presence.  His eyes held a burning glow of intent,
but deep in their depths there was something else she had never seen
before, something that defied analysis and made her afraid.

"How can you know you will not find my love making pleasurable, my
pet," he said, his eyes fastened on her trembling lips, 'until you've
sampled it?"

Panic seized her but she was powerless to escape.  "Please, Edward. Let
me go.  You would not force me?"

"If I have to," he murmured huskily, the subtle fragrance emanating
from her body firing his desire.

He held her hands above her head, his face poised above hem, close,
looking deep into her eyes, his warm breath caressing her face.
Lowering his head, he covered her mouth with his own, his lips
insistent parting her own and kissing her slowly, long and deep.  She
strained to resist the feel of his hands on her body, his mouth on
hers, but her weak flesh began to respond and at last she yielded, her
lips answering his in mindless rapture.

She became languid and relaxed with sensuality, uttering a moan and a
sigh of pleasure.  Sensations like tight buds were opened and exploded
into flowers of splendour, growing stronger and sweeter.  She felt the
hardness of his body pressed close to her own and a melting softness
flowed through her veins, evoking feelings she had never experienced
before or thought herself capable of feeling.

Edward lifted his head and looked down at her with burning black eyes
before his mouth claimed hers once more.  There was nothing gentle
about this kiss, not like the first.  This time it was hard and brutal,
making her realise the tender kiss had been but a ploy to what would
inevitably follow if she remained.

She tried to fight, to get away, but she was filled with a like need,
Wanton and shameless and, closing her eyes, her treacherous woman's
body curved to his.  She arched her long white neck as he buried his
lips, warm and soft, in the creamy hollow of her throat, trailing them
down to the partly naked gentle swell of her breasts above the delicate
lace collar of her gown before finding her lips once more, sending her
soaring into a void of violent pleasure.

Her fear was gone and she was devoid of will.  Time ceased to exist and
nothing that had gone before mattered to her then.  Her body glowed and
throbbed with delicious need, and she was drowning in a sea of pleasure
as all her dreams of love burst into shattering reality.



When Edward pulled back she was not aware of it at first, but her
disappointment was real when she realised he was no longer kissing her.
She opened her eyes to see him looking down at her, and he watched as
she struggled to return to the conscious world.  Gently he kissed her
again.

"You are wanton, my Jane," he murmured with his lips against hers.
"Wanton and unable to protect yourself from your own desires.  You say
you are inexperienced in matters of love--and yet your body seems to
know how to respond perfectly."

His soft words and quiet smile brought Jane quickly to her
senses--angry with him as much as she was with herself for yielding to
his will so readily, shamelessly, telling herself she should have known
better.

"You must forgive me, Jane," he said smoothly, rising quickly to his
feet.  "I got quite carried away by your charms.  I had to stop lest I
forgot myself altogether and tumbled you here and now which would never
do.  A week is not too long to wait until you are my wife."

Mingled rage and horror at her own reaction brought Jane staggering to
her feet, angrily brushing away his outstretched hand.  Edward's
seductive dark eyes met hers and she realised her body had provided the
information as to its willingness to comply with his needs as he had
wanted.  She stood looking at him with her cheeks burning, trembling,
fuming, unable to conceal her feelings, the gentle amusement he did not
attempt to hide in his eyes making her blood boil.

"How dare you!"  she cried in outrage.  "How dare you!  ! thought you
were serious when all the time you were merely amusing yourself by
playing with me.  I am no common trollop to be tumbled at will--unless,
of course, molesting respectable females is the usual thing with you.
You--you are disgusting--and if I were a man I would call you out and
have you horsewhipped."

Edward sighed a smile curving his handsome mouth.  "And there was !
thinking you wanted me to make love to you."

"Save your breath, Edward.  I am not interested."  Turning from him, no
longer able to look upon his handsome face without reaching out and
slapping the insolent smile from his lips, hearing him laugh softly
behind her, she hurriedly ran towards the house, the memory of his
burning kisses, of his hands as they had caressed her body, and all the
dark and secret pleasures they had aroused in her, filling her with
fresh paroxysms of anger.  Not even when she reached the sanctuary of
her bedchamber did the humiliating sickness leave her.

When Jane saw Edward the next morning in the hall as he was preparing
to go out, her stomach tensed at the memory of what had occurred
between them by the lake.  As he approached her she looked into his
eyes, which were startling and distracting--making her feel
surprisingly weak.  Helplessly confused, she was still trying to sort
out her thoughts, for so many conflicting and unfamiliar emotions were
at war within her--anger, humiliation, hurt pride---but also
frightening and exciting emotions that were bewildering, weakening her
resolve to remain



detached from him to the point where restraint ended and submission to
his will began.

After yesterday, when she hadn't wanted him to stop kissing her, no
longer could she maintain her indifference towards him, or ignore the
strange forces that were at work between them, drawing them together.
Their marriage was to have been an act she would undertake without love
because her father had asked it of her, but being in his presence so
much of late--and her weakened state brought about by his kisses then
she was at a loss to know What to think.  How could she not love him
and yet desire him at the same time?

What had he done to her?  What had happened to her?  She had fallen to
sleep the previous night dreaming of his naked body making love to her,
and she remembered how she had woken with frustrated desire and how she
had thrust her face into the pillows with shame afterwards, outraged
that she should feel this way--and hating Edward for being
responsible.

He had called her wanton and shameless, and he was right, for even now
she wanted him to repeat what he had done to her--and more.  They were
not romantically attached and yet she was not so naive as not to
recognise that his kisses of yesterday had been given out of passion
rather than duty.  His behaviour towards her had been both playful and
serious, and he seemed to delight in her confusion.  When she thought
of her marriage which was to take place a week hence, when she would
once again experience the same pleasurable sensations he had woken
inside her, then she flushed and trembled like a giddy young bride.

Edward looked at her, his eyes softening at the tantalising picture she
presented in her pale green dress, the fabric shaking like a leaf in
the breeze blowing in through the half-open door.  The tender pink
flesh of her lips looked so appealing that he was tempted to savour
them as he had yesterday--a temptation he resisted, for now, when other
members of the household might appear at any moment, was neither the
time nor the place.

Her hair was arranged in sleek coils about her head, making her face
look naked, giving it the appearance of fragility and wantonness, a
striking contrast that touched him.  In no way did he regret what had
happened between them the previous day, but it had only succeeded in
increasing his impatience for their marriage to take place, when she
would no longer be free to run from him as she done then in her outrage
at his tender assault on her virtue.

"I would like to speak with you, Jane-before I leave to meet with my
bailiff," he said, pulling on his leather gloves.

"Of course."  His voice was quiet, tender almost and she stood before
him with her hands clasped decorously in front of her, preparing
herself for whatever he had to say.  She had the courage to look
directly at him, seeing his eyes were expressionless.  Unconsciously
she fixed her gaze on his mouth, the mouth which had succeeded in
raising her to heights of such rapturous delight, and the memory made
her pulse rate soar and caused her to flush guiltily,



making her realise just how fragile her control was over her emotions.
She wondered if he could see her tremble.

"I wish to apologise for my behaviour by the lake yesterday.  It was
without excuse.  It was quite wrong of me to take advantage of you like
I did."

His frankness startled her.  "You--apologise?"  "Yes.  I behaved badly.
Am I forgiven?  "Why--I--I--yes.  Of course."

"Being raised to behave like a lady, with decorum and restraint, you
were right to be outraged.  But do not deny your womanliness, Jane.
However, I have to say that I was quite surprised by your passionate
response," he teased her gently.

"If you think I am too responsive, then perhaps you should find
yourself a Puritan miss to marry," Jane replied coolly.

He grimaced.  "I am no Puritan," he said, his lips curling
distastefully around the word, 'nor do I want a Puritan wife.  I was
delighted to find your lips hot and sweet and that you were not cold
and unresponsive to my caresses .  that you welcomed my touch.  Your
reaction pleased me greatly.  You are extremely beautiful--you cannot
blame me for being carried away by it.

"I have been so preoccupied with the war of late--with fighting battles
and keeping the soldiers in my regiment in order that I was quite
distracted on finding.  myself alone with you.  However, I promise to
keep my ardour in control until we have said our vows in church and you
are my wife no matter how difficult that may be.  So take care not to
drive me to distraction, Jane, lest I forget what !  do," he murmured,
his dark eyes dancing wickedly.

His voice was soft and deep, and completely irresistible.  Discomfited,
lane looked away, finding it harder and harder to maintain her cool
reserve when his overpowering physical presence reminded her so vividly
of their close embrace and made her head spin.

A groom appeared to tell him his horse was saddled, and he left her
then.  with a smile and a bow, which he made with such flourish that he
could have been mistaken for a King's man.  She watched him go, utterly
bewildered, before sighing and going in search of Anne.

Jane first noticed that all was not well with Anne when she returned
from Deighton the following day with her mother, after visiting the
sick and needy.  Lady Blanche had much on her mind and appeared not to
notice that Anne was agitated and out of sorts, nor did Isabel, who had
spent the morning riding about the countryside--no doubt in the hope of
meeting Edward, Jane strongly suspected, who was overseeing the work at
one of the mines.

"Jane," said Anne, taking her aside when dinner was over, 'it is
imperative that I speak with you at once on a matter of the utmost
importance.  It cannot be put off any longer," she whispered
urgently.

"Why Anne!  What on earth can it be that makes you appear so.  agitated
Come--let us take a stroll around the garden and you can tell me what
it is."

"No, Jane.  We must go somewhere more private."  Jane looked at her
with concern.  She really did look worried about something.  "Then come
with me



to my bedchamber.  No one will disturb us there?

Not until the door was closed did Jane turn and look at Anne, who stood
wringing her hands in consternation--quite distraught.

"Now tell me what is wrong, Anne."

"Oh, Jane.  Something quite extraordinary has happened.  Today when I
went into Deighton with Mother I--I saw Simon--Simon
Butteridge--James's friend.  You do remember him, don't you?"

Jane felt her heart skip a beat and fear gripped her.  She stared at
Anne in growing alarm, for after leaving Bowden she had thought he
would be well out of the area by now.

"Simon?"  she whispered, her voice scarcely discernible.  "Of course I
remember Simon.  How could I possibly forget someone who was such a
dear friend to us all?  You have seen him?"

Anne nodded.  "Yes Here was in the market place dressed in such
dreadful clothes that it's a wonder I recognised him But I did, of
course.  I could never forget Simon, Jane--you know that."

She spoke with so much passion that it caused Jane to look at her
curiously.  Her face was ashen, her brown eyes enormous--and there was
no mistaking the warm, rapturous glow of excitement in their depths,
which caused Jane's heart to sink with disappointment, for she well
remembered how Simon had succeeded in captivating Anne's young
heart--as wei as her own, in those early, halcyon days before the War.
She also recalled how Simon's eyes had glowed fondly when he had asked
after her when they had met in the church at Bowden.

"Oh, Jane he has been wounded in a skirmish and is very ill indeed'

Jane frowned, remembering he had told her he had been wounded.  He had
tried to reassure her that it was only slight and was nothing to get
alarmed about, but she remembered how she had not been entirely
convinced at the time.

"He is ill?"

"Yes.  Clearly his wound has become infected and needs tending
urgently."

"Was--was he alone?"

"No.  He he was with another man--who supported him.  But--oh,
Jane--what can be done?  He is in such danger.  If the local
Parliamentary troop should capture him, he will be imprisoned for
sure."

Swallowing hard, Jane shook her head slowly as she tried to digest what
Anne had told her, at the same time realising that Edward had dominated
her mind so completely that not once in twenty-four hours had Simon
entered her thoughts.

Chapter Eight

l never stopped thinking of Simon, Jane' said Anne in her gentle voice,
her doe-like eyes fixed on her friend's.  "The feelings he stirred in
me before the war were those of a child--I realise that now--for they
have been heightened by absence and my dreams of him.  However, the man
I saw in Deighton market place today was a hundred times more thrilling
than the one I remember.  He is no longer an easy, bright-eyed youth,
but a man--lean and bronzed by long campaigns hardened by war.  He is
the same Simon--yet so very different now he is a man.  He was dressed
as a peasant, but he had the bearing of a prince."

Jane stared at her, remembering that look of old on Anne's face, of
quiet, thrilling expectancy, which had always gripped her when she had
been in the presence of Simon Butteridge.

Pain 'tore through her heart on hearing Anne speak so lovingly of
Simon--the man she herself had dreamed of also, dreams that had
sustained her throughout the long days of the siege when she believed
that her pledge to marry Edward was no longer binding.  But all that
had changed for, unlike Anne, she was no longer free to voice her
thoughts.  The despair that swamped her was as bleak as the wind that
blew on top of the moor in winter, and the impact sent her tumbling
down into a chasm as black and deep as-Grindly Mine up the valley.

"Did Simon tell you that I saw him at Bowden after he had been involved
in the skirmish---the day I left to come here?"

Anne was greatly surprised to hear this.  "Why--no.  Did you, Jane?"

"Yes.  He was hoping to find James or my father at home---to request
their aid.  Sadly he did not know of their demise and was deeply
shocked to hear of it."

Quickly she told Anne of their conversation in the church and that he
did not appear to be troubled too much by his wound unlike Captain
Digby, who was obviously much weakened by his.

"Tom, my father's steward, assured me he would direct them to a safe
house until Captain Digby was strong enough to travel."

"If Captain Digby is the gentleman he is with, then he does seem to be
much better--and they did say they had been sheltering somewhere for
the past few days.  Despite the infection of his own wound and the
misery this is causing him, Simon is eager to continue on his way--to
rejoin the King as soon as possible."

"Where is Simon now, Anne?"  Jane asked, knowing she must concentrate
on the practicalities of the situation and not be weakened by what was
in her heart.



'l--I gave him directions to go to Old Hall Farm up the valley on
Grindly Moor.  I know it's a long way for them to climb, but they had
one horse between them so it should not be too difficult for them to
reach it.  I know Mr.  Jarvis, the farmer, is a loyal supporter of the
King and has often sheltered fugitives in the past."

Jane stared at her in surprise.  "How do you know this?"

"From Mother.  Far from being passive since the outbreak of war, she
has often aided fugitives---hiding them, feeding them, and ministering
to their wounds before helping them on their way to the next safe
house, Whether it be south or west.  Despite Edward's decision to
oppose the King, my mother's confidence that her own opinions are the
fight ones has never faltered."

Jane continued to stare at her in disbelief, feeling nothing but
admiration for Lady Blanche.  "Does Edward know about this?"

"Good gracious, no.  He would be furious."  She moved closer to Jane,
her voice urgent and compelling when she next spoke.  "What are we to
do, Jane?  Simon desperately needs someone to take care of him."

"Yes," she agreed, 'you are right.  We must go to him.  Does Mr. 
Jarvis not have a wife who will minister to him?"

"No.  He is a widower and lives alone."

"Thn what about your mother, Lady Blanche?  Does she know about Simon?
Did she see you speaking to him?"

"No.  It was market day, so I was browsing among the stalls while she
visited one of the houses when i happened to come upon him.  I--I
thought of telling her, but there is so much constraint between her and
Edward at this time that I did not wish to make matters worse should he
find out."

"I see," said Jane, having noticed the strained atmosphere that existed
between Lady Blanche and her son, despite her assertion that they were
a united family, that love and loyalty towards each other were
paramount to all else.  "Then you are right.  I think it best she knows
nothing of this.  Please God we can keep it from her--and Edward," she
whispered, knowing his rage would be great indeed if he should discover
what they were doing "Can any of the servants be tm; ted do you
know?"

"That I cannot say ut Seth, the head groom, can be.  He always
accompanied Mother on her missions."

"That will be useful--we cannot go up the valley alone without raising
curiosity and suspicion.  We will require all our ingenuity, Anne, if
we are to see Simon.  Although if Isabel knows we are to go riding,
there is every danger of her wanting to accompany us."

"Then let us go now," suggested Anne eagerly.  "It is the perfect
opportunity with Edward travelling to Hopton Hall to call on Sir John
Geli.  He is not expected to return until late tomorrow morning at the
earliest--although I am at a loss to know why he should wish to
associate with a man whose moral sabound, se reputation for adulterous
affairs is quite shocking considering the Puritan element of
Parliamenti'

Jane knew this to-be true, for Sir John Geli had



been an acquaintance of Edward's for many year sand his father's before
that, although their divided loyalties at the beginning of the War had
created a rift between them.  Sir John, having secured most of

Derbyshire for Parliament during the early months of the War, was one
of the leading lights of the

Parliamentary cause in the North Midlands.  How ever, Jane experienced
a quiver of fear; she was not unaware that he had proved extremely
successful in keeping his native county virtually free of Royalists.

It was imperative that Simon recovered his health in order to find his
way back to the King's army.

"Yes, now would be a good time.  It won't be dark for hours yet.  But
what about Isabel?"

"At this moment I believe she is soaking in a hot tub--and Mother is
resting."  It was too good an opportunity to miss.  "Then let us ask
Seth to accompany us up to Grindly Moor.  The horses can be got ready
whilst we change.

Accompanied by Seth, Jane and Anne rode up the valley to Grindly Moor.
The stream which they followed, having hewn its way over the centuries
into a deep gully, tumbled over its rocky bed.  Its gentle flow was
deceptive, giving no evidence now of the turbulent spirit with which it
would become possessed after the winter months, when the sun would melt
the deep drifting snows high up on the moor and unlock the frozen
earth, creating a force of water that would go crashing and thundering
down the valley advancing to the swollen waters of the River Derwent.

Old Hall Farm stood on the edge of the moor, a small isolated farm--a
relatively new dwelling, built in grey stone with mullioned windows and
a heavy stone-slated roof, a style of domestic building that was
gradually becoming part of the personality of the Peak District.,

Carrying a bag containing salves and medicines--most of them of a
herbal nature made by Lady Blanche in the still room at Deighton Hall
the small party.  rode into the farm yard, hurriedly dismounting and,
their arrival anticipated, were met on the doorstep of the house by Mr.
Jarvis, an elderly, hardworking sheep farmer who had lost both his wife
and two sons in the space of five years.

His wife had died of a fever and his sons had been killed fightin, g
for the King--one at Edgehill and the other at Marston Moor.  He was an
ardent supporter of the King, who never turned a fellow of the same
conviction from his door not even should his own life be put in
danger.

After confirming that Sir Simon and Captain Digby were sheltering
inside his house, quickly Mr.  Jarvis showed Jane and Anne inside,
leaving Seth with the horses.  The dim light filtering through the
grimy windows to the untidy interior caused them both to blink and
adjust heir eyes.  Clearly it was the abode of a man who lived alone,
for it was full of jumble and clutter, without the orderliness a woman
brings to a home.  They followed Mr.  Jarvis up the stairs to a small
room high up in the caves.  It contained an assortment of odds and
ends, leaving little room for the straw ma tress aid on the floor in
one corner, but at least it was reasonably clean and warm.  Simon lay
stretched out on the mattress with his



eyes closed.  Captain Digby slumped on a stool beside him, but rose and
bowed his head politely when Jane and Anne entered.

"How is he?"  asked Jane, her eyes coming to rest on Simon's face,
alarmed at how flushed he was with beads of perspiration standing out
on his brow.

Captain Digby.  shrugged and, though he looked weary, it appeared he
had recovered from the worst of his own wound.

"Much worse.  He has a leg wound which has become infected.  He feared
as much when' he left you at Bowden, miss, but he didn't want to say
anything for fear of worrying you unnecessarily.  Over the days we've
been on the road it was clear it was getting much worse.  He keeps
slipping in and out of consciousness and, as you see, he breathes with
difficulty."

Overcome with concern, Anne brushed past Jane and sank to her knees
beside the mattress, taking one of Simon's hands in her own and
brushing back a stray lock of fair hair from his face.  Feeling the
gentle contact; Simon opened his eyes, moving them vaguely about the
room, his feverish, glittering gaze passing over the worried faces of
his visitors, a feeble smile moving on his lips in recognition:
However, Jane saw that she was not the one who captured his attention,
but Anne.  A look of intense joy spread over his features when he
looked at her and his fingers tightened around hers

"Jane!  Anne!"  he sighed, the effort causing him to close his eyes.
"Dear Lordml think I must have died and gone to heavenmfor surely these
are the faces of angels.  As you see, I did not get far from Bowden,

Jane," he breathed, 'but I'll soon be well and on my way again."

"Of course you will, Simon," said Anne.  "We have brought salves with
which to dress your wound--and some of my mother's remedies to help
bring down your fever."  She looked at Captain Digby.

"Where is he wounded, Captain Digby?"

"His leg his left' thigh, that is."

"Then would you mind uncovering it so that it can be cleaned and
dressed."

"Aye--glad to," and when Anne rose, stepping back to make room for him,
without further ado he soon had the wound exposed--a dark sword wound
full of pus, the edges grossly swollen and the flesh around it red and
inflamed.

The hideous appearance disturbed them greatly, although Jane was used
to such sights, having tended many wounds like it during the siege. 
But Anne had not so strong a stomach and turned her head away.  After a
long moment of trying to compose herself, and taking a deep breath, she
turned and applied herself to helping Jane, knowing this was not the
time to be-squeamish.

Bent on the urgency of the task in hand they did what was necessary.
With Clean water supplied by Mr.  Jarvis, and working in the light of a
wax candle held by Captain Digby, they cleaned the wound as best they
could, smearing it with pungent-smelling ointment before dressing it
with clean bandages, thankful that Simon had slipped away into
unconsciousness and remained quiet throughout the operation.



After several minutes he opened his eyes, enabling

Anne to pour some of her mother's powders mixed in warm water into his
mouth, in the hope that it would help reduce the fever.  Side by side
Jane and

Anne stood looking down at him.  Again he closed his eyes, his face
seeming to shrink into the pillow.

After several more minutes his breathing seemed to become easier but
his flesh was still burning.

Jane glanced out of the small window, becoming aware of darkness
beginning to fall over the moor for the first time, and that they must
return home before they were missed.

"Come, Anne," she said softly.  "There is nothing more we can do for
Simon tonight.  See--it is almost dark outside.  We must return
home."

A sudden spasm of pain tore over Anne's features and she jerked her
head round to look at Jane.  "I cannot leave him, Jane."

Jane thought she must have misheard her.  you must.  You cannot remain
here.  Mr.  Jarvis and Captain Digby will take care of him until we are
able to return.  Is that not so, Captain Digby?"  she asked, noticing
that Mr.  Jarvis had left them.

"Aye.  I can't speak for Mr.  Jarvis.  He has his animals to tend--but
we've been through much together, Sir Simon and I. We'll neither of us
leave the other until we're back with the army."

Jane smiled her thanks.  "There--you see, Anne.  You have no need to
worry.  Leave some of the powders for Captain Digby to administer
should Simon wake during the night."

"But what if he doesn't wake?  He might die, Janed she whispered
urgently.  "I must stay with him until the crisis has passed."

"You can't," Jane cried; shaken by Anne's words, for she knew there was
much truth in what she said: there was every possibility that Simon's
conditi n would deteriorate--that he might die.

"He is ill.  He needs me.  I will not be apart from him at this time.
lAnd besides," she said, looking to where Captain Digby was slouched
once more on the stool beside the bed, 'it seems to me that Captain
Digby is in need of sleep himself."

"But I. cannot return to Deighton Hall alone."  Anne was adamant. "Yes,
you can.  I'll return in the morning.  Take Seth back with you and have
him return at first light.  That way no one will know I have been
anywhere other than in my room all night."

Seeing the hard gleam of determination in her eyes, and the square,
stubborn set of her chin, Jane thought how infuriatingly like her
brother she looked.  Knowing that her mind was set on staying with
Simon, that it was useless trying to persuade her to return home, Jane
sighed and turned towards the door without further protest.

Riding back down the vality in the gathering darkness to Deighton Hall
without Anne, Jane was overwhelmed by such an acute sense of loss that
there was no room for anything in her heart or mind but this one vast
disappointment, which was becoming like a terrible pain.  It made her
realise that ever since she had first met Simon at Bowden Manor all
those years ago she had been living in a dream, a dream which had been
shattered.  But how she wished



After several minutes he opened his eyes, enabling

Anne to pour some of her mother's powders mixed in warm water into his
mouth, in the hope that it would help reduce the fever.  Side by side
Jane and

Anne stood looking down at him.  Again he closed his eyes, his face
seeming to shrink into the pillow.

After several more minutes his breathing seemed to become easier but
his flesh was still burning.

Jane glanced out of the small window, becoming aware of darkness
beginning to fall over the moor for the first time, and that they must
return home before they were missed.

"Come, Anne," she said softly.  "There is nothing more we can do for
Simon tonight.  Scent is almost dark outside.  We must return home."

A sudden spasm of pain tore over Anne's features and she jerked her
head round to look at Jane.  "I cannot leave him, Jane."

Jane thought she must have misheard her.  "But you must.  You cannot
remain here.  Mr.  Jarvis and Captain Digby will take care of him until
we are able to return.  Is that not so, Captain Digby?"  she asked,
noticing that Mr.  Jarvis had left them.

"Aye.  I can't speak for Mr.  Jarvis.  He has his animals to tend but
we've been through much together, Sir Simon and I. We'll neither of us
leave the other until we're back with the army."

Jane smiled her thanks.  "There--you see, Anne.  You have no need to
worry.  Leave some of the powders for Captain Digby to administer
should Simon wake during the night."

"But what if he doesn't wake?  He might die, Jane;'

she whispered urgently.  "I must stay with him until the crisis has
passed."

"You can't," Jane cried; shaken by Anne's words, for she knew there was
much truth in what she said: there was every possibility that Simon's
condition would deteriorate---that he might die.

"He is ill.  He needs me.  I will not be apart from him at this time,
And besides," she said, looking to where Captain Digby was slouched
once more on the stool beside the bed, 'it seems to me that Captain
Digby is in need of sleep himself."

"But I. cannot return to Deighton Hall alone."  Anne was adamant. "Yes,
you can.  I'll return in the morning.  Take Seth back with you and have
him return at first light.  That way no one will know I have been
anywhere other than in my room all night."

Seeing the hard gleam of determination in her eyes, and the square,
stubborn set of her chin, Jane thought how infuriatingly like her
brother she looked.  Knowing that her mind was set on staying with
Simon, that it was useless trying to persuade her to return home, Jane
sighed and turned towards the door without further protest.

Riding back down the valley in the gathering darkness to Deighton Hall
without Anne, Jane was overwhelmed by such an acute sense of loss that
there was no room for anything in her heart or mind but this one vast
disappointment, which was becoming like a terrible pain.  It made her
realise that ever since she had first met Simon at Bowden Manor all
those years ago she had been living in a dream, a dream which had been
shattered.  But how she wished she could slip back into that dream, she
thought wistfully, instead of having 'to live in a world of reality.

Simon was gone from her forever.  But, she asked herself, how could he
be gone from her when he had never been hers in the first place?  Had
James not warned her about his character, that he had the reputation of
a philanderer?  She sighed, for now she knew that her brother had been
right to warn her.  But she could not blame Simon, for had he not
brightened up her youth?  His visits had been something to look forward
to--and when he had gone had been something her tender young heart had
cherished.  His charismatic charm and debonair manner had thrilled and
delighted her, for he had been so very different from the
serious-minded, authoritative Lord Talbot she was to marry.

But it was over, she knew that now, for had she not seen with her own
eyes how things were between him and Anne?  In his weakness it was Anne
his eyes had sought in the little room at Old Hall Farm.  Anne, who was
to remain with him throughout the night, who had held his hand, who
loved him.

Blinking back a tear, she fixed her eyes on the tall chimneys of
Deighton Hall in the distance, shaking herself out of her depressed
state, for she was filled with apprehension about leaving Anne behind,
trying to figure out how she could possibly allay suspicion that Afine
was not at home from both Lady Blanche and Anne's maid, who always
assisted her when it was time for bed.

It was dark when they rode into the stable yard.  Jane left Seth, who
assured her he would return for Anne at first light and bring her back
to Deighton Hall.  Quickly Jane went into the house, breathing a sigh
of relief when she entered her room without encountering anyone,
knowing that Lady Blanche would already be in bed, for more often than
not she retired early.

Later she went to Anne's bedchamber in search of her maid, who was just
turning down the bed for the night.  Jane casually told her that Anne
was in her room, that they were engaged in conversation and she would
put herself to bed later, so there was no need to wait for her.  If the
maid thought this odd she didn't show it, quite happy to do as she was
told, for it meant she would have more time to spend with her young man
in Deighton.

That night Jane spent in a feverish state of apprehension as she waited
for the dawn, praying that Simon's fever would abate and he would
recover from his wound.  She thought of Anne sitting in silent vigil,
hoping she would make it back to Deighton Hall without raising anyone's
suspicion that she had been out all night.  Just before dawn she fell
into a fitful lumber and when she again opened her eyes it was to see
the sun was well risen.  Angry with herself for falling asleep at the
crucial time when she should have been up to wait for Anne, she
scrambled out of bed and into her clothes of the previous evening, as
they were to hand, uncaring that they were her riding clothes.



Hurriedly passing a brush through her hair, she slipped out of her
room.

The great house was quiet apart from the occasional stirrings of the
servants in the domestic quarters.  Gliding as silently as a ghost
along the passageway towards Anne's bedchamber, she had to pass the top
of the stairs, where she was brought to an abrupt halt when a voice
rang out, shattering the silence of the great house.

"Jane!  What the devil are you doing prowling about the house at this
hour?"

Jane started violently, stopping in her tracks and looking down the
stairs to see Edward's tall figure climbing up them, his black brows
drawn together in puzzlement.  Having just returned home, he had
discarded his coat on entering the house and his shirt above his black
breeches was open to reveal his firm, strongly muscled throat.  He
looked tired, as though he had been riding for half the night, and his
dark hair fell untidily about his face.

His surised arrival put Jane at a disadvantage; for a moment she was
thrown into such confusion and panic that she could do nothing but
stare at him in.  shocked amazement, watching as he came closer, her
breath caught in her throat and her heart thumping so violently she was
certain he must hear it.  She wanted to turn and run back to her room
and Yet she was unable to move.

'l--l--Edward!  You startled me."

"Obx/iously."

Still Jane could not move.  She stood as insensate as a marble statue,
clutching her hands to her sides, unaware of the enchanting picture she
presented to her betrothed.  Not expecting to meet anyone at such an
early hour between her own and Anne's bedchamber, in her haste she had
omitted to fasten her bodice properly and her hair flowed down her back
unbound.

Her face was white, her eyes enormous and bruised with mauve shadows.
But she was lovely, achingly so, and at any other time Edward would
have drawn her into his arms and embraced her.  But he held back with a
sense of unease and suspicion, his instinct telling him she was engaged
on some misdeed.

His mind went back to the time when he had been at Bowden Manor, when
he had met her returning from an early morning walk On the day of their
departure.  She had looked at him then as she did now, like a rabbit
caught in the sudden glare of a poacher's bright light.  He frowned,
sensing all was not as it should be.

He had just come from the stables; having seen Seth rubbing down one of
the horses, he had thought it odd at the time but, eager to get to his
bed after a hard ride from Hopton Hall'he had put it from his mind.
However, Jane was dressed for riding.  Had she been riding
already---and if so, where to and why at such an early hour?

The passage of time it took for him to reach her might have been an
hour or a second--Jane had no way of knowing, for time seemed to stand
still.  But when he stopped in front of her he seemed extraordinarily
tall as he looked down at her Upturned face, his expression grave and
inquiring.

"Why--what is this, Jane?  No kiss?  No warm



embrace or words of greeting?  "Tis poor welcome for your betrothed who
has hastened back lest you felt deprived of his company.  I have been
thinking of you constantly on my journey back."

"Then I am honoured.  Although you have scarcely been gone twenty-four
hours, my lord, so I think I can stand the deprivation."

"Come.  Your answer is evasive.  Are you not pleased to see me?"

"Yes of course.  I--I did not expect you quite' so soon, that is all.
You were not expected to return until later in the day."

He nodded slowly, staring at her with a brooding look, speaking
quietly.  "That was to have been the case-but why do I have this
peculiar feeling that it is probably a good thing that I have returned
early?  I have a feeling--an instinct, if you like---that you are up to
something."

Jane shifted uncomfortably and did not look at him.  She dared not look
at him, but she was vividly conscious of his close scrutiny.  Panic
attacked her every nerve.

"Why--I cannot think what you mean," she said nervously.  "However, I
suspect the reason for your early departure from Hopton Hall was not to
hasten back to my side but because Sir John was either not at home or
has been called away, for I am aware that he is a man of great
importance and must have many duties."

"You are right, 'he was called away.  But enough about "Sir John.  I am
more concerned with you and why I should find you wandering about the
house at this hour in a state of semi-undress," he said, his

! 57

eyes flickering over her attire.  For a moment there was a sudden
softening of his expression when his eyes lingered on her partially
exposed bosom, but then his face hardened again.

Jane flushed when she realised.  her bodice Was pgrtly undone,
revealing the soft white fabric of her undergarments.  With nimble
fingers she hastily fastened the tiny buttons.

"You seem to be in the habit of rising early, Jane.  Perhaps when you
are my wife we will find a cure for your insomnia .  one which will
make you reluctant to leave your bed."

His Words were spoken quietly and with meaning, and aware of their
implication Jane flushed hotly, but before she could find words t reply
he continued.

"I recall 'another time, at Bowden Manor on the day of our departure.
You rose early that day to take a walk, I remember you saying on your
arrival back at the house.  But, unlike that day, there is an absence
of sparkle to your eyes--or your cheeks--which, had I not known better
at the time, led me to suspect you might have' been keeping a tryst
with an admirer."  There was no mistaking the dry, sarcastic note in
his voice.

"But--but that is quite ridiculous," Jane cried, drawing a sharp intake
of breath, beginning to look confused beneath his steadfast gaze.

"Is it?"  he queried, raising a quizzical eyebrow and carrying on
speaking relentlessly, his tone hardening.  "His features were stern as
he searched her face, his eyes dark, irate and penetrating, and he
addressed her as he would a subordinate.

'l would say that, looking as you do, you have had little sleep.  That
like myself you have been absent from your bed for most of the night.
What is it this time, Jane?  !  see you are dressed for riding; perhaps
you decided to take an early morning ride and have just
returned--although if that be the case, !  hope you were decently
covered," he said, referring to her state of semi-undress of a moment
before.  "Would I be correct in thinking that the horse I saw Seth
rubbing down on my arrival at the stables had been ridden by you?  Is
that it?"

His voice sounded patient and perfectly reasonable, but his eyes were
like cold steel and loaded with suspicion, making Jane's heart contract
and leaving her in no doubt that anger and mistrust simmered beneath
the surface.  An expression of guilt covered her face, for she did not
like deceiving him in this manner--which came as some surprise to her
and which she thought curious, because until then it had not mattered
to her that she offended him or what he thought.  But, strangely, it
did matter now and she could not bear to think he would despise her.

What would he say if he knew she was helping Simon and that his own
sister had spent the night at his bedside?  No doubt his wrath would
come down on them all at Deighton Hall and he would forbid Anne ever to
leave the house again.  She preferred not to dwell on what her own
punishment would be.  His face was grave, his lips pressed together,
and she wondered what had happened to the man whose passion 'had almost
overwhelmed her down by the lake, for at that moment he was a stranger
to her, without any softness or affection."

He was studying her, his dark eyes narrow and piercing, searching her
features for an answer to his question while vainly she sought for a
plausible excuse, hoping that nothing of her inner feelings showed in
her face.  He had told her he had seen Seth rubbing down one of the
horses, so she could only assume that Anne had returned to the house
unobserved and was now in her chamber.

She could not betray her by divulging to her brother that he was
mistaken and that it had been his sister who had ridden the horse.  To
save any unpleasantness she thought it best to own up to it
herself--giving no consideration to the consequences should she be
found out to be lying.  Edward's eyes compelled her to speak, and with
an effort she forced a tremulous smile to her lips.

"Yes--you are right, Edward.  I couldn't sleep and thought a gallop
might make me feel better."  "And did it?"

"Yes.  I--it was quite invigorating up on the moors."

She spoke with a curious little appeal in her voice, trying to deceive
him, and she might have succeeded had she not been standing so close
that he could See the truth mirrored in her eyes as she turned her head
half-away.  He reached out, placing his fingers firmly on her cheek and
forcing her to look at him again, forcing her to look at the hard lines
of his face, his set jaw, and she felt sick, horribly sick suddenly,
that he sensed her lie and knew exactly what she was guilty of.

A thought that Jane might have seen Simon Butteridge crawled into
Edward's mind, as it had on that previous occasion, and he was angered
by it not so much by the fact that she might have assisted him in his
escape, but that he had found a way into her heart over the years he
had been absent.  He did not particularly care one way or the other
what happened to Simon Butteridge, but it did matter to him that Jane
might have become enamoured of him and was playing him for a fool.

Not wishing to accuse her of anything merely on suspicion that would
widen the rift between them, the rift he thought was beginning to
close, he decided it was prudent to put an end to the conversation. 
But he would be more watchful of her movements in the future.

"Have a care.  Do not oppose me, Jane-and don't ever lie to me.  I can
stand most things, but I cannot stand lies.  I much prefer silence. 
You will do well to remember that if there is to be harmony between us
in our marriage.  There must be trust between us.  Return to your
chamber---although I cannot imagine why you should be visiting Anne or
my mother at this hour of the morning, for neither of them are known to
rise early."  His eyes narrowed suddenly and he smiled lazily, gently
mocking her.  "Unless you were looking for me---assuming I had returned
from Hopton Hall, of course."

"You assume too much," said Jane with a flash of anger.

"Do I?  I read hostility and dislike in your eyes, Jane which, I admit,
I find bewildering at times, for it is often confused by murmurings and
blushes which lead me to suspect that beneath it all you are not averse
to me or my attentions, despite your boldness--and assumed indifference
to have me believe otherwise, which, I believe, is a front to conceal
your meek and pliable heart."

"Then let me assure you there is nothing meek or pliable about me or my
heart," retorted Jane heatedly, trying not to look at him, to meet
'hose penetrating eyes, half-afraid that she might soften in her anger,
already too well aware of the beguiling quality of his smile.

With a smile twisting his lips,.  his hand came up to caress her cheek
and touch her tumbled hair, and she trembled, for there was a clouding
of desire in his eyes she was beginning to recognise, which made her
heart beat wildly and a softness, a glowing, to radiate her' body and
stir the desire he was capable of arousing in her.

"Excuse me," she said quickly.  "I--I must go back to my room." 
Quickly she stepped back from him and, shaken, turned and hastened back
along the passageway to her own room, lest she lingered a moment too
long and he had a mind to repeat what had happened between them down by
the lake.  What he said was true, for where he was concerned she was
all confusion.

When she reached the sanctuary of her chamber it was not the previous
night's events which disturbed her and dominated her thoughts, or
Anne's reckless decision to remain at Old Hall Farm with Simon, but her
own strange thoughts and feelings for Edward that were beginning to
consume her.

As she gazed wistfully down towards the lake where the swans were
preening their white plumage, and other birds were swirling and Crying
above the water's glassy surface, she found her thoughts carrying her
away.  What did the strange feeling mean that came over her whenever he
came near her?  Why did her body tremble so and why, at times, was it
so very hard to meet his eyes?

She found it absurd, incredible, almost, that she wanted to be near
him, to feel him close--and for him to hold her as he had by the lake.
What could it mean, this chaos and disruption he had brought to her
heart?

Chapter Nine

A dark scowl creased Edward's face when he turned to make his way to
his own bedchamber.  Had Jane deliberately lied to him?  he asked
himself.  Speculation about her activities and what her relationship
was with Simon Butteridge would continue to plague him until it had
been explained.  But perhaps his fears and suspicions were groundless,
that he was wrong to doubt her, and that she spoke truthfully when she
told him she could not sleep and rose early most mornings.  And yet the
feeling of unease continued to gnaw at him, for she had been going in
the direction of Anne's or his mother's bedchamber, which he thought
curious, because it was well known that neither of them rose early from
their beds.

His mother!  What was important about his mother was that she had
gained much in public esteem during the many years she had lived at
Deighton Hall, but he sighed wearilY, for he was not unaware of her
past activities in aiding Royalists.

Despite his time spent away from Derbyshire he



knew more about what went on at Deighton Hall than she, or anyone else,
gave him credit for.  She had a passionate and loyal heart and after
his father's death she remained faithful to the Royalist cause.

When he had declared for Parliament it had caused her much sadness, but
there had always been such deep family feeling among the Talbots
that--as was not the case in many families torn apart by differing
beliefs they refused to let it drive them apart.  His mother's actions
were her own affair, he was thankful she conducted them with discretion
and subtlety.  Naturally he had misgivings, but he loved her too well
to censure her.

But what of Jane?  If she had been visiting his mother at this early
hour, then for what reason?  And how active had she been at Bowden
Manor over the years in assisting the Royalist cause?  Before he had
returned he would have said it was beyond her, that she had been little
more.  than a child and inexperienced in such matters.  But the siege
had been vauge and brutal, having forced her to grow up quickly.  Was
it possible that she was involved in secret acts of heroism he knew
nothing about that the life she had led had taught her to be more
clever and devious than he gave her credit for?

The thought angered and frustrated him.  Whichever cause she Chose to
support was her own-affair.  He would not ask her to choose.  But he
would not have her engaging in any activity that would endanger her
life or cause him embarrassment.  His own position made it necessary
for her to behave with discretion, and if she was to become his wife
then he would see to it that she conducted herself as such and kept her
opinions to herself.

For Jane, the day had started like a nightmare when Edward had come
upon her on the stairs, and she could not shake off the suspicion that
he knew something was amiss.  It was an immense relief to her when Anne
slipped into her chamber to tell her that when she left Simon he seemed
a little better, and that She hoped to return some time during the day.
Jane was overjoyed to learn there was every chance he would recover
from his wound, but the very' thought of going back to Old Hall Farm
and risk being found out by Edward fl led her with dread.  As it turned
out neither of them managed to escape Edward's atchful eye that day,
and so they had to be content with sending Seth up to Grindly Moor with
food and for news of Simon's condition.

The following day Anne--in a perpetual state of anxiety and obviously
quite wretched could stand it no longer.

"I must go, Jane," she said when they found themselves alone.  "I'll go
mad if I don't go to him."

"Be patient just a little while longer, Anne, I beg of you.  Be content
for now to let Seth go to Grindly Moor.  By his own account Simon is
getting better.  He'll soon be strong enough to leave."

"And what then?"  Anne cried with sudden anguish.  "He cannot walk far.
Somehow another horse will have to be found if they are to stand any
chance of returning to the army."

Jane sighed, for what she said was true.  Although where they were to
procure a horse from without taking one from the Talbot stables was
quite beyond her.

"Let us think of that when the time comes, and be content for now
knowing that he's getting stronger with each day.  Maybe Seth will be
able to come up with something."

Appeased for the time being, Anne once again settled down, awaiting the
moment when she could slip up to the moor unobserved he opportunity
presenting itself later in the day when Edward was occupied in his
study.  Accompanied by Seth, she also managed to slip away the
following afternoon,

her excuse being that she was to ride into Deighton, but when she was
returning home she took a tumble from her horse, badly spraining her
ankle.  Lady Blanche was adamant that she should rest her foot until
after the wedding.

"Oh, Mother."  Anne wailed in despair.  "I simply cannot emain in the
house until then.  I ride side saddle and my mare is as quiet as a
lamb."

"No, Anne," said her mother firmly.  "If she is as docile as you say,
then she would not have thrown you in the first place.  I know very
well how tedious you find riding slowly and in no time at all you would
be galloping all over the moor.  You are not to mount another horse
until after the wedding."

When Anne with her foot raised upon a stool, at last found herself
alone with Jane, she gave vent to a huge kigh of frustration.  "Jane,
what is to be done?  You must go to Simon and explain what has
happened."

"Forgive me, but l cannot, Anne.  I have told you it is dangerous for
either of us to go up on to the moor.  Edward already suspects
something is wrong, I know it--which is why he is keeping such a
watchful eye on me.  If he should find out I've been riding up to the
moor to visit Simon, then his anger Will be terrible indeed."

"I don't care," Anne cried, sounding unusually selfish in her anguish.
"Oh, please, Jane--just this once," she begged.  Seeing the disapproval
in Jane's eyes, she scowled and flung down the book she had been
reading in a fit of childish temper.  "Oh, how I curse my wretched
ankle--and my horse for throwing me," she wailed angrily.  "I'm
dreadfully afraid that now Simon's so much better he will leave without
my knowing it.  I've Written him a letter, Jane.  Please take it for
me."

"Seth can do that just as well as I, Anne."  Seeing the petulant droop
of Anne's lips, Jane was afraid she was about to burst into tears-and
there was such despair in her eyes that at last she conceded, although
she had no idea how she was going to get past Edward's watchful eye.

A measure of disquiet existed between Jane and Edward following their
meeting on the stairs, and a few days of dubious calm passed.  He was
relaxed and attentive, yet Jane recognised the signs of an icy, silent
inquisitor.  Whenever he spoke to her his words, however ordinary and
commonplace they sounded, inevitably threw her into a state of
confusion.  He watched her as if seeking the answer to some burning
question.

Subject to his close scrutiny she began to feel uncomfortable and
alarmed and' felt herself pale at the the thought of what he would do
if he should discover the part she and Anne were playing in aiding
Simon.  No amount of lying, pretence or explanation would be able to
extricate them from his wrath.

The tension was relieved when Maria, with Susan and Penelope, arrived
at Deighton Hall for the wedding, which was almost upon them.  Jane was
overjoyed to see them again and to absorb all the news from Bowden.

Sadness stared out of Maria's eyes, the grief she felt over the death
of her husband apparent, but as she accustomed herself to Deighton Hall
she observed Jane with a great deal of concern.

She was happy to see there was more colour to her cheeks than there had
been when she had left Bowden Manor, and the sadness her father's death
had caused her seemed to have lifted a little.  But she was still a
long way from being the girl she had once been, when her laughter had
been spontaneous and she had been so full of life and energy.  Maria
perceived a struggle going on within her, which she had no doubt had
something to do with her meeting with Simon in Bowden Church.

"I have to say you are looking a good deal better, Jane," she commented
when they were strolling down to the lake with Susan and Penelope, who,
intent on feeding the swans, excitedly ran on ahead.  The air smelled
of wet grass aler the recent rain, and the sun's rays peeped out from
behind dove grey clouds, bathing the surrounding moorland in a golden,
glow.  "Deighton clearly suits you."

"Yes.  Who would not like Deighton?  It is very beautiful."  "Forgive
me for mentioning it, Jane, but I cannot help noticing that things do
appear to be a little strained between you and Edward.  I had hoped
that after some time spent together you would have become closer."

Jane stared ahead.  "Then I am sorry to disappoint you, Maria.  We are
as far apart as we ever were."

"Do you think your resentment might have something to do with that that
it is apparent to him?"

"Resentment!  My resentment is nothing compared to his stiff and
unyielding manner.  He is so stern, so unbending, that I confess there
are times when I am afraid of him.":

"Afrai.d?  Oh, come now, Jane," admonished Maria gently.  "Of Edward or
yours el After making up you mind to dislike him, perhaps you are
afraid lest you bend too much and find yourself becoming partial to
him.  I have given much thought to our conversation on the.  day you
left Bowden Manorm and how affected you appeared to be by our meeting
with Sir Simon Butteridge.  Having had time for reflection, do you
still feel the same as you did then?"

"I no longer know what I feel for Simon.  Having seen him since, I have
to say things are so very different."

Maria halted in her tracks and stared at her in shocked amazement.
"Simon?  You have seen him?"

"Yes.  He is sheltering at a farm upon the moor.  He has been ill but
is recovering now, thank goodness."  "Andreand you have been seeing
him?"

"Only once.  Edward's watchfulness has made it



virtually impossible for me to leave the house with out having to face
a barrage of questions.  I have to content myself with the news Anne
brings me."

"Anne?"  Maria asked, beginning to look quite bemused.

"Yes.  We saw him together the first time.  He was suffering from a leg
wound acquired in the skirmish, which had become grossly infected, and
as a consequence he was extremely ill.  Fearing he might die, Anne
insisted on remaining with him throughout the night I returned to
Deighton Hall, but the following morning !  rose early, hoping Anne
would have.  returned home.  I was going to her chamber when I
encountered Edward.  Because I was unable to explain my actions, he
clearly suspects me of hiding something from him and has not let me.
out of his sight since.  Anne had to visit Simon without me."

"Jane--you must stop thinking of Simon," Maria said, falling into step
beside her, clearly shocked by what Jane had told her.  "No good can
come of it.  And as for Anne--well--what can I say?  Her foolish
insistence on remaining with him all night in a farmer's house up on
the moor is highly reprehensible.  I shudder to think what Edward's
reaction would be were he to find out."

"I know," Jane answered softly, for this thought worried her also. 
"But you need have no worries on what my feelings are concerning Simon
any more, Maria.  You see--I am not the object of his affections.  It
is Anne who attracts him, Anne who holds that special place in his
heart."

Clearly this was all something of a surprise to Maria.  "You must
excuse me if I appear a little bemused, Jane--but I was not expecting
this.  What are Anne's feelings for Simon?"

"She adores him," Jane Said simply, amazed that this knowledge no
longer hurt her.

"I see.  Then God help her should her brother find out about this,"
whispered Maria, shocked by what Jane had disclosed..  "No matter how
far the relationship has progressed between them, he would never
consent to a union between them."

"I fear you're right, Maria.  A man of Edward's inflexible will would
sooner send Anne to a convent than allow her to marry a man of Simon's
sort.  That is why it must be kept from him.  Perhaps when Simon has
left Derbyshire and returned to the army--whe he is no longer
accessible to Anne--then maybe i will all blow over and she will forget
him."

Maria frowned.  "If her heart is set on him, then I very much doubt it.
Oh, foolish girl to let herself fall in love with him.  Men as
appealing as Simon Butteridge are dangerous and can destroy a young
girl's reputation, bringing her nothing but anguish so that she's no
longer her own person."  She cast Jane a thoughtful glance.  "But what
of you, Jane?  Has this affair between them hurt you very much?  After
all, you loved him, too."

"I thought I did--but now I realise that what I felt for Simon was
merely a young girl's infatuation.  It wasn't love.  Oh, Maria, I was
such a fool."

"No," Maria laughed, linking her arm as they followed Susan and
Penelope.  "That is something you'll never be.  You made a mistake,
that is all.  We're all entitled to do that occasionally.  But I'm glad
you realise it, Jane.  One day when you are married.  to Edward, you
will be able to see just how lucky you were that things turned out the
way they did.  I trust Edward.  He will do all he can to make you
happy--I do know that.  Come now," she said, smiling a little when Jane
cast her a look of doubt.  "Do not tell me you continue to carry the
hatred and bitterness you accumulated for him over the years in your
heart.  Tell me he is no longer a stranger to you."  "No.  He is no
longer a stranger."

"And despite your initial resentment and what you said earlier--when
you accused him of being stiff and unyielding tell me you have softened
towards him, just a little," she coaxed gently.  "Could the reason why
the affair between Anne and Simon doesn't hurt be because you're
already a little in love with Edward?"

Jane smiled a little sadly, but her cheeks became suffused with a wave
of crimson.  "I confess I have softened towards him a little," she
answered softly, astonishing herself by admitting it.  "But love!"
No--I think not."  Maria smiled with greater understanding than Jane
realised.

"There will be time enough for that when you are married.  But take my
advice and look to the future.  Love is one of the most precious
gifts---and you have so much to give each other.  Don't waste it on
bitterness.  Do not spend too much time gazing at the sun to make you
blind as to what is in your heart, Jane," 'she said, having observed
her abrupt change of colour.  "I do not know if you realise it, but
when I see you look at your betrothed, I see you are not as averse to
him as you once were."

Knowing this to be the simple truth, Jane was silent.  Thinking of
Simon suddenly, her heart was empty---as if for a time it had shone and
burned like the sun, and the delirium joy it had brought her was slowly
burning itself out, the fire never to be revived.  The very image of
his face, the mention of his name, no longer had the power to stir her
heart as it had.  And now, despite her efforts to drive him out, it was
Edward who invaded her heart and mind; Edward who had taken over her
life and was beginning to make a deep impression on her;-Edward who
affected her in a way Simon never had.

"Love matches are rare," Maria went on.  "Most young ladies marry
husbands of their parents' choice---but you and Edward have the added
advantage of knowing one another from an early age.  When the wedding
is over and you have had time to get to know each other well--as only
husbands and wives do," she said, lowering her voice a tone in a
conspiratorial whisper, for she considered what went on in private
between a husband and wife to be of a delicate nature, and not a matter
to be discussed freely, 'then I'm sure you will look at things
differently."

Knowing Maria referred to the more intimate side of marriage between a
husband and wife, Jane's face flushed immediately and she looked away.
Although she was unprepared for the physical side of marriage, she was
not so innocent as not to know what happened and what was required of a
wife.  Through whisperings with friends as she had been growing up, she
had been told that that side of the relationship, when a woman
surrendered the privacy of her body.  to her husband and how it always
afforded him



pleasure--no matter how distasteful and shameful she might consider
this to be--then she should not expect too much other than to give him
that pleasure.

This confused Jane, for after experiencing Edward's kisses and his
embrace, she had felt pleasure and had even found herself responding in
a way that would have shocked the young ladies of her acquaintance who
had told her that.  But Edward already seemed to know her so well, how
to set her pulses racing with his sheer animal magnetism and how to
rouse her with his first touch.  And yet how much more difficult it
would be for her to submit to his demands when he became her husband,
when there was so much acrimony between them.

Often of late she found herself half-waking in the dark, her mind
adrift in some exotic dream, to feel her body soft and melting in a way
it never had before, half in anguish and half in inexplicable
delight--to feel her muscles tense and trembling, and a mysterious
excitement in possession of her limbs.  She sighed, extremely confused.
There was still so much she had to learn.

Happy to spend this time with her sisters and feeling a sudden
lightening of her spirits, Jane stood at the water's edge with Maria,
watching Susan and Penelope taking great delight in throwing bits of
bread the cook had given them to the swans.  At first they held back,
trepidation to move forward on their glowing young faces as the birds
flocked together in excited anticipation of this unexpected treat.  But
growing increasingly bolder, they edged closer, laughing and squealing
with delight, holding their 'bunched skirts in front of them with one
hand to prevent them becoming wet as the birds flapped on the lake,
while throwing the bread with the other.  Mafia laughed at their joyous
faces.

"At least there will be little chance of them becoming restless at
Deighton.  It's good to see them so happy."

"See!"  squealed Susan, shrieking loudly and dancing back to Cling for
protection to her mother's skirts when one huge cob came skimming
across the surface of the lake, its wings raised above its back in a
spectacular display of aggression.

"Gracious--how angry and aggressive he is," shrieked Maria.  "I do
declare he resembles that surly tyrant Mr.  Cromwell."

"Aye or one of his compatriots much closer to home," laughed Jane with
almost uncontrollable mirth.

His eyes fixed on the little group as he approached along the path
towards them, their shrieks piercing the air, Edward began to smile.
Jane's remark and its implication that it was himself she referred to
was not lost on him, but he was in no way offended.  His feet stepped
lightly, making no sound to warn them of his approach.  They stood
beneath a canopy of willows, the cheque red light dancing on their
happy forms.  Their laughter was infectious and he was drawn towards
them compulsively--especially to the woman who was very soon to be his
wife.  He was relieved to discover she had not lost her ability to
laugh after all.

He was bewitched, utterly enchanted by this new picture of Jane as she
laughed loudly with pure, ringing tones, her lovely face suffused and
shining with happiness, her amber eyes wide and her soft



lips parted and lifted with laughter.  Her dress was of a soft blue
silk, the skirt full with a tight waist.

It was cut low on the shoulder and finished with a delicate muslin
colour with cuffs to match.  Her neck rose white and graceful and her
hair shone as though the sun's light had become locked inside.

Until that moment he had not fully realised the extent of the emotions
she aroused in him, but seeing her like this, so carefree and
uninhibited, he knew it was going to be no simple matter leaving her
behind when he had to go to Windsor so soon after their wedding.

Feeling the intensity of his regard, Jane turned and fixed him with a
steadfast gaze, and as she did so she recognised something in his
expression she had not' seen before, something gentle and
reverent---and yet compelling and burning, causing her heart to lurch.
She flushed, realising he must have heard her remark, and turned away
in embarrassment.  Observing the offending swan moving away from the
rest he smiled, standing beside her, almost touching her.

"You appear to be in the habit of creeping about, Edward," she
commented, her eyes bright with laughter, her natural vitality shining
through in the glowing sparkle of her eyes.

"How else does one learn what others are saying about oneself?."

"Usually people who listen at keyholes do not hear anything to their
credit."

Edward directed a glance of wry humour at her.  "Nevertheless, they
often hear secrets that may be of benefit.  I apologise if I
intrude--and I have to say, with regret, that you are right.  Like the
swan, aggression is part of my nature, as many of my friends would very
quickly inform you."

"You do not intrude, Edward---and I, for one, will not hear a word said
against you," Maria said with a laugh.

He bowed his head slightly in her direction, favouring her with one of
his most charming smiles.  "Thank you.  I are happy to know I have at
least one friend in the enemy camp--in a manner of speaking, of
course," he teased.  "I am glad to see your daughters are enjoying
themselves, Maria."

"Yes.  I was telling Jane how much they love it here at Deighton Hall.
They are quite excited about the wedding so they can visit more often
when you are married."

"To see me or the swans?"  Jane smiled.

"I must admit they are an added attraction but it is you they miss,
Jane.  You they will come to see.  You must have observed how much ey
adore their big sister, Edward?"

"I have indeed--and who can blame them?".  he murmured, encapsulating
Jane in the warmth of his gaze.  "She will make a beautiful bride.  It
is unfortunate that I have to leave so soon after the wedding."  "And
so it is.  It is a great pity.  But if you are to go to London then
perhaps you should think of taking Jane with you," suggested Maria,
ignoring the look of horror Jane threw her way.  "I'm sure London would
be good for her.  Why she would shine in society and no doubt charm and
impress all your illustrious friends who would appreciate her worth."

"No, Maria," said Jane quickly, shocked that she should suggest such a
thing.  "I shall be perfectly



content to remain here at Deighton.  Edward has told me he hopes to be
home for the winter months so

I am sure I shall be able to stand being deprived of his company for so
short a time.  And you are mistaken if you think I would shine in
society.  I have no desire for such company--and nor am I quick-witted
enough for social repartee.  Now, please excuse me,"

she said, picking up her skins and turning from them.

"I promised Anne I would sit with her for a while before dinner.  You
know how bored and irritable she has become since her fall.  I am sure
she will be wondering where I've got to."

When she had left them, Maria looked up at Edward as he watched Jane's
retreating figure.  She saw how his expression had changed to one of
concern and that his eyes were quiet and sombre, making her realise how
worried he was about her stepdaughter.

"I fear Jane is angry with me," she said softly.  "Maybe I should not
have suggest her going with you to Londonut I do feel it would be good
for her at this time.  Deighton Hall is a wonderful place and I know
she has grown extremely fond of it.  But it is sO close to Bowden--not
far enough away for her to put the unpleasant memories of the siege,
which still haunt her, from her mind."

"I realise that.  But if I were to take her with me, she would be among
strangers--and my military duties at Windsor would keep me from her.
How does she seem to you, Maria?"

"Better, I think---more relaxed, and I'm sure with a little more time
she'll be restored to something like her former self."

Quickly Maria moved towards her squealing daughters, who were in danger
of falling into the lake with the swans.

"Come and help them feed the swans, Edward," she begged, laughing as
she handed them more bread "Otherwise I fear we shall have no peace."

To placate Anne, Jane agreed to visit Simon the next day, choosing a
time when Edward was occupied with his steward in his study and Mafia
and Isabel were entertaining Susan and Penelope.  With Seth to
accompany her she took the path up to Grindly Moor, galloping hard, for
she did not wish to be gone for longer than was necessary.

As she arrived at Old Hall Farm, Simon came out to meet her, the sun
shining through the feathered layers of his fair hair.  He walked with
a slight limp, but she was relieved to find him much better than the
last time she had seen him.  He smiled and held out his hands, grasping
her own, his eyes clear and shining down into hers but it was plain he
had been waiting for Anne to come to him and was unable to hide his
look of disappointment on seeing that Jane came alone.  But it was gone
almost as soon as it had' appeared.

Quickly he drew her inside he cottage, away from prying eyes.  Jane
found his hands so warm and gentle--not firm and strong like Edward's.
She thought it odd that they did not excite her and could not believe
how she had once hungered for his touch, how it had once filled her
with honey-sweet delight.  His eyes were as engaging as they had always
been--pale and blue, not dark and sardonic like



heart, when once his very nearness would have.  set her all
a-tremble.

Now there was only quiet friendliness.  Simon was part of her past that
was full of beautiful, aching memories, and there had never been
anything between them but happiness.  Acknowledging Captain Digby who
was reclining beside the hearth, she smiled up at Simon.

"I'm sorry to disappoint you, Simon.  I know you were expecting
Anne."

"You know how happy I always am to ee you, Jane.  But is something
amiss?"  he asked in his anxiety.  "Is Anne unwell?"

"Anne is very well.  Do not be concerned, Simon.  It is just that she
took a tumble from her horse, suffering nothing more serious than a
sprained ankle," she said quickly when alarm sprang to his eyes.  "Lady
Blanche forbids her to leave the house until after the Wedding.  But
here," she said, producing Anne's letter from her pocket and handing it
to him, 'she has written you a letter explaining everything."

Simon's shoulders seemed to droop as he took the letter and his
expression became one of sadness.  "Then it seems I shall be denied the
pleasure of bidding her farewell."

"Why?  What do you mean?  Are' you leaving?"  "We must now that I'm
sufficiently recovered to do so."  The longer we remain the more we
endanger you---and Mr.  Jarvis.  We must find our way back to the army
to the King---and help salvage what is left of the cause.  I fear since
Naseby his strength has been badly depleted and he will be in need of
every man he can get."

"So--it is so bad?"

He nodded.  "It would seem Cromwell can do no wrong.  His Ironsides
sweep away all who impede them.  In these latter days the Royalists
have been overwhelmed.  England is now ruled by Cromwell--backed by
other.  Parliament Generals.  Sy.mpathy and loyalty towards the King is
waning."

"But it can be rekindled, Simon.  The King will rally people back to
his side.  You have to believe that."

He shook his head dolefully.  "I wish I could.  I wish I had your
faith."

"But whgt will you do?"

"Fighto the finish, if need be, and if I am to escape then I shall go
into exile abroad--as many other Royalists have done already--and
prepare to fight another day."  He smiled a little ruefully.  "Forgive
me, Jane, for talking like this.  You mustn't come again.  Should Lord
Talbot discover you have been coming here, it will make things
extremely difficult for you.  His displeasure will be great indeed.  He
would not take kindly to you helping a Royalist soldier."

"A Royalist soldier who is also my friend," she said with a sudden
spurt of rebellion.  "And after all, isn't that what I am--a Royalist?
My own father died fighting for the King's cause---as did Edward's
father."

"That I know but when you are married you will be answerable to your
husband."  He frowned down at her as a thought suddenly occurred to
him.  "You



do not dislike Lord Talbot, do you, Jane?  If so, it is a sorry
beginning to a marriage."

"No.  I do not dislike him, Simon.  It is his allegiance to Parliament,
to Cromwell, I hate."

"Whatever his reasons for adhering to Parliament, it is clear to me he
is deeply and sincerely committed to it.  He believes he works for the
good of the realm."

"And I say that if he works towards an England to be ruleff by Cromwell
then it is far better for the realm not to be saved.  I must do all I
can to help you, Simon.  James would never forgive me if I didn't.  And
besides, you must have another horse if you are to make it back to the
army."

"Leave that for me to worry about.  I'm sure I shall acquire one from
somewhere."

"And Anne?  What shall I tell Anne?  She worships you, Simon.  And
you--you love' her, don't you?"

Pain filled his eyes when he thought of Anne.  "Yes.  Anne is the
gentlest of all my dreams.  Perhaps if the war had not come--making me
choose between the King and Parliament-or perhaps if Lord Talbot and
myself had chosen to fight for the same cause, then maybe there would
have been a chance for us.  As it is, there can never be any future for
Anne and I together.  Her brother would never consent to a union
between us."

Jane knew this to be the truth but would not admit it, for she had no
wish to cause him unnecessary pain when he was on the point of
leaving.

"Perhaps when the war is over everything will be different, Simon.
Edward is not as he always seems--and he is marrying me, don't forget.
And am I not the King's most loyal patriot?"  she smiled.

Chapter Ten

It was after Jane had left Deighton Hall for her ride that Isabel,
finding the constant chattering of the two small girls extremely
irritating, began to regret not going with her-although, when she
thought of it, Jane had given her little time to make up her mind and
had left the house with undue haste.  Intending to catch up with her,
she excused herself to Mafia and hurriedly went to change into her
riding clothes, only to discover when she reached the stables that Jane
had already left with Seth.

Taking the same route, she rode in pursuit, becoming curious when she
saw them ahead of her riding up towards Grindly Moor, for Jane was
tiding her horse hard, as it there was a purpose to her fide, rather
than the quiet canter into Deighton she had talked of.

Having a faint suSPicion that Jane might be up to something, Isabel
rode at a discreet distance, watching when they stopped at Old Hall
Farm and Jane went inside.  Isabel hovered expectantly in the shadow of
some rocks until after a time Jane emerged



to join Seth, who was waiting patiently with the horses.  Curious, her
eyes took in Jane's companion,

not recognising him at first, not until he turned and she looked upon
his face fully for the first time,

recognising his handsome features and fair curling hair, even though it
was many months since she had last seen him.

The impact of the implication of Jane's furtive meeting with Sir Simon
Butteridge up on the moor was like a sudden surge of triumph to Isabel.
Unable to believe her good fortune that she had stumbled upon something
quite unexpected, with a malicious glitter to her eyes, and looking
like a cat set to spring,

she rode back to Deighton Hall in jubilant mood.

Riding down the valley from Grindly Moor with a hastily written letter
from Simon for her to give to Anne secure in her pocket, Jane thought
she saw a rider ahead of her, but being preoccupied about her meeting
with Simon---and with racking her brains as to where another horse
could be acquired without resorting to taking one from the Talbot
stables.  she thought nothing of it then.  It was not until she was
seated at the dinner table at the appointed hour with everyone else
that she remembered the rider with disastrous effects.

"Did you enjoy your ride, Jane?"  asked Isabel, looking strikingly
lovely, her eyes candid and alert as they surveyed Jane from across the
table.  "I changed my mind about going with you, but seeing you and
Seth already riding up the valley towards Grindly Moor, unfortunately
you were too far ahead for me to catch up with you.  I had to content
myself with riding into Deighton instead--which," she said with feigned
puzzlement, 'come to think of it, you told me was to be your
destination."

Edward looked at Jane sharply, alert, suddenly, and puzzled as to why
she hadn't mentioned her ride on the moor when he'd spoken to her
earlier.

Summoning all her self-control, Jane favoured Isabel with a sweet
smile.  "Then it's a pity you didn't come, Isabel.  I did intend riding
into Deighton, but changed my mind at the last minute.  I couldn't
resist.  riding up the valley to the moors.  They're lovely at this
time of the year--when the heather is at its best.  There's no finer
place."

"Well perhaps next time" smiled Isabel.  "By the way,"-she said after a
moment's thought, paying great attention to cutting her meat, as if the
question she was about to broach was only a polite enquir "I've been
meaning to ask you, Jane.  Whatever happened to that young man who used
to visit Bowden Manor before the war?  Sir Simon Butteridge, I believe
his name was.  He was rather handsome, as I recall--and a close friend
of James's."

Jane's heart almost ceased to beat as she stared at her, seized by a
feeling of panic, for that was the moment when she realised it had been
Isabel she had seen riding away from Old Hall Farm-and that she must
have seen Simon, otherwise the question Would not have been asked.

Was her enquiry deliberate, she wondered, asked with malicious intent,
and if so, what did she hope to achieve by it?  Was she out to incite
Edward against her?  Moved by fear, suspicion, self-defence," her
instinct for danger Came to the fore."  Her expression



showed nothing of her inner turmoil when she replied, knowing she had
little choice but to lie,

which, having been raised to always tell the truth no matter what, was
not something that came easily to her.

"Simon!  I--I really have no idea.  Why do you ask?"

isabel shrugged, as though it was of little matter, but Jane suspected
differently and she cast Anne a look that told her to act normally, not
to give anything away.

Isabel shrugged casually.  "Oh--no reason.  I merely wondered if you
had seen him of late, that was all."

"Considering I have been besieged inside Bowden Manor for quite some
time--and that Simon is with the King--wherever that may be how could I
possibly have seen him?"

Jane knew Edward was watching her.  Not a muscle flickered or moved in
his handsome face, and when Isabel had mentioned Simon his expression
had registered nothing more than a mild surprise.  But he watched her
with such a hard intensity, searching for the faintest sign that would
tell him what he wanted to know.

"You remember him, don't you, Edward?"  Isabel persisted, determined
not to let the matter rest.

"Yes.  We met on several occasions.  He's the son, of Lord Butteridge
of Oxfordshire--who raised a troop of horse for the King back in
forty-two."

"And what was your opinion of him?  Was he to your liking?"

He shrugged."  "His reputation as a soldier cannot be faulted.  He is
impulsive and courageous---asily recognised on the battlefield by his
flowing fair hair.  I remember James thought highly of him and valued
his friendship.  But as for myself, I did not know him well enough to
form an opinion o pounds him one way or the other."

"Oh, come now, Edward.  He must have made some kind of impression on
you.  On the times when I have seen him at some occasion or other in
London before the war, I well recall he had a reputation for high
living and colourful, fancy clothes and large feathered hats.  He led a
charmed life and was incapable of restraining his excited enthusiasms.
He won many a lady with his charm and manner."

"He has a reputation for gallantry, I grant you, but it cannbt be
merited off the battlefield.  My first impressions of Sir Simon were
not favourable.  He did not recommend himself to me in the slightest.
It is well known he has the ability to make friends easily but whether
he has the equal capabilities of keeping them I very much doubt."

"Of course he does, Edward," said Jane, stung to indignation and rising
quickly to Simon's defence, very much aware of the hurt Anne must be
feeling by her brother's harsh attack directed against the man she
loved.  "Your remarks are extremely ungenerous.  Simon was a good
friend of James's--as he became to my whole family.  By your own
account you admit you do not know him well, so how can you pass such
unfair judgement as to his eharacterT

Edward looked at her hard, both angered and disappointed by her
readiness to defend Simon.  "Yes maybe you're fight, Jane.  Perhaps my
remarks were



over-critical--but I have found nothing satisfactory in his character.
However, I will vouch for James's sound judgement in choosing many
things ...... including his friends so he must have seen some good in
Sir Simon.  Allow me to satisfy your curiosity as to what became of
him, Isabel," he said, glancing at her briefly before again locking his
eyes on Jane's.

The look he directed at her left her in no doubt that he knew she had
been lying when she said she hadn't seen Simon more recently than she
wanted anyone to know about.

"By all accounts he was injured in a large and brutal skirmish when the
King rode north not so very long ago.  He escaped and, I believe, is
still a fugitive somewhere in the area."

Isabel's eyes opened wide in feigned surprise.

"Really?  And is he being searched for?"

"I believe so."

Isabel allowed her gaze to flicker to Jane, who looked as though she
had been struck dumb--and Edward's expression as he glared at his
betrothed was like a marble mask.  Looking down at her plate she smiled
to herself, well satisfied that her enquiry about Simon Butteridge had
had the desired effect.

Jane felt herself growing colder by the second.  Her eyes clashed with
Edward's across the table and he saw fear in them as well as guilt.
That was the moment when he knew beyond-all doubt that she had seen
Simon Butteridge; that she knew all about the part he had played in the
skirmish and about his injury; and that on the morning of their
departure from Bowden Manor--when she had entered the house with a
mournful smile on her lips, with her cheeks flushed and her eyes aglow
she had just left the side of the man she was in love with.

This knowledge filled Edward's heart with a cold and impotent black
rage, jealousy and resentment causing his eyes to convey to her the
sheer magnitude of his anger.  Jane's heart contracted painfully, for
the realisation that he knew what she was guilty of made her body
tremble.  Fear crept over her, making her more afraid than she had ever
been in her life--and she dreaded the moment when she would find
herself alone with him.

"The moment was one of extreme awkwardness," the tension in the air
felt by them all.  Jane was aware of everyone's eyes on be roth Anne's
and Maria's filled with apprehension, for they were both aware that she
had been lying when she had coolly denied knowing anything about
Simon's whereabouts, and Edward's thunderous expression told them that
he was not ignorant of this fact either.

But Lady Blanche, sensing something disagreeable might be about to
develop from the discussion concerning Sir Simon Butteridge--her only
knowledge of this young man being his name--wishing to avoid any
unpleasantness, relieved the situation by beginning to discuss the
wedding, which was to take place the following day.

As Jane feared, soon after the meal had ended she was summoned to
Edward's study.  A distraught-looking Anne, hobbling painfully on her
injured foot, met her just emerging from her bedchamber, determined not
to let her face her brother's wrath alone especially when, as she saw
it, Jane was not the one to blame.

"I must see Edward and explain.  He must be made aware of the truth of
the matter."

"No, Anne.  Edward would not see it in the same light as you and I."

"But I must.  I cannot allow you to carry all the blame.  I must tell
him you went to see Simon on my account."

"You mustn't.  Don't you see?  If Edward discovers how you have
secretly been seeing Simon--and if he has so much as an inkling of a
suspicion as to how you feel for one another---his anger will be severe
indeed and the situation made a hundred times worse."

"Surely not."

"Yes.  As things stand at the moment, he merely believes I have been
aiding him in some way.  Unbe-known to me at the time, Isabel followed
me up to the moor today and must have seen me with Simon.  I thought I
saw a horse and rider ahead of me when I left him, but thought little
of it then.  It must have been Isabel.  After her enquiry into his
whereabouts and discussion about his character, then I strongly suspect
it will not be long before Edward puts two and two together and sends
out a search party of his own."

Anne gasped in horror.  "Oh, Jane!  What is to be done?  We cannot
allow Simon to-be caught and imprisohed."

"Then while I speak to Edward, go to the stables and inform Seth what
has transpired--although, should Edward discover the extent of his
involvement in this, his position here as head groom could be
threatened."

"No.  He would never dismiss.  Seth.  He is aware of his Royalist
sympathies, which are shared by most of the servants here at Deighton
Hall.  Besides, Mother would never allow Seth to go.  He has been with
us for a long time.  My father thought very highly of him.".

"Then I am thankful to hear it.  I would hate to think I was to be the
cause of his dismissal.  I know your ankle still pains you, Anne, but
you must try and reach him.  The situation has become quite desperate.
Tell him to go to the farm and warn Simon and Captain Digby to be on
their guard.  With any luck they will be off the moor before the lOCal
soldiers can be informed and a search is launched."

Anne didn't need to be told of the urgency of the situation.  Her ankle
was indeed painful, but she would happily walk barefoot over hot coals
without complaint to save her beloved Simon from capture.

Jane entered Edward's study with a vague feeling of anxiety, trying to
prepare herself for the storm she knew was coming.  He stood behind his
desk, looking at her, his lips drawn tight and his dark eyes as hard
and cold as his expression.  She had almost forgotten how tall and
broad he was, and how frightening in his strength.  Her heart quailed
as she crossed towards him, trying to appear calm, for above all she
must not seem ill at ease.  But how she wished the interview was over
and done with.

"Well?  What have you to say for yourself?."  he asked harshly when she
was close "You know why you are here, so I think you have had enough
tin for



your fertile imagination to invent an explanation calculated to try to
appease my anger, no doubt."

"You, my lord, seem very quick to suspect the worst."

"And you, madam, to deceive.  You already knew Simon Butteridge was a
fugitive before you left Bowden, didn't you?"

She nodded, the quiet anger in his voice having an unnerving, weakening
effect on her.  "Yes."

"And yet you did not see fit to tell me."

"I--I had no reason to tell you.  If I had, then no doubt you would
have sought him out and ordered him to be imprisoned."

"What a poor opinion you must have of me," he scorned coldly. 
"Contrary to what you might think of me, I am not in the habit of
hunting down Royalists especially when one of them happens to have been
as close a friend to James as I was myself.  Besides this affair
between us is not about which .. side we happen to find Ourselves
fighting on.  How long have you known about the skirmish--and Simon's
part in it, Edward?"

"Captain Dugdale made me aware of it when I arrived at Bowden."

"Then whY did you not inform me?  He was highly esteemed by all my
family.  Did you not think I had a right to know?  Why did you conceal
it from me?  For what reason?"

"Out of consideration for you, fool that I was.  "When I saw you at
Bowden after the siege.  knowing how much you had suffered, and myself
being the ibeare of the sad news of your father's death--I
considered it to be in your best interests to do so.  I
now realise that I should have told you and cautioned you against
seeing him--should he try and contact you."

Jane stared at him.  "Caution me?  But---but why?"  "Because I wished
to avoid what has happened.  I know not where you have been meeting,
nor do I wish to know.  But I will not be taken for a fool and nor will
I be cuckolded before I am even wed.  Do you admit that you have been
seeing him?"

Swallowing hard, she nodded, knowing it was useless trying to deny it.
"Yes."

"How often?"  he demanded harshly.  "Once?  Twice?  Every day since he
made his presence known to you?  Cometell me."

"Apart from the time I saw him at Bowden--twice.  That is all."

"Twice!  So you say.  So you would have me believe."  Turning from her,
he slowly walked around his desk to stand before her, looking down at
her, the darkness of her eyes accentuated by the almost transparent
whiteness of her face.  His eyes were hard and implacable as they
became locked on hers.  "You will not see him again.  Is that
understood?  I forbid it."

Edward's anger and his attack restored Jane's courage at a stroke, for
was she not a fighter?  Had she not endured worse than this during the
siege?  She stared at him defiantly, her fists clenched by her sides.

"You forbid it!"  she flared.  "I shall see whomsoever I please.  Do
you think you can dictate my every single thought and act of my life
choose my friends?  !  am not one of your subordinates and nor



am I under any obligation to explain myself to you or anyone."

As he towered over her, Edward's nostrils were pinched, his face taut
and his eyes blazing with sudden rage.  His composure--or what was left
of it--finally broke, and his hands shot out and gripped her shoulders
hard.  When at last he spoke, his tone was merciless and cutting.

"Yes, you are.  In your stubborn determination you may succeed in
getting your own way with others--but that is about to end.  When you
are my wife, madam--in less than twenty-four hours, let me remind
you--you will not forget that I am your husband and you will accord me
that respect.  You will acknowledge me as such and render full
obedience to me.  I cannot govern your freedom of thought, nor would I
wish to, but I will not be played false.  Nor will I have you defying
me in such spectacular fashion.  How long did you think you could keep
this from me--hat you were sneaking out behind my back to meet Simon
Butteridge up on the moor, it would seem?  How long, Jane?"

"For as long as I had to," she cried, continuing to glare at him with
defiance.

"Why?  Because you both love and serve the same cause?  Because you saw
me as a threat?  As the enemy?  Answer me this.  When I arrived at
Bowden, you told me you considered our betrothal to be no longer
binding.  Could that be because your relationship with him had
developed into something stronger over the years that there is
affection between the two of you?  Your furtive behaviour of late leads
me to suspect that what is between you is more than mere friendship."

"You know the circumstances of my relationship with Simon.  He was
James's friend and a frequent visitor to Bowden Manor prior to the war.
There is nothing more to tell you.  You know the rest."

"Indeed I do.  But what concerns me is the extent of your relationship
with this man.  Do you deny you met him on the morning of our departure
from Bowden?  The morning you lied to me hoping I would believe you
when you told me you had been walking."

"No, I do not deny it.  I met him quite by chance in the church. 
Before that I had no knowledge of the skirmish or that he was even in
Derbyshire.  I swear it."

Edward relinquished his painful hold on her shoulders and she stepped
back, her hand creeping up to her throat, her shoulders throbbing from
his fierce grip.  She bent her head, unable to meet his frightening,
accusing eyes boring into hers relentlessly; shaking her head slowly,
feeling a pain like she had never felt before in her heart.

"There is nothing between us.  There never has been.  He is a friend--a
good friend, that is all.  Your accusations are unfounded and
unjust."

"Are they?  Can you be sure of that?"

"Yes," she answered, truth in what she said.  And yet she knew that if
he had asked her this question just a Short while ago she would have
found it difficult to deny.  Then, in her naivety and innocence, she
had allowed Simon to occupy her every waking



moment because she believed she loved him above all else.

"Then dare you look me in the eye and tell me you have never felt
anything for him other than friendship?  When I look at you--at the
uncertainty in your eyes--I see you would have had it differently."

She was unaware that it did so, but thinking of Simon had brought a
change to her face.  There was a softening to her features and her
eyes, and when she raised them to meet Edward's renewed rage surged
through him and he cursed with fierce impatience.  He was consumed with
bitterness; he now realised he loved her unalterably, that he would
always love her, and it was ironic that after meeting her for the first
time after three years and falling for her charms, he had thought to
woo her as he had never done in the past, to initiate her into the
delights of love, and to hope she would come to love him in return.

Bitterness increased his anger and, unable to stop himself, he reached
out and scooped her roughly into his arms.

"Damn you," he hissed in an almost inaudible voice.  "Damn you and
Simon Butteridge to hell.  By God, lady, I swear that when you become
Xy wife and share my bed you will think of him l lr.  There will be no
more secrets between us I shall never be satisfied until you surrender
yourself to me completely and absolutely.  I shall crush your skull
with my bare hands if necessary to rid him from your mind."

As he drew her closer and his head bowed to her face she tried to
resist, writhing against him and beating her hands against his hard
chest, striving to be free of his grip, knowing he was a man who must
conquer, who must win whatever the odds against him.  But her struggles
were like the feeble wings of a caged bird flapping to be free of its
iron cage, for his arms held her like a vice.

"Let me go," she implored.  "Please--Edward--let me go."

The eyes that looked down into her's were pitiless.  "You cannot
dismiss me so lightly, Jane.  I want you too much to let you go now."

She felt his hot breath on her flesh and experienced the same rush of
helplessness as before when he held her, the same yielding
softness---and the image of Simon which had fleetingly occupied her
mind was gone in a bur of savagery and passion as Edward's mouth ground
down on to hers, silencing her protests, his lips possessive and
demanding, holding her utterly captive.  He kissed her like a starving
man, hard and with a passion almost beyond his control in his angry
determination to obliterate Simon from her mind completely, wanting to
hurt her with all the hurt that was inside him.

Jane found his kiss devastating.  She ceased to struggle, and her lips,
cold and unresponsive at first, did not stay that way.  His hand
caressed her breasts, straining beneath 'her dress, until she grew weak
against him and moaned softly.  She feita passion that swept her along
on a tidal wave of rapture and ecstacy.  Suddenly, tired of fighting,
somehow her arms were around his neck, her fingers fastening themselves
in his thick black hair.

She returned his kisses with a fierceness that shocked her, but she
ceased to care as she discovered



a whole new meaning of the word desire, seeking his mouth hungrily,
with an intensity that surprised them both.  They clung to each other,
unaware of everything but this urgent need they had for each other.

Jane's mind was wiped free of everything but Edward's lips on hers and
the dark abyss into which she was sinking.  She experienced a thrill
such as she had never known.  It was madness and passion, savage in its
intensity, and so consuming that she was certain she would lose
consciousness.

When he released her suddenly she staggered on finding herself free.
Reaching out her hand, she gripped the edge of the desk for support. 
An irrepressible force had been unleashed inside Edward--all the more
terrible because normally he had absolute control of all his actions.
Jane was visibly shaken by the force of his assault--and shocked by the
primitive intensity of emotions he had released inside her that had
made her respond like 'some shameless wanton from the streets.

Breathing quickly, Edward looked at her,.  her eyes wide and filled
with a confused assortment of emotions.  Her full, soft lips trembled
and the late-afternoon sun glowed warm and red through the window,
washing over her body moulded into her dress.  He was consumed by a
burning desire to take her here and now, knowing he would experience a
fierce pleasure when he finally made her his own.  But, knowing it was
madness to think like this, he turned from her abruptly, raking his
fingers through his hair.  Jane saw he was shaking and that sweat stuck
his white shirt to his back.  She turned from him.

"I--I must go," she whispered.

Hearing the soft res tie of her dress as she made a move towards the
door, he turned and regarded her seriously, the fury of his passion
having gone from his face.  Because of the mental torment he was being
made to suffer owing to her devotion to Simon Butteridge, a moment ago
he had wanted to hurt her, but now he almost regretted the impulse that
had made him draw her into his arms and kiss her, for he realised that
in doing so he had made it impossible for him to go to' Windsor and
leave her at Deighton.

This woman, who would be his wife in such a short time, was beginning
to seep into his very soul.  She had branded him, burned him with a
fire that had made him forever her slave.  Never again would he be free
of her.  He loved her with a fierceness that was new to him, and he
knew that if that love was not returned then he would be condemned to
live in hell itself.

"Wait' he commanded.

Close to the door Jane paused, waiting to hear what he had to say.

"I intend leaving for Windsor after the ceremony tomorrow.  I have
changed my mind about leaving you here at Deighton Hall.  You will
accompany me when I leave.  I think it's as well to have you near where
I can keep an eye on you.  You will stay with Sir George and Lady
Marchington, my uncle and aunt, in London."

His words caused renewed life to flow back into Jane's body.  She
turned quickly and her eyes flew to



his in astonishment.  "London!"  she exclaimed.  "But I have no wish to
go to London."

"That is unfortunate.  You have from now until tomorrow afternoon to
prepare for the journey and a few weeks' stay in the capital."

Jane stood her ground, defiance in every line of her body, unable to
believe he would force her to leave Deighton.  "No.  I will not go. 
You cannot make me."

"Enough," he commanded harshly.  "I am in no mood for argument."  He
moved towards her, looming over her, trying not to dwell on how tender
her lips had been, how soft and red they now looked as a result of his
kiss lest they unmanned him.  "Whether you wish to go or not is of no
consequence.  You have only yourself to blame, you know.  In the face
of your outrageous behaviour--and, I might add, at great inconvenience
to myself--you leave me with little choice but to take you with me."

Angry, hopeless tears of frustration stung the backs of Jane's eyes. 
"I won't go with you," she said in one final protest.

"You really have no choice in the matter, my dear," he said, reaching
out and opening the door.

Jane left him-then and returned to her room like a sleepwalker, too
dazed and numbed by what had just happened to think straight.  She did
her best to forget all he had said, all he had accused her of, telling
herself that tomorrow should be one of the happiest days of her life,
but the memory lingered like a bitter taste.

It was not until she was alone that she gave way to all the misery that
filled her.  Closing her eyes,

she let the tears that had been building up from the moment Edward had
released her spill down her cheeks, and throwing herself onto the bed
she gave herself up to all the wretchedness and pain that filled her
heart.  She sobbed into her pillows as though her heart would surely
break.

But even in her wretchedness she was conscious of the shame she felt
towards herself, shame when she thought how easily her body had
betrayed her, knowing she would have given herself to Edward willingly,
regardless of what he had accused her of where Simon was concerned.

But as her sobs lessened she found her traitorous thoughts turning
towards his kiss, remembering how hard and demanding his lips had been
on hers, and the way his hands had caressed her.  The memory made her
tremble and her whole being was flooded with a warmth that gave her a
sharp, dazzling awareness of the love she felt for him.  It was so
strong that it swept through her with an intensity that made the tears
freeze on her cheeks, and she lay, with her eyes wide open, shocked by
the truth.

Chapter Eleven

The house became a hive of activity as preparations were made for
Jane's departure for London.  It came as a surprise to everyone that
Edward had decided to take her with him, intending for her to stay with
Sir George and Lady Marchington, Lady Blanche's eldest brother and his
wife.  Isabel, their niece, always stayed with them on her visits to
London and mentioned that she had a mind to go there herself very soon,
seeing that Jane would be there for company.

It was a prospect Jane did not look forward to, especially since she
had discovered how much she loved Edward, which explained why she was
consumed with a warm glow whenever he came near her, why she wanted to
be with him--and why she was now glad he wasn't leaving her behind.

Apart from Jane, everyone was too preoccupied with the wedding to
notice how quiet and moody Anne had become all of a sudden, how pale
she looked, for her concern over Simon was almost tearing her apart.
Jane would tell her little of what had transpired between herself and
Edward when he had summoned her to his study, but Anne had a strong
feeling that he was angry with her for concealing Simon's whereabouts
from him, and that what had occurred had something to do with him
insisting on Jane accompanying him to London,

Anne was sorely tempted to confront her brother to defend Jane, to tell
him the truth of the matter, but thought better of it.  Jane was right.
It would solve nothing and only make matters much worse than they were
already.  She had managed to give Seth the message that he must warn
Simon against staying any longer at the farm on Grindly Moor, and by
his account Simon and Captain Digby had left almost immediately but it
would not be until after the weddirg, and Edward and Jane had left for
London, that one of the horses out of the Talbot stables would be
missed.

Anne was saddened that Jane was to leave Deighton Hall immediately
after the wedding, because she would have no one to talk to who
understood all she was going through.  Her inability to write to Simon,
to let him know how much she missed him already and all that was in her
heart, made her quite desolate-until Jane suggested that she
accompanied her to London.  Anne brightened at once, and after speaking
to her mother, who was not averse to the idea, persuaded Edward to
agree.

Looking out of the window of her room towards the lake on the morning
of her wedding, Jane leaned against the casement, dreamily watching the
swans swimming about on the surface of the water, thinking back to the
day when Edward had told her the stories



'o pounds the swan-maidens.  Having a little time to herself in the
midst of the wedding preparations, she remembered the tapestry Edward
had told her about.

Going to the gallery, she walked along its length until she came to the
one she was looking for.

It was not as large as some of the tapestries lining the walls, but the
work was one of beauty, ranging from colours of rich vibrancy to subtle
cool delicacy, depicting a lake land scene, the main theme being the
swans, large and small, some in the process of changing from swans into
beautiful swan-maidens, pure white against a backdrop of dark green
trees and the purple and mauve hues of the hills.

Coming into the gallery and seeing Jane looking at the tapestry, Lady
Blanche came to stand beside her.

"It's beautiful, is it not, Jane?  It was worked by Edward's
great-grandmother and her ladies.  There is evidence of her embroidery
throughout the house--as you've no doubt seen for yourself.  But this
tapestry of the swans is of particular beauty, detailing the story of
the swan-maidens as you can see."

"Yes.  Edward told me--although I'm surprised that, after coming to
Deighton all these years, I've never heard the stories before."

Quickly she recounted the two stories "Edward had told her that day by
the lake, expressing her sadness for the latter when the swan-maiden
had been compelled to change back into a swan and fly away back to her
own kind, leaving her brokenhearted husband behind.

Lady Blanche smiled.  "How like Edward not to finish the story."

"Oh!  You mean that was not the end?"

"By no means.  In due course the swan-maiden, in the form of a swan,
bearing a feather mantle, returned to her bereft husband.  "Slipping
off her own robe which changed her back into a maiden, she help him put
on the mantle which She had brought, and in so doing he too changed
into a swan."

"And no doubt they flew away together," laughed Jane softly, pleased to
know the story had a happy ending.

"Precisely.  So you see--it does not have such a sad ending after all.
Now, come along, my dear.  I think it's time we got you into your
wedding clothes.  It will soon be time to leave for the church."

Because of, the recent death of Jane's father, the marriage between
herself and Edward, which was to take place in the parish church of St.
Edmund, was not to be a public affair, denying the people of Deighton
the splendid spectacle that would have drawn people from all the
surrounding parishes, when the church would have been filled with the
cream of Derbyshire gentry and the celebrating would have been
magnificent, for weddings in the country areas constituted one of the
main features of social life.

Clad in a gown of gold satin, embroidered with gold and sewn with tiny
pearls that hung like teardrops from the fabric, Jane, a still, quiet
figure, stood beside Edward at the altar with a few close members of
family behind to witness the ceremony.  As a symbol of virginity her
hair had been left unbound, and brushed lovingly by Maria until it
shone like a beacon in the church, the grey light filtering through



the windows giving it an illusion of warmth in the cold interior.

Before they had left the house Edward had sought her out, utterly
bewitched by her bridal beauty.  She had looked at him with a quiet,
serene contentment.  His breath caught in his throat, for he was sure
that no one had ever been so lovely.  Something like terror had moved
in the region of his heart as he prayed to God to make him worthy of
her, to bring her all the peace and happiness she deserved.

"I must compliment you, Jane," he had said; speaking the words almost
beneath his breath, looking at.  her as if he could not gaze too long.
"When I said you would make a beautiful bride it was an understatement.
You were lovely the nut now you are quite magnificent.  I am relieved
to see that after what occurred between us yesterday you are still
'prepared to marry me to tie the knot so keenly desired by both our
families."

Jane looked at him, loving him, wanting to tell him that as a result of
what had occurred between them yesterday something had happened to her,
something quite wonderful.  But it was all so new to her, something she
was still trying to come to terms with herself that she was unable to
put into words just then.

"I have to.  I gave my promise, my sacred Word of honour, to you and to
my father.  I will not go back on that."

And 'now, with her hand in Edward's--the first time she had touched him
since he had released her from his' embrace the previous day--with the
revelation of her love she had no misgivings.  When the priest put the
traditional questions to her she spoke her vows with clarity, raising
her head and looking directly at the man she was marrying as he, too,
gave his responses in rich tones.

Dressed in his buff coat, he appeared every inch an officer in the
Parliament Army, darkly handsome and self-assured.  His eyes met hers,
the expression in them unreadable, but he was surprised to see how her
face glowed with an inner light, and that her hand in his was warm and
trembled slightly.  There was a contentment about her, which signified
she.  was resigned to her marriage to him--but he was also puzzled by
it.

When it was over, Edwards strong hand closed around her and he kissed
her, lightly, so that she scarcely felt the touch of his lips.  And
then they walked out of the church she had entered as Jane Marlow and
left as Lady Jane Talbot.

Time seemed to go so quickly that before Jane knew it the wedding
breakfast was over and she was seated in the carriage bound for London.
Lady Blanche had pleaded with Edward to delay his departure for a few
days but he was adamant, telling her he could remain in Derbyshire no
longer, and that the arrangements he had made with the local
Parliamentary troop--which was to escort them as far as Derby where
they were to spend the night could not be changed.

Owing to lack of maintenance due to shortage of money--for the funding
of the war effort had taken its toll in every parish--roads were
appallingly bad throughout the country, and so hazardous, not only



from poor conditions but also lawlessness.  Unprotec ted travellers
were frequently set upon by the hordes of beggars and wandering bands
of deserting soldiers that roamed the country at this time.  It was
hardly surprising that few civilians journeyed far.

And so it was quite a cavalcade that set off from Deighton Hall, with
baggage strapped on to the coach wherever there happened to be a space.
Not only was Anne accompanying Jane and Edward, but also Isabel, who
was returning to her home, Beestone Lodge, on the outskirts of Derby,
where they were to spend the first night of their journey.  Maria and
her daughters were to remain with Lady Blanche for a few more days
before returning to Bowden.

Derby was a town with neither castle nor stone walls, being defended
instead by a construction of earthworks which so far remained
unopposed.  It had become Sir John Gell's Parliamentary headquarters at
the start of the Civil War, its garrison housed in the Town Hall which
had been built in Tudor times

It was almost dark when they reached Beestone Lodge, where Isabel's
parents were waiting to greet them warmly.  The atmosphere between Jane
and Edward had been somewhat strained since leaving Deighton Hall,
which, Jane suspected, could have something to do with Isabel and Anne
being with them.  She very much hoped things would be different between
them when they were alone together, that perhaps their relationship
would be improved now they were married.  But if she had any notions of
spending a romantic night in the arms ofber husband then she was to be
sadly disappointed.

Edward had to pay a visit to Sir John Gell at the garrison
headquarters, having important military matters to discuss, but he had
no intention of being away from his bride for longer than necessary.
The hour was already late when he excused himself, giving Jane no more
than a perfunctory glance before leaving the house.

Being a keen-eyed observer on how matters stood between Jane and
Edward, Isabel noticed the disappointment cloud Jane's eyes when he
left and she gave her a quelling glance, clearly glad to see the
coolness that existed between them and losing no opportunity to
exacerbate the situation.

"I should not be too expectant of Edward's company toniglt, Jane," she
said smoothly, accosting her as she was about to join Anne in the
adjacent room and speaking for her ears alone.  "Sir John is a very
good friend of his, whose reputation for liquor and his eye for the
ladies is well known.  I very much doubt that Edward will be able to
tear himself away from such convivial company tonight--and that he will
not put in an appearance until you are due to resume your journey to
London tomorrow."

Isabel conveyed the meaning of her words to Jane perfectly, causing her
to colour with astonishment at her outspokenness and to quell the hurt
that rose inside her, for the thought of Edward in the arms of some
harlot was almost more than she could bear.  Jealousy and anger knifed
through her and she faced Isabel, highly incensed and refusing to be
influenced by her spiteful words.

"Then if that is to be the case I shall bid everyone goodnight and
retire.  The journey has quite tired me



out.  I understand perfectly that if Edward has military matters to
discuss with Sir John then clearly he must speak to him tonight if he
wishes to make an early start for London tomorrow.  But what you
imply,

Isabel that Edward is so weak as to be tempted to partake in Sir John's
activities, however unsavoury,

on his wedding night--and said in so frivolous and thoughtless a
manner, I find distasteful.

"For all his faults, Edward is a gentleman and sincere in all he says
and does, and I would no injure him by insulting his character in such
an abominable manner.  If I were to believe the truth of your
insinuations then I too would be insulted.  As it is, I do not.
Goodnight, isabel."

Jane turned from her and immediately went to bid everyone goodnight,
seeing nothing in Isabel's insinuations other than her own malicious
intent.  Of course Edward would return later, he had to.  He would not
seek to humiliate her in such a hurtful manner.

And so she waited, the thought of what was to come filling her with
excited pleasure and sweet anticipation, and a nervous trembling came
over her.  Edward's embrace of yesterday had had her completely at his
mercy, leaving her unfulfilled and impatient for what must inevitably
follow, when she would surrender herself to him totally.

The night passed slowly as she fell in and out of sleep, her ears
straining to hear his footfall on the landing outside her door.  But
when the dawn light invaded her room she knew with cold reality that
Isabel had been fight, that Edward had found other attractions to keep
him from her bed on their wedding night.

Swamped with disappointment she wanted to cry, to give way to her
despair.  She felt humiliated as well as puzzled, for when he had
kissed her so violently the previous day he had made her believe he
would lose no time in claiming his rights.  But she now knew that when
a man kissed a woman with such.  passion it did not mean that his heart
was involved.  She was a fool, a stupid fool, to think that because her
own feelings had changed towards him he would feel the same.  But she
had been wrong.

Anger that she had allowed herself to succumb so readily to the embrace
of this hard and unfeeling man who vas now her husband--who would no
doubt satisfy his carnal appetite only when he was good and ready-made
her draw herself up proudly.  He would never see how much he had hurt
her, how she had waited in vain for him to come to her.  She would not
give him that satisfaction.

As Isabel had predicted, Edward arrived back at the house the following
morning just before they were to depart for London.  Already dressed
for the journey, Jane had yet to go downstairs and saw him arrive from
the windows of her room which overlooked the drive.  Her eyes were on
him instantly and her heart quickened on seeing him, but she would not
go down just yet.  She would wait.  Let him come to her.  Again she
waited, and the longer she waited it became more and more apparent that
patience was not one of her virtues.

Finally, unable to wait any longer, she went down stairs.  Hearing the
sound of Isabel's gentle laughter coming from one of the rooms she
moved towards it, standing in the doorway and looking in on the scene
that met her eyes, feeling a flare of resentment and jealousy.  She
missed nothing.  Isabel and Edward were the only two people in the
room.

Isabel, she saw, was unusually animated, and there was a predatory
alertness to the way in which she leaned towards Edward, speaking
confidentially, her mouth close to his ear.  Edward appeared to be in
excellent spirits.  What was the topic of their conversation?  What was
it she Was saying to him that caused him to smile and bend his head so
close to hers as he listened attentively to her words from which she
was excluded?

Isabel's eyes held far too much eloquence and she saw by her whole
attitude that it made little difference to her that Edward was now
married.  Although within the society in which she moved perhaps these
things didn't matter, thought Jane angrily.  Her whole manner spoke in
a language any woman who was not a fool would understand.

Observing the easy familiarity between the two of them caused a
terrible pain to wrench Jane's heart and she desperately wanted to turn
and go back upstairs, but pride and anger urged her to move forward, to
confront this errant husband of hers who had treated her so
outrageously.  They turned simultaneously when she stepped into the
room, and she had the satisfaction of seeing Edward look momentarily
abashed.

"Please leave us, Isabel," she said stiffly, deter mined to take Edward
to task.  "I wish to speak to my husband alone."

Without a word Isabel left the room, but as she passed, Jane observed
how her eyes held a malicious sparkle and her lips were secretly
smiling-a smile Jane had a great desire to smack from her lips.
Stiffened by pride she managed to dominate her anger, determined to
show no emotion as she faced Edward, forcing herself to ignore the dark
appeal of his eyes, his mouth, which she had longed the whole night
through to kiss her own, and his hands to caress her.  She longed to
run into his arms and yet at the same time wanted to strike out at him.
Oh, why did she have the misfortune to love him?

In full possession of herself and the light of batt16 gleaming in her
eyes, she stood facing him, waiting expectantly for some explanation
for his absence, but one wasn't forthcoming.  He moved towards her and
greeted her with a smile and a few commonplace word sven placing a
quick kiss on her cold cheek, the only intimate contact there had been
between them since their marriage.  She seethed inwardly, hating
herself for her stupidity, for she resembled a doting dog waiting for a
pat and caress from its master, only to be dealt a rebuff instead.

"Good morning, Jane," he said airily.  "You slept Well, I trust?"
"Perfectly, thank you.  No doubt my lord found a more comfortable bed
on offer in the town," she said boldly.

"On the contrary.  The bed I slept on was too small and damned
uncomfortable.  My cousin was just telling me that it serves me right.
That I would have



found a softer resting place here at Beestone Lodge--had I returned,"
he said, speaking with appealing softness and smiling at her under
drooping eyelids, letting his eyes dwell appreciatively on her lovely
face.

"Cousin indeed!"  scorned Jane, refusing to be mollified by his
silk-like voice and seductive dark eyes.  "There was nothing cousinly
in the way she was looking at you.  Even the most riff ire of wives
would not be fooled.  To whose bed was she referring do you think,
Edward?  Mine or hers?"

Edward's eyes hardened as they became fixed on her hostile face, for he
had been prepared to find her displeased and slightly 'vexed by his
failure to return 'to the house, not this angry vixen with
fire-spitting amber eyes.

"What the devil are you talking about?  Are you accusing Isabel of pro
positioning me--a married man?"

"Oh, come now, Edward," she taunted.  'l do not think you are such a
simpleton that you didn't know she was doing precisely that."

He shrugged, drawing away from her a little, determined not be drawn
into a disagreement when they were on the point of leaving for London.
"You are being ridiculous, Jane.  We have been wed scarcely twenty-four
hours and already you are showing all the signs of becoming a jealous
wife."

"No--a humiliated one.  I have not the faintest idea where you spent
the night or with whom--and nor do I wish to for I am sure I would find
the details quite sordid.  But after swearing before God to love and
cherish me kindly have the courtesy to tell me why you chose to spend
our wedding night away from me?  Do I not deserve an explanation for
that at least--if you have one to offer?"

Edward's dark brows rose and one corner of his mouth lifted in a
mocking smile.  "So--you noticed.  I am flattered.  You must forgive
me, you see--I thought maybe my absence would meet with your
satisfaction."

"Yes---thank you, it did," she lied, giving him no indication of how
much she had suffered.  "But it might have been a little more
considerate of you not to have absented yourself from my bed on our
wedding eight quite so openly.  Your conduct and indifference to my
feelings was callous and outrageous.  It js clear you gave no thought
to me what Soever.  '

Jane stood looking at him in such a way that almost shamed him.  But
Edward was angry at having to defend himself, even if he couldn't blame
her for being furious.  She was right, his conduct had been quite
outrageous, but he was unable to offer her the true reason as to why he
had not returned to Beestone Lodge.  His face was inscrutable, but in
the dark depths of his eyes something flickered like a raw flame.

"Then what can I say, Jane?  I.am truly sorry for any embarrassment my
actions may have caused you---but had I known you would be waiting for
me so ardently, then nothing would have kept me from your bed."

"I did not invite you to make love to me merely to spare me from
humiliation," she said, with an edge to her voice like finely honed
steel.



"You are right.  I know what you must be thinking--but things are not
always as they appear to be."  "Then explain yourself, Edward--if you
can."  He studied her calmly and coolly for a long moment, as if
considering what to say next.  His brow puckered in a scowl and he
appeared to choose his words with care.  He averted his eyes, as if he
had something to hide, which Jane took to be a confirmation of his
guilt.

"Well?"  she prompted impatiently.  "Could it be that your conscience
is troubling you, my lord?"

"My conscience is clear," he answered harshly, a pulse in his temple
beginning to beat violently as he tried to contain the rage that was
threatening to erupt inside him at any moment--and his desire, for even
in her scorn and defiance she looked so damned lovely facing him that
he had to suppress the urge to move towards her and take her in his
arms.  "I told you I had urgent military matters to discuss with Sir
John.  Unfortunately, they took rather longer than I expected--and by
the time we had finished the hour was extremely late, too late to ride
back to Beestone Lodge alone."

"And being aware of Sir John's reputation, no doubt you found yourself
in more congenial company-with someone who was no doubt more
appreciative and responsive to your lovemaking.  Oh, I quite
understand, so please spare me any concern you might feel, Edward.  It
really doesn't matter.  The damage is done and no doubt Isabel will
feed off it at my expense for many months to come."

Stung to anger by her accusations, Edward's eyes narrowed dangerously
and his lips twisted with scorn.  '!  am no saint, and in the past I
have freely partaken of life's pleasures, that I admit," he said
tersely.  "But no matter what your fertile imagination has conjured up
regarding my activities last night, you are quite wrong, you know.  I
slept alone.  I have no intention of breaking my marriage vows.  So do
not sit in judgement on me, Jane.  Especially not in the light of your
own activities where a certain gentleman is concerned.  I will not have
it."

At a glance he saw she didn't believe him and he turned from her,
struggling to overcome his anger lest he reach out and throttle her in
her obstinate determination to believe the worst in him.  But then he
turned, and seeing the pain behind the fury in her eyes, which she wore
like a protective shield, the last of his anger died away.

His look became thoughtful and he could see she was' visibly struggling
against her anger.  Her youth and vulnerability reached out to him,
seeing this, a softness entered his gaze.  As though mesmerised by the
close proximity of her beauty, and annoyed by his inability to smooth
the situation, he sighed, moving towards her, intending to take her
into his arms, but when she saw what he was about to do she stepped
back as if she'd been stung, afraid that if she weakened now he would
expose the pitiful, hopeless love she carried for him in her heart.

"Don't touch me," she flared.  "Don't you dare touch me now."

Abruptly Jane turned away from him and left the room, much too hurt and
angry to see that his words and his cool manner sprang from a bitter
jealousy.  it had been revived and had deepened on seeing Sir



Simon Butteridge arrive at the garrison in Derby in a miserable line of
Royalist prisoners recently rounded up, enroute for London, to be
paraded through the streets before being incarcerated in one of the
city's infamous prisons.

Simon had been robbed of his hat, so it was his hair which had first
drawn Edward's attention to him, and the dignity with which he held
himself, which seemed to set him apart from the others, even though he
was bound with match cord.  He lacked the ulcerated fetter sores which
plagued most of the other prisoners bout fifty, in all--and unlike the
others whose bleeding feet were tied around with rags, he was still in
possession of his boots, which told him his capture was recent.  By the
time he had marched to London, dragged at a rope's end--a journey which
would see some die from exhaustion and hunger and others, who
endeavoured to escape along the way, cut down mercilessly---he would
resemble the rest.

Edward had been on the point of leaving the town when the prisoners
were brought in, but on seeing the man he believed had captured Jane's
heart, he had cursed resoundingly and turned about, going back to seek
the company of Sir John once more, downing formidable quantities of
liquor in an attempt to deaden his senses, to blot the man and his
miserable situation from his mind.

In no time at all he was as drunk as the proverbial noble lord he was,
but on recollecting that Simon Butteridge had been James's friend, as
close a friend as he himself had been, he was swamped with a terrible
guilt and self-loathing that he had done nothing to alleviate his
misery--and in so doing had in some way betrayed James.

On returning to Beestone Lodge the following morning, his heart marked
with a burning resentment for Simon Butteridge, he refused to even
consider mentioning the incident to Jane, for she would more than
likely dissolve into floods of tears and hasten to Derby to be by his
side, to do all she could to set him free, regardless of any
embarrassment to himself.  But if Edward thought he could banish the
man and the matter from his mind then he was mistaken, for the image of
Simon Butteridge would continue to haunt him for many weeks to come.

As a result of partaking of too much of Sir John's hospitality" his
head ached and his body felt as though it had been stretched to its
limits on the rack, owing to the crude pallet on which he had finally
collapsed, but he could give Jane no reasonable explanation for his
absence from her bed.  Lord knows, before he had seen Butteridge he had
intended returninglis desire to make love to her, to possess her, being
uppermost in his mind.  But after that he couldn't.

When they came together he wanted to love her as tenderly as any man
could love his wife on the first night of their lives together, but
feeling as he did, with anger and resentment boiling inside him against
Butteridge for stealing her heart, he knew there would be no gentleness
in him that night.  Better to wait than to risk further contention.

As the coach taking them to London left Beestone Lodge, Jane would have
experienced a feeling of



unease had she seen the hard light shining ruthlessly in Isabel's eyes;
her resentment and bitterness towards Jane had grown considerably since
her marriage to Edward.  All the years they had been betrothed she had
never for one moment believed him to be genuinely and deeply in love
with Jane,

and for that matter had never considered her to be of much
importance--and even now she was convinced that nothing was changed.

The fact that he had chosen to stay away from her on their wedding
night sent out the message that their relationship was not as it should
be--and that there might be other nights he would wish to spend away
from her.  She smiled maliciously; not averse to causing a little
mischief now and then, she had already decided on going to London
herself very soon.

On their journey to London Jane saw little of Edward as they travelled,
for he preferred to ride along with their escort for most of the way
than occupy the confines of the coach with herself, Anne and the two
young maids they had brought to attend them.  When they did meet at the
coaching inns along the way to rest and stay the night, she behaved
with discretion and treated him in a cool, friendly enough manner, and
made to further reference to his continued absence from her bed.  Her
chamber was always shared by Anne, and if she thought it strange that
Edward hadn't come near her since their wedding, it was too delicate an
issue for her to comment upon--furthermore, she had other things on her
mind.

The further they travelled from Derbyshire the more Jane became
increasingly worried about Anne.  She seemed to withdraw into herself
with each passing mile.  Sitting beside Jane hour after hour in the
carriage, she was motionless, staring out of the window at the passing
scenery and yet seeing nothing.  She was quiet, her face pale, and in
her loneliness and despair she thought of nothing and no one other than
Simon.

Wrapped in her own misery of unrequited love, Jane could only pity her,
for whereas her relationship 'with Edward offered hope now they were
man and wife, that the path they were to travel together could only get
smoother, where Anne was concerned there was no Such hope.  The future
to her eyes was as bleak as the moors around Deighton on a winter's
day.  However hard she might dream of sharing her life with Simon,
should Edward find out then it would be a pathway to tragedy.

"I would die for Simon, Jane," whispered Anne into the dark one night
when they lay abed at a wayside inn, her voice full of longing.  "Just
for one look, to have him hold me and kiss me once--I would forfeit
everything I own.  Even my life."

Unable to offer any words that could be of comfort to her, Jane reached
out her arm and squeezed her hand, praying she would emerge from her
melancholy state when they reached Marchington House and she had other
matters to occupy her mind.

When they reached the outskirts of London, no matter what Jane had told
Isabel about having no desire to see the city, she was like a wide-eyed
country girl as they passed through the suburbs towards



C!erkenwell, north of the city.  The setting sun trailed its golden
rays across the unfolding landscape and a silvery mist hung over the
London skyline on the horizon, its church spires and parapets providing
a jagged edge.  Edward had sent word on ahead to

Sir George and Lady Marchington to expect their arrival.  They were
greeted warmly and ushered inside Marchington House where refreshments
awaited them.

Ardent Royalists, .  Sir George and Lady Marchington were an elderly
couple, Sir George a quiet man, small of stature and of copious build,
his.  wife slightly taller, extremely slender and with a regal bearing.
She had no reservations on meeting Jane, whom she had never met but had
learnt much about from Blanche over the years, and Anne, of course,
over whom she cast a worried glance, thinking she looked a little pea
ky When she commented on this Anne laughed lightly, telling her if she
was a little pale then it could only be put down to the long journey
from Derbyshire.

In the bustle of their arrival her aunt accepted this to be the reason,
but Edward cast her a sharp look of curiosity and concern.  His aunt
was fight, Anne did look a little pale and her eyes lacked lustre.
There had been a noticeable absence of her usual high spirits for some
time now since before the wedding, in fact.  He must have a word with
Jane.  Perhaps she would be able to provide a reason for his sister's
melancholic state.

Chapter Twelve

I'm so glad you were able to come to London, Jane," Lady Marchington
said when they were all in the drawing-room after dinner, 'such as it
is in these unfortunate-times.  I have to say it is not the best of

' times to visit.  Sadly, it is not the same as before the War, when
the King and his Court gave us all so much to gossip about.  Then there
was a constant round of masques and balls, but now there is nothing to
look forward to.  Why, so many houses lay empty--deserted by families
who have gone to fight."

"Nevertheless, I am looking forward to going into the city, Lady
Marchington."

"I shall see to it that passes are obtained," said Edward from where he
was standing with his uncle in front of the fire, twirling the amber
liquid of his brandy around his glass.  Seeing Jane's enquiring look,
he smiled.  "They are essential for passing in and out through the
gates," he explained.

"Then I suppose that is one favourable aspect of your being a
Parliamentary officer we should all be



grateful for," she said, the irony underlying her words not lost on
Edward--although it seemed to be on everyone else, which he was
relieved about, for the last thing he wanted was for his aunt and uncle
to sense the discord that lay between them, a discord he was determined
to rectify at the earliest possible opportunity now they had reached
London.  Nevertheless her remark brought a dark scowl of displeasure to
his features.

Jane turned again to Lady Marchington.  "Did you not think of moving to
the country, Lady Marchington?"  she asked.  "Would it not have been
safer with London being a Parliament stronghold?"

"George and I chose to stay.  We're too old for such an upheaval, and
besides, no matter what hardships are cast our way I refuse to be
daunted.  I Will not be intimidated in my own home.  Although it
doesn't do to be too outspoken, otherwise one is in danger of being
thrown into prison without a moment's notice.  There are drawbacks, of
course.  Food is so very expensive and coal almost unobtainable except
at exorbitant prices.  Puritanism is sweeping across London like a
blanket of smog and Marchington House---as well as those of other
Royalist sympathisers--is regularly searched."

After responding to some remark from his uncle, Edward smiled
indulgently across at his aunt where she sat on the sofa beside Jane,
with Anne across from her.

"Not recently, Aunt, I hope.  I thought I'd sorted all that business
out before I left for the north."

"Yes, thank you, Edward.  I have to say we have not been searched for
quite some months now.  So you see, Jane," she said, her eyes twinkling
merrily, 'it does help having a nephew in the Parliament Armyowever
misguided I believe his allegiance to be.  I'm only thankful his
brother William did not follow suit.  Still--we're not the only family
in the land who suffer from divided loyalties.  I'm just happy that
we're civilised about it and have remained close

"Yes.  Lady Blanche said much the same thing."  Jane smiled.  "I hope
you don't mind Edward foisting myself and Anne on you, Lady
Marchington.  I'm.  afraid we gave you short notice of our arrival."

"Not at all, my dear.  It will give 'us great pleasure entertaining you
at Marchington House.  It will also give us the, opportunity of getting
to know you--and I'm always happy to see Anne, she knows that," she
replied, smiling fondly at Anne.  "Of course, Edward always was one to
spring surprises---turning up when one leasts expects him.  But we're
always happy to see the dear boy.  And I dare say that having just
married YOu he couldn't bear to be parted from you---and having met you
I cannot say that I blame him.  He failed to tell us how outrageously
pretty you are.  Are you to stay with us tonight, Edward?"

"No, Lady Marchington," said Jane quickly, Casting her husband a
taunting, smiling glance, indignant at his continued aloofness towards
her---and her own weakness in allowing him to ensnare her heart with
such iiffie effort, feeling that she would have to use all the powers
of her allurement to melt the indifference of this man who seemed to be
encased in ice.  "He has pressing military matters to attend to and
must leave for Windsor directly.  Is that not so, Edward?"

Dismayed by the prospect of being apart from him, her eyes held a
challenge, a challenge that was irresistible and which Edward rose to.
With a grim smile on his lips he directed a glance across the space
that divided them that was not lacking in interest, and a wicked gleam
flashed through his black pupils.

Lady Marchington sighed, slightly disgruntled.  "And no doubt you will
be so deeply occupied at Windsor getting your new regiment together
that you will scarcely give us a second thought."

"Now you know that is not so, Aunt," he said smoothly.  "Nothing would
give me greater pleasure than to retire from the army and stay at home,
for heaven knows there are enough commanders now in the Parliament Army
to form their own regiment.  But until a settlement is reached I must
soldier on.  However, never fear.  I shall come to see you whenever I
have the opportunity."

"Can you not be persuaded to remain with us until morning?"

With a tilt of his dark brows he smiled, his eyes locked on his wife's.
"I might be--if my uncle can tempt me with another glass of his
excellent brandy," he said, handing Sir George his glass.

After being prepared for bed by her maid and left alone, surrounded by
elegant furnishings, Jane was seated at the dressing-table in the
bedchamber that was to be hers for the duration of her stay at
Marchington House.  She gazed wistfully at her face in the mirror,
seeing how large her eyes were.  How pale her skin was in the dim
light, yet how.  could it be when it was burning?  Gently she touched
her lips, feeling them tremble, knowing she would feel no greater bliss
than the moment when she gave herself to Edward.

When she had left him with Sir George earlier, she had tried to justify
her foolish aberration to herself as she had climbed the stairs, trying
to delude herself into believing that all she had wanted was for him to
stay, just to be near her, even if he slept elsewhere in the house,
because when he left for Windsor there was no telling when she would
next see him: But she smiled, knowing it was self-delusion, for she
wanted him with her--in her bed, where he should be.  It had been
madness to entice him with words and a look to her room, but he had
been unable to withstand her.  The alchemy between them was so great he
had recognised the message she conveyed.

But would he come or would he keep her waiting in a torment of
quivering excitement and sweet anticipation as he had on the night of
their wedding, leaving her to face the cold light of dawn alone."?

But then he was there.  She saw his image in the mirror behind her. 
She was still, watching him move closer, silently, and then his hands
were on her shoulders, gentle and caressing, before he bowed his dark
head and, shoving back her hair, placed his warm lips on her neck.  He
slipped the garment that covered her off her shoulders, exposing her
breasts, the flushed nipples hard and thrusting forward.  His lips
travelled over them with a velvety softness, burning her flesh with the
tip of his tongue.  With a quick



intake of breath Jane closed her eyes and leaned against him.

"You were expecting me, I think," he murmured, his lips still nuzzling
her neck, the sweet scent of her flesh almost overwhelming him.  "You
have an artful tongue, my dear, sweet Jane, and your powers of
persuasion are great indeed.  Do you not think it wicked to tempt a man
away from his duties, his military duties, when his country is in dire
need of his services?"

"And do you not think that, on occasionl his duties to his wife are
more important than those to his country, my lord?"  she breathed. 
"But if the man is weak and is so easily tempted, then maybe he should
take his wife with him when next he goes off to campaign."

Edward raised his head, his eyes moving across her face in the mirror
before locking on her jewel-bright gaze, the slightest hint of a smile
forming on his lips.

"You are shameless.  Your mere presence on a battlefield would confound
the enemy.  It would sap the foundations of any strategic plan."

"But am I not the enemy?  How do you know this is not a strategic plan
of my own to confound my husband into lying with me?"

Edward stood up straight, drawing her up to face him, tilting her head
up to his and lowering his lips to hers.  She made a faint.  sound in
her throat before closing her eyes and melting against him, feeling his
lips hard and demanding, aware of her own opening to his.  She felt
herself going soft, weakening against him, fearing she would swoon with
the pleasure he was arousing inside her.  With the length of his firm
body pressed close to hers she was drowning, dissolving in a sea of
passion until she became quite lost.

Withdrawing slightly from his kiss he looked down at her, his lips
twisting crookedly in a smile.  "This is how I know," he answered at
last, his mouth against hers.  "Your passionate response to my kiss,
and the way you have of trembling whenever I touch you, tells me it is
you who is confounded."

Laughing softly at the mastery he knew he had over her, he sat on the
bed, drawing her down beside him and pressing her back onto the
pillows, gently kissing her eyes, her cheeks, her lips, his hands
sliding under, the thin garment that covered her, stroking and
caressing her nakedness so tenderly, so expertly, that she gasped,
almost crying out for him to stop because she could not bear itnd yet
wanting him never to stop.  She opened her eyes, looking at him,
begging him with her eyes for him to take her.

"You are wanton, my Jane," he whispered, his breath hot against her
cheek.  "Come--say you want me."

"Yes," she gasped.  "Oh--yes."

He divested her of her gown and removed his own clothes with such speed
that she scarcely noticed he was doing so.  Lying naked before him, she
watched as he devoured her slender body with his eyes, throwing back
her head in an ecstasy of joy when he bent his head and kissed her'
arms her breasts, the firm, flat surface of her abdomen, burning her
flesh with his lips as they travelled the length of her body.  There
were no maidenly blushes, no modest attempt



to cover herself as he awoke all the old demons inside her clamouring
for fulfilment.

His body was strong and hard, his muscles clearly defined, and when at
last he covered her's she threw her arms around him, bringing his head
closer to her own.  Everything inside her melted and ran as he invaded
and possessed her, and his possession was both magnificent and
terrifying.  His body was huge and powerful, wonderful and glistening
with sweat above her; his eyes were dark with passion.

Allowing herself to be carried away to the realms of ecstasy, where
torment and delight were one, she clung to him, hearing him murmur
passionate endearments close to her face as he satisfied his need.  She
was powerless beneath him, for there was nothing to save her, nothing
she could do as he continued to make love to her, nothing she wanted to
do as she responded to him like the wanton he had called her, the
steady rhythm of him inside her sending her to heights of unimaginable
bliss.

When at last it was over he left her like smouldering ash, her senses
in absolute disintegration.  She turned from him, her skin continuing
to tremble from her contact with him, still burning, still feeling the
ecstasy of relief wash over her, and yet, despite reaching a fullness
of satisfaction, long after he had left her her senses remembered and
she wanted him still.

The night seemed endless as they made love until dawr, when Jane
finally slept.  When she awoke Edward was beside the bed, already
dressed to travel to Windsor.  With a kiss and a promise to return to
her at the first possible moment he left her then.

Rolling on to her back, she sighed, stretching with languid
contentment, thinking of him and the extraordinary things that happened
to her when she was in his arms.  She shone when she was with him.  Her
heart and body belonged to no 'one but him.  He became her all, filling
her world so that she could not look forward without seeing him.

After that night Edward's duties kept him from her and she suffered an
agony of torment as she waited for him to return to Marchington House.
With Anne--who spent every waking moment worrying about Simonhe spent
her days walking through the surrounding fields and gardens, and one
day taking the carriage into the city with Lady Marchington to see the
sights.

The massive ale fences left her agog, for it was a wall of earth,
eighteen feet high and eleven miles round the city with a ditch in
front, built by an enthusiastic, overwhelming number of Parliamentarian
inhabitants in fear of a siege.

London was a handsome city, teeming with people, although stark
evidence of the Civil War was everywhere, with the City's Trained Bands
marching through the streets and wounded soldiers and beggars
abounding, They kept to the main thoroughfares and squares, seeing
well-paved courtyards fronting fine houses of rich merchants, avoiding
the maze of twisting, mean back alleyways lined with crumbling, squalid
dwellings, inhabited by cut-throats and skulking thieves.

After visiting St.  Paul's Church and the river, with Jane marvelling
at the terrific amount of traffic journeying up and down and Lady
Marchington pointing out certain places of interest, they travelled
along the Strand towards Chafing Cross, to Westminster and the
sprawling Palace of Whitehall, which had housed the King's court and
government.

When they were returning to Clerkenwell the carriage came to a halt,
moving to one side of the narrow street to make way for a long line of
prisoners of war.  This was a familiar sight to Lady Marchington, for
prisoners rounded up after a battle were frequently marched to London
to be incarcerated in the filthY, disease-ridden hulks on the river or
one of the many prisons.

The most she had ever seen paraded through the streets was after the
Battle of Naseby.  Then about four thousand had been brought in, the
prisons too full to take them all.  Almost seven hundred had been
imprisoned in Lambeth Palace across the river, the rest caged in the
open on Tothill Fields.

For Jane and Anne the scene was quite new and filled them with horror
and revulsion.

"Don't look if it upsets you," advised Lady Marchington.  "But I'm
afraid it's a common enough sight to see Royalist prisoners being
brought into the city."

Anne and Jane could not look away for these poor men deserved their
pity.  Tied together with cord, many without shoes and stockings, the
prisoners struggled along, dragging their feet in an effort to keep up
with the man in front.  They were dirty and dejected, reviled by people
who lined the streets to see them, while there were those like
themselves who looked on with pity.

It was Anne's involuntary cry of pain and disbelief that drew Jane's
gaze to one of the prisoners, to his flowing fair locks, though lank
and dirty after many days of marching.  His head was lowered, but he
still bore himself well.  Robbed of the trappings of a gentleman, he
still managed to look dignified.  Profoundly shocked, tears filled her
eyes when she recognised Simon, tears of anger and despair on
discovering he had been captured after all their efforts to help him
make his way back to the Royalist force.  Her heart went out to him.

He was not so far away, and when he was abut to pass by he raised his
head and saw them.  His blue eyes widened with incredulity, unable to
believe what they saw.  He was unable to speak to them, unable to reach
out and take one of Anne's gloved hands that gripped the door of the
carriage---but true to his character he smiled and a merry twinkle lit
his eyes.  Jane was sure that if he'd been wearing his hat and his
hands had been free he would have removed it and made them a
flourishing bow, despite his obvious suffering.  Sensing what was
happening, Lady Marchingron pulled Anne into the interior of the
coach.

"If you recognise one of them, it is imperative you let no one see.  It
could be dangerous for us all."

Her words fell upon deaf ears.  Before Lady Marchington could stop her,
Anne had scrambled out of the carriage and into the street.  Quickly
Jane went after her, catching her arm and pulling her back,

seeing Simon disappear round a bend in the street.  "It was Simon.  You
saw him, didn't you, Jane?"  "Yes--yes, I did."



'l cannot bear to see him so publicly humiliated.

I must follow him," said Anne in a choking voice,

her face ghost white.  'l have to know where they're taking him."

Looking about her, Jane saw a soldier on horseback who was with the
prisoners.  She ran towards him, hoping he would stop.

"Please--tell me where you're taking them?"  The soldier slowed his
horse and looked down at her, grinning salaciously into her pretty
face.  "Now why would a pretty wench like yourself be wanting to know
that?  One of those handsome Cavaliers caught your eye has he,
love-although he's no quite so handsome now, eh?"

Jane tried to keep calm, trying not to get too close to his restive
horse.  "No.  Of course not.  I'm just interested to know where they're
being taken to."

"The Tower," he answered before kicking his horse on.

Anne had come to stand beside her, reaching out and gripping her arm
with trembling hands, her eyes wide with stark terror.  "The Tower!"
she whispered, her voice quivering.  "Oh, dear, merciful God, Jane, I
cannot bear it.  Its very name conjures up images of absolute horror
and cruelty.  Still weakened by his injury he will never survive.
We--we have to' do something.  We cannot let him remain in that awful
place."

"We will think of something, Anne.  I promise.  But come--we cannot
stand here.  See how we are attracting attention.  Lady Marchington is
right.  It would be sheer folly to claim association with any one of
the prisoners."

Back in the carriage Jane quickly explained to Lady Marchington that
one of the prisoners was known to them, but when Anne's overstretched
nerves finally snapped and she burst into convulsive sobs, Lady
Marchington quite correctly assumed that the prisoner with the fair
hair and handsome looks was more than just a friend---that Anne was in
love with him.  "Then you must have a word with Edward.  He has a
certain amount of influence--and if, as you say, he is an officer, then
an exchange or even parole may be arranged."

Anne stared at her aunt tearfully.  "Oh, no, Aunt.  Not Edward," she
cried, gulping back her tears.  "He knows nothing about my relationship
with Simon.  He has no liking for him--and if he should find out how
close we have become, then he would make quite sure he remained in The
Tower for ever."  "Is this true, Jane?"

Jane nodded.  "I'm afraid so, Lady Marchington.  Edward's dislike of
Simon is quite intense."

Lady Marchington frowned.  "Then that complicates matters.  I have
always considered Edward to be a sound judge of character, so there
must be a perfectly good reason for his dislike,"

"There is absolutely nothing to dislike about Simon," wailed Anne,
springing quickly to his defence.  "He is honourable and a
gentleman--and I love him dearly."

Lady Marchington sighed deeply as Anne continued to cry, her body
racked with sobs.  In an effort to console her, she reached out and
patted her hand comfortingly.



"Dry your eyes, Anne.  We'll think of some' way of freeing your
Cavalier.  You'll see."

As he went about forming a new regiment at Windsor Castle, which was
being used not only as a Parliamentary garrison but also as a prison,
holding many Royalists, Edward's conscience had been troubling him ever
since leaving Derby, when he had seen Simon Butteridge brought into the
town as a prisoner.  Try as he might, he could not rid himself of the
feeling that in ignoring his sorry plight he had somehow betrayed
James's friendship.

No matter what his own opinion was of the man," he knew his conscience
would give him no peace until he had done all in his power to secure
his release.

Unless he met with some mishap along the way it was almost certain he
would eventually arrive in London.  He scanned the lists of all new
arrivals until at last he found what he was looking for.  Had Sir Simon
Butteridge been a lesser mortal he would have been sent to Newgate or
the Fleet, or any of the other infamous prisons in London, but being an
officer he had been incarcerated in the Tower.

In making his decision to obtain his release, Edward tried not to think
of Jane.  Now she was his wife in every sense he wanted her to put
Butteridge out of her heart and mind for ever.  Thoughts of her mad him
want her, made the blood pound in his temples, as he longed for the
time when he could go to her.  He knew how to rouse her sexually, how
to make her come alive to his touch, and how to tune her body so that
it was in complete harmony with his own.

But what did she think of when he was no longer there?  What went on in
that head of hers?  And what of her heart?  Did she belong to him or
was she still pining for Simon Butteridge?  These were the thoughts
that tortured him so that he thought he would go mad as he set about
trying to obtain Simon's freedom.

Each day without Edward was an eternity for Jane.  She had never
thought it possible to to be so happy, to feel such wonderful elation
glowing inside her.  When she thought of the night they had spent
together as man and wife, she smiled and hugged herself, wondering how
she could contain her happiness until he returned London.  Not since
before the siege had there been such a bright sparkle in her eyes and a
soft flush on her cheeks.  During the whole night Edward had not once
mentioned love, and she began to hope that perhaps during this time of
separation he would come to realise he loved her as much as she loved
him.

Sadly, Anne was not blessed with the same happiness as Jane, who,
observing her friend's suffering, became increasingly anxious about her
health and state of mind.  Each day Simon remained in his awful prison
was like torture to her---as it was for herself, but her concern now
was as a friend, a close friend, and nothing more."  Anne's spirits
were low, her face pale and drawn and she had no appetite for food.

She continued to function correctly and tried to appear cheerful, not
to give in to her anguish and



refusing to cry--at least not when she was in the company of
others---but alone in her room Jane was sure Anne spent her nights
shedding copious tears of despair her red and swollen eyes in the early
morning bore evidence of this.

Somehow it came as no surprise when Isabel arrived at Marchington
House, full of her usual exuberance and declaring that having reached a
peak of boredom and irritability in Derbyshire, she had obtained
permission from her parents to travel to London to be with Jane and
Anne.  It didn't take her long to sense there was an atmosphere of
unease in the house.  Jane.  seemed to be in a perpetual state of
anxiety, which stirred her curiosity, and Anne kept to her room a great
deal.

She came upon her aunt and Jane in conversation one day, hearing them
mention Simon Butteridge.  Keenly alert, she enquired of Jane if she
had heard anything as to his whereabouts, and if he had succeeded in
escaping the Parliament troops searching for him in Derbyshire.

Well remembering that other occasion at Deighton Hall when Isabel had
enquired about Simon, implying in her subtlety that they were
romantically attached and maliciously inciting Edward's anger, and
knowing Simon's imprisonment could not be kept from her, Jane looked at
her directly.

"He was captured and brought to London, ISabel,"

she answered stiffly

Isabel looked surprised.  "You have seen him?"

"Yes.  One day when Anne and I were in London with your aunt, we saw
him among a group of prisoners being taken to the Tower."

"Dear me!  The Tower!  No wonder you look so concerned."

"Yes, I am concerned, Isabel--as I would be for anyone who was as close
a friend to my family as Simon."

Indeed, as the days passed Jane became so concerned about he effect
Simon's incarceration in the Tower was having on Anne's general health
knowing she would get progressively worse if nothing was done to have
him released--that with Sir George and Lady Marchington's approval she
travelled to Windsor to see Edward, to plead with him to intervene,
which, in the light of their past differences where simon was
concerned, she did not look forward to.

When Jane told Anne what she intended she brightened, hope beginning to
return to her heart, but she begged Jane to plead as a friend for his
release, to give Edward no reason to suspect her own involvement with
Simon, otherwise he might refuse to consider what she asked.

The coach wound its way through the rich countryside of small villages,
field and forest towards the little town of Windsor.  Unfortunately,
because one of the wheels had come loose on the coach, forcing them to
stop at an inn along the way to have it secured, their journey was
delayed considerably."  It was almost nightfall when Jane saw the
ramparts and turrets of the castle, the Headquarters of the Parliament
Army, a majestic pile towering over the great park and meadows, the
town stretching along



the big hill on which the castle was built.  The streets were steep,
which the horses pulling the coach struggled to climb.

After passing through the Castle Gate into the Lower Ward of the castle
and undergoing the inspection of the guards, Samuel--an elderly and
faithful retainer of the Marchington family who had accompanied
Jane--went to look for someone who could direct them to Lord Talbot.
Jane waited in the coach had she had the interest to look around, she
would have seen the castle was like a bustling town within the massive
walls, with a patchwork of half-timbered houses and buildings in the
Lower Ward.  It lacked the uniformity of the Upper Ward of the castle,
which housed the royal apartments used by kings and queens throughout
the ages---but, with a diversity of buildings around it, the dazzling,
magnificent St.  George's Chapel, the final resting place of monarchs
and knights of England past, dominated the Lower Ward.

After several minutes Samuel returned with a Captain of the Guard, a
tall, active-looking gentleman with good-looking features and an easy
manner.  Quickly Jane stepped down from the coach, her heart throbbing
madly in her chest, knowing that at last she was to's Edward.

"Can I be of assistance?"

"I am Lady Talbot.  Please--would you direct me to Lord Talbot?"

"Of ours .  I'll be happy to take you to him."  He took her to a small
half-timbered house where he told her Lord Talbot was staying and left
her there while he went to fetch him.  Feeling her heart thumping in
her breast and her blood pounding in her temples, she waited, wondering
what his reaction would be on seeing her, every minute seeming like at
eternity.  Eventually Edward's tall figure appeared in the doorway,
eclipsing the moonlight, looking tired but jaunty.  He was bare-headed
and his dark eyes stared at her incredulously.  For the space of
seconds he didn't move, but then he came to her and took.  both her
hands in his.

"Jane!  My darling girl.  What brings you all the way to Windsor at
this late hour?  How on earth did you get here?"  he asked her
seriously.

"Samuel brought me.  He he's left to look for rooms in the town with
the coachman.  He will send word where, I can contact him if need be,
otherwise he is to return in the morning.  I would have been here
sooner but a wheel came loose on the coach, which took some time to
fix."  She looked up at him uncertainly.  "You--you don't mind me
coming, do you, Edward?"

He laughed, scooping her into his arms and kissing her lips hungrily.
"Mind?  Dear Lord, Jane.  Why should I mind?"  he said, his voice soft
but vibrant, looking down at her with genuine pleasure.  "Ever since
that wonderful night l have dreamed of you.  l have missed you like a
starVing man craves food.  But what brings you here?  Perhaps you were
missing me--is that it?"

"Yes."  She laughed as he drew her to him Once more, speaking as he
covered her face with kisses, as if he couldn't believe she was there.
'l had to come.  I couldn't bear being away from you any longer," she
said, forgetting, as she abandoned herself



in his arms and feeling that she could die of happiness, the true
purpose of her visit.  But when he released her, she felt a rush of
guilt when she remembered Anne's anguish.

"But I have also come to talk to you, Edward.  There are certain
matters I wish to discuss with you."

Without taking his eyes off her, he led her to a rather battered sofa
with a table placed in front of it with the remains of a meal littering
its surface.  "Not now--later.  These moments are too precious to
waste.  Come and eat something--not that there's much left, as you see.
I'll order some more food to be brought."

"No thank you, Edward.  I ate on the way here.  I'm not hungry, truly.
Perhaps a little wine, nothing more."

Quickly Edward poured them both some wine and, sitting beside her,
continued to look at her in a way Jane found both disturbing and
miraculous, for he had never looked at her like this.  After taking a
few sips of wine, unable to contain himself a moment longer without
kissing her again, he took the glass from her and placed it on the
table, taking her in his arms and seeking her lips once more, his heart
beating so hard against Jane that she knew he was beyond the power to
master his desire.

"The days I have been without you have been heavy with longing, Jane.
Come, I entreat you," he said, breathing hard, the perfume of her body
filling his head.  Taking her hand, he raised her to her feet, for
never had he known a love like this and he was impatient to have her
lay beside him.  "Come to bed and let me.  make love to you."

Jane's heart leapt and lifted her beyond a love stronger than anything
she had ever known.  She went with him into a small bedchamber and with
his aid--and his lips kissing every part of her newly exposed flesh as
she removed her clothes, dropping her garments one by one on to the
floor---she eventually came to him naked and unashamed.  Raising her
arms slowly, she unbound her hair, which tumbled in a luxuriant mass to
her waist.  Seizing a handful, Edward brought it to his lips before
finding her mouth once more, slowly lowering her on to the bed and
pressing her back against the pillows and proceeding to make love to
her.

At first he was gentle with her, his caress tender, but he wos achingly
impatient---until he felt her body respond to his with a quickness that
pleased him.  And then the magic, the miracle, happened as before and
the joy Jane felt erased everything she had ever known as the
attraction that drew her to his man began to exert itself once more.
There was something wild about their lovemaking and she allowed herself
to be possessed willingly.  Edward yielded to the delights her body
offered like a man given drink after a long period of thirst.

At first their hunger for each other was intense and insatiable, and
when it had passed their lovemaking became tender and gentle, as each
slowly roused the other to new heights of passion then they slept.

Later--when the room was bathed in the dawn light and the castle could
be heard coming to life all around them--Jane, slow to wake, stirred
within Edward's arms.  She couldn't believe he was beside



her, but his lean-muscled warm body was unmistakably real.  She sighed
with absolute contentment, well satisfied, for their union had not only
been a coming together of their two bodies in passion, but also of
their hearts and minds.  Sensing she was awake,

Edward opened his eyes and rolled her over on to her back, his dark
head poised above her face, his face seductive with sleep and their
bodies languid with pleasure.

"My love---my wife.  My adorable wife in the sight of God and man," he
murmured against her mouth, and then he kissed her and the kiss that
began slowly and tenderly went on and on until they were both aflame,
but on hearing the sounds outside the house, reminding him that he
would be needed elsewhere in the castle, reluctantly he tore himself
away from her arms, speaking with a note of regret.

"No matter how much I wish I could keep you with me, unfortunately I
cannot remain here making love to you all day, my pet.  I have duties
to attend to."  He smiled suddenly, beginning to pull on his clothes.
"Do you realise that since your arrival we have hardly exchanged two
words?  Come, up you get," he said, love and laughter in his eyes as he
picked up her clothes from where they had fallen and heaped them on to
the bed, 'and maybe we'll have time to share some breakfast before
Samuel arrives to whisk you back to London."

Slowly Jane began to dress.  Still unable to resist her, Edward bent
and placed a kiss on the back of her neck as she fumbled with the
buttons of her dress.

"When you arrived you said there were matters you wished to discuss, as
I remember before we were otherwise distracted."  He smiled and raised
a quizzical brow.  "What was it?"

His question brought Jane down from the dreaming heights of earlier,
bringing the night to a swit conclusion.  It was as if the sun had
suddenly gone out, for this was the moment she had dreaded.

"Yes--l..."  She lowered her gaze, unable to go on.  Fastening his
shirt Edward paused and frowned, giving her a strange, suspicious look.
Something dark and disagreeable was beginning to form in the back of
his mind.

"Well?"

His voice was calm, much too calm, which brought a feeling, of unease
to Jane's rapidly beating heart.

"Look at me, Jane," he said, his voice very quiet, seeming to sense
what it was she was about to ask.

Unwillingly she looked at him.  His dark brows were raised and his eyes
gleamed hard.  Again she hesitated for a moment, but knowing that if
she wanted to help both Simon and Anne then she had to see this thing
through.  She drew a determined breath.

"I--I came to ask a fay our of you, Edward."

He nodded.  "I suspected as much.  And whom does it concern?"

"Simon.  Simon Butteridge."

Chapter Thirteen

The name defied utterance, but when she spoke it it fell between them
like a cannonball.  Jane could hear the noise outside but inside the
room there was no sound at all.  A lifetime later Edward spoke.

"I see," he said, his voice like ice.

Jane's heart fell, for he did not resemble the passionate lover of the
night.  He had been absorbed into the rigidly severe figure of a
military leader, a stranger--the space between them becoming a chasm.

"And the favour?"

"You are a man of power, Edward.  A man of influence.  I have come to
ask you to attempt to secure his release from the Tower where I know he
has been imprisoned."

His eyes continued to stare into hers like cold steel.  "You are well
informed, Jane.  How is it that you know he has been captured, even?"

'l--I saw him being brought into London among a group of Royalist
prisoners one day when !  was with your aunt.  I enquired of one of the
soldiers where they were being take to.  He---he told me it was to the
Tower."

Edward nodded, his expression severe.  "Then why didn't you ask me last
night when you arrived-before preying on my susceptible heart?"

"Forgive me, Edward.  l--I meant to.  But..."  She flushed, unable to
go on, unable to remind this cold and unfeeling husband of hers of his
impatience to make love to her, giving her little time for thought.

Aware of her confusion and following her train of thought, Edward's
lips twisted cruelly and with a contemptuous shrug of his shoulders he
moved away from her, walking into the other room.  "You don't have to
explain," he growled as she followed him.  "I remember how it was.  I
was so delighted to see you that my ardour to have you in my bed quite
swept you off your feet casting all thought of Butteridge from your
mind."  He cast her a look of sarcasm.  "That is correct, is it not?"
He sat down and began pulling on his boots.  "Butteridge is a
prisoner," he said flatly.  "You must accept it."

Jane's cheeks began to burn with growing anger at his stubborn refusal
to be reasonable.  "I will never accept it."

"Then knowing my opinion of him, why do you think I will try to secure
his release?"

"Please, Edward," she begged, going to stand beside where he sat.  "If
not for me then do it for James."  She saw pain enter his eyes when she
reminded him of her brother but went on relentlessly.  if she had to
resort to emotional blackmail to win him over then so be it.  It would
be well worth it if he succumbed to her request.  'l know that after



negotiations prisoners are frequently exchanged and wounded officers,
who are an added burden on their gaolers, are sometimes paroled--and
released.

I beg of you to use your influence as a Parliament officer."

"And it is important to you, is it, that he is released?"  Standing up,
he looked at her hard, his voice harsh.  "What better proof of your
love for him could I have than this?  The speed with which you forever
spring to his defence is sure evidence of that."

"Love!  But I do not love Simon'she cried passionately, prepared to lay
bare her very soul if need be to make him believe her.  "How can you
say that after what we have shared?  How long do I have to go on
denying it?  Whatever you may suppose, it is you I love, Edward--you I
belong to.  It is you I adore above all others.  I admit I have not
always felt this way--but the love I feel now I shall always feel."

She sighed, knowing his accusations sprang from a bitter jealousy.  If
only she could tell him it was Anne who loved Simon, then maybe he
would believe her.  But if she divulged this, then his anger would be
increased a thousand fold and Simon would remain incarcerated in the
Tower indefinitely.

"If I were in love with Simon, do you really believe I would ask you,
my husband, to intervene on his behalf--to help secure his freedom?  I
am deeply concerned for him, that I cannot deny.  You already know he
was injured in the skirmish in the north.  As a result of this he
became very ill indeed.  After being captured and his enforced march to
London, his health has suffered greatly.  His imprisonment in the Tower
will not help matters either.  I came here in the hope that you would
understand and help to alleviate my concern.  I have to try and help
him--for James's sake.  I would never be able to forgive myself if I
did not try---no matter how much you may hate me for it."  Reaching
out, she placed her trembling hand on his arm, feeling how tense he
was, tears swimming in her amber eyes.  "Please, Edward," she beseeched
him.  "You must learn to trust me--otherwise our marriage is a
mockery."

Just as her request that he help secure Butteridge's freedom had roused
his violent mood, her stricken face now sotened him.  He loved her too
much 'to allow this to continue to cause contention between them.  She
was right.  There had to be trust on both sides if their marriage was
to succeed.  His innate sense of justice told him he must try. 
Fiercely he gathered her into his arms, his coldness and reserve
gone.

'l do love you, Jane.  You've no idea how much.  But maybe my jealousy
would not have been so profound had I loved you less."  Sighing deeply,
he held her at arm's length, looking deep into her eyes.  "I have not
been fair with you, my love.  You could have saved yourself a journey.
You see--I attended to the matter of Sir Simon's release from the Tower
before you came.  He will be freed any day now."

Jane stared at him in silence, astonishment and disbelief registering
in her eyes.  "You--you knew he was a prisoner in the Tower?"  she
whispered.

"Yes.  I also saw him in Derby--on our wedding night, which was the
reason, l have to admit, why l did not return to you at Beestone Lodge.
Oh--I had every intention of doing so, for until I saw Butteridge



nothing could have kept my from you that night."

"Thenhen what happened?"  she asked, finding what he was telling her
absolutely incredible.  "And why did you not tell me you had seen
Simon?  Had he been captured when you saw him?"

"Yes.  I 'had just left Sir John when I saw him among a group of
prisoners.  I did not tell you at the time because through my
observations of your behaviour--which stemmed from the morning of our
departure from Bowden when I imagined you to be in love with him--I
firmly believed, had I done so, that you would have rushed to his aid
and begged Sir John to release him--regardless of the embarrassment to
myself."

"But--but I still don't understand why you did not return to me at
Beestone Lodge?  How did seeing Simon influence your decision not
to?"

"Because I am a selfish creature.  I was angry--and jealous because I
truly believed he held that special place in your heart I coveted for
myself.  Had I returned to you that night, I could not have trusted
myself to love you gently."

"And so you gave relief to your feelings and returned to Sir John and
got hopelessly drunk.  Is that not so?"  she smiled, chiding him
gently, and beginning to understand at last what had been behind his
odd behaviour that night.

"Yes.  My recollection of my behaviour at the time deserves your
severest reproof and is extremely painful to me.  I am not proud of the
way I acted--but there it is.  There is no going back.  All I can do is
beg your forgiveness."

"You have it freely," she replied softly.  "But your suspicions and
accusations where Simon was con-cemed were not entirely ill founded.
Had I been more open with You, trusted you more, then perhaps we would
have reached a better understanding before now.  But why did you feel
you had to have Simon released at all?  For what reason?"

"Not out of any act of chivalry or friendship.  l do not rate Sir Simon
Butteridge very highly in either regard or esteem, you know that.  What
I did I did for James," he said,-his tone one of deep emotion, 'and for
no other reason.  When I let Derby without making any attempt at having
him released or to alleviate his suffering--I was swamped with
mortification and was the most wretched of men.  Knowing how fond James
was of him, I felt that in some way I had betrayed his friendship his
trust--which is Why, knowing the group of prisoners I had seen in Derby
would eventually arrive in London, I made a point of enquiring about
which prison he would be sent to."

"And was it very difficult having him released?"

No.  Not very.  As you said yourself, prisoners are being exchanged and
paroled all the time."

Jane looked at him, loving him, extremely proud of the way he had
involved himself and taken charge of Simon's release without any
promptings from her.  And for herself she was deeply ashamed and
humbled to learn of his thoughtfulness and loyalty towards her
brother.

"Your compassion towards Simon is most generous.  He owes you a great
deal, Edward, and I am sure he will wish to thank you personally."

"As far as I am concerned, the act is done with.  i



have no wish to set eyes on him again.  As far as he is concerned, he
will never know the part I played in getting him released."

"Poor Simon," sighed Jane.  "You do him an injustice, Edward.  I
believe that if you were to get to know him a little better you would
perceive that he is not wholly' bad hat he is more agreeable than he
seems.  When I saw him last I thought how much more serious he was.  He
too wishes a settlement could be reached- to put an end to the
bloodshed.  Like so many others, this war has changed him."

"Maybe.  But I shall never know."  Let's hope it won't be long now, my
love, before the King accepts the settlement Parliament has put to him
and I can return to you at Deighton, where I shall spend the remainder
of my days raising our children and running the estate."

From the circle of his arms Jane smiled teasingly up at him.  "You, my
lord, are far too active to sink into placid domesticity.  I will wager
that in no time at all you will be off to fight in some other war."

"Never," he said, taking her chin gently between his fingers and
looking deep into her wonderful eyes.  'l love you, Jane, and that's
the truth of it.  You have the power to make me the happiest of men or
the most miserable wretch.  There must always be honesty and truth
between us.  Agreed?"

With a little nod and a smile she allowed him to enfold her once more
into his embrace, where he held her like some precious, priceless
object, and she trembled with a joy so great she thought she would die
of it.

There will never be anything between us again to keep us apart," he
murmured with his lips against her hair.

Nothing, thought Jane in a most wretched state as she sat in the coach
taking her back to London--nothing but Anne's involvement with Simon.
For no doubt when she learnt of Simon's release from the Tower she
would hasten to be by his side and within no time at all "Edward would
find out.  The inevitability of it made her want to weep, for had he
not just said there must be honesty and truth between them?  And had
she not already broken his trust by keeping his sister's relationship
with Simon from him?  Oh, why did he have to have such a low opinion of
Simon?  Why?

Several days after Jane's visit' to Windsor, on a mop-ping-up exercise
in an area several miles west of Windsor, an area which had recently
seen the storming of Basing House the fabulous stronghold of the
Marquess of Winchester which had acted as a magnet for beleaguered
Royalists--Edward rode towards some woods where it was believed a small
pocket of resisting Royalists were hiding out.

It was not until he rode into a clearing at the head of his troop that
he brought his foaming, broad-chested horse to a halt and sat there in
the saddle, staring around him into the dense woods.  His soldier's
sixth sense had brought him alert.  He felt danger all around him.  Too
late, he realised he had led his men into an ambush.  Looking up the
hill rising in front of him, he immediately saw the enemy and knew at
once that they outnumbered his own small troop.  They were an
impressive, alarming



sight, causing a hard knot to form in the pit' of his stomach as they
came riding down upon them, yelling and whooping like wild animals and
waving their swords, their colours flying in the wind and their arms
and armour glinting in the sun.

Edward pulled hard on the bridle to turn his horse out of line.  His
soldiers did the same, but, knowing they had to fight or perish, Edward
drew his sword and turned about and charged, bravely and fearlessly,
leaning forward on his horse's neck as a warrior born, his sword
extended in his hand.  Smashing into the enemy, he took the leading
Royalist with a single blow, which lifted him dead or dying from his
saddle.  Sweeping on, he caught a second in the throat, turning away as
he uttered a shrill scream before choking on his own blood and crashing
to the ground to be trampled under the horses' pounding hooves.

It was complete mayhem, the fighting fierce and bloody as Edward and
his soldiers hurled themselves into the forest of swords, hacking and
thrusting viciously at the enemy.  Edward fought grimly and tirelessly,
bathed in sweat and blood from a few minor cuts.  Despite being
outnumbered, they were the stronger force and soon gained the upper
hand, beginning to drive the enemy back in confusion.

Just before the fight was won pounds ward's foam-flecked maddened horse
crashed into another and again he became locked in combat.  The two
clanging blades made dancing, lightning sparks as they both need off
each other, that of the enemy high and poised and flashing in the sun
before finally swinging downwards and sinking into the soft flesh of
Edward's shoulder.  He followed this with another blow which knocked
Edward from his horse, and his head hit the ground so hard that he was
rendered unconscious.

On returning to Marchington House after visiting one of Lady
Marchington's acquaintances, and leaving Isabel and her aunt
downstairs, Jane went in search of Anne who, having pleaded a headache,
had not accompanied them.

Jane was concerned by Anne's continued anguish over Simon's
imprisonment in the Tower, but after seeing Edward at Windsor and
abiding by his expressed wish that no one should know of his own
involvement in Simon's release, then, however cruel this might be, she
had kept it from both her and Lady Marchington, drawing a veil of
secrecy over her visit to Windsor.  No doubt Anne would learn of his
release soon enough and no one would be any the wiser as to how it had
come about.

Anne was not in her room, and as Jane was about to leave to search
elsewhere, her eyes alighted on a note propped up on her dressing table
with her name written on it.  Frowning, she picked it up, curious as to
why Anne should write to her.  She recognised her neat
handwriting--although it looked as if she had written it in a hurry.
The note was short, the contents causing Jane to gasp with horror and
incredulity, for Anne wrote:

My dear Jane.

Wonderful, glorious news.  By some miracle Simon is to be released from
that awful place of confinement.  i received his letter just after you
left



the house.  I am so deliriously happy.  Words cannot express the joy I
feel.  I am going to the Tower to be with him and from there will go
directly to

Dover where we will board a ship for France.  I

know how shocked you will be, my dear, Janebut be happy for me. 
Forgive me, for I cannot help myself.  Anne.

Jane was stunned by the contents, for this she had not expected.  Anger
and disappointment shot through her.  How could Anne do this to her?
She had given no thought to the impossible situation her impulsive and
irresponsible behaviour had placed.  her in.  How on earth could she
possibly explain this to Edward?  She must go after her.  She must be
stopped and there was not a moment to lose.

"Oh--foolish, thoughtless girl," she muttered as she flew down the
stairs to find Lady Marchington.

Sir George was not at home so he could not be consulted as to what was
the best action to take.  Alone in her sitting-room, Lady Marchington
looked up from where she was reclining on the sofa in alarm when Jane
entered.

"Why, my dear!  What is it?"  she asked, sitting bolt upright on seeing
her stricken face.

"Oh, Lady Marchington, something quite, quite dreadful has occurred and
I cannot think what I am going to do.  Anne has disappeared from the
house.  She has gone to the Tower to be with Simon."  Quickly she told
Lady Marchington what had transpired, giving her Anne's letter to read,
and when she had finished she was as horrified by her niece's behaviour
as Jane was.

"Why, this is most shocking.  What's to be done?"  "I blame myself,"
cried Jane in anguish.  "Knowing how distressed she has been of late
over Simon's imprisonment, I should never have let her.  out of my
sight."

"You cannot blame yourself, Jane.  You were not to know Sir Simon would
be released today--and I have to saylI am curious as to how it has come
about."

"I must gO after her said Jane, moving towards the door quickly, not
wishing to lose any time that was precious.  "There is no time to
delay.  We were not away from the house very long so she cannot be too
far ahead of me.  I must fnd her and bring her back.  ShOuld Edward
hear of this, his fury will know no bounds."

"No, Jane.  You cannot go like this.  You are upset and I must oppose
such a move," said Lady Marchington firmly.  "Word must be sent to
Edward at Windsor immediately.  He must be the one to go after her and
bring her back."

Jane turned and looked at her in alarm.  "No--I beg of you," she
pleaded in desperation.  "I must try and keep this from him--and
Isabel.  I am well aware of the mischief she would make should it come
to her ears that Anne has run away to be with Simon.  Besides there is
no time.  Anne will be well on her way to Dover before anyone could
reach Windsor.  I must fnd her before she leaves London."

Lady Marchington relented.  "Yes--yes, you are right, of course," she
agreed, speaking as she hurried out into the hall to order the
carriage.  "I shall wait here for my husband to arrive home--and it is
best that someone is here should Anne return, having seen the error of
her ways.  Samuel will accompany you.  You will be quite safe' witch
him."

Samuel's duties had become many and varied during the three years of
Civil War as the domestic staff had dwindled, but Jane was so frantic
with worry that she would not be in time to intercept Anne before she
left London, that she didn't care who accompanied her.  Samuel
confirmed that Anne had left the house an hour earlier, ordering one of
the carriages to take her to the Tower.  As yet.  it had not
returned.

As Jane hurried down the steps to the carriage, begging "Lady
Marchington to forgive her request for secrecy, that she must hurry to
the Tower before Simon was released, and failing that she would have to
consider taking the Dover road to intercept him, she failed to see
Isabel in the hall behind her, who heard her parting words and was
about to misconstrue them--which would have disastrous effects.  She
also failed to see the horse rider who had ridden from Windsor with an
urgent message for Lady Talbot concerning her husband.

Jane derived no pleasure from travelling through the London streets as
she had on the day when Lady Marchington had taken her on a sightseeing
tour with Anne, and breathed a sigh of relief when they reached the
Tower.  The scene of countless horrorS, the massive stronghold stood on
the banks of the Thames, looking sullen and gloomy, its grey towers
looming menacingly over the dark water of the river, sending a cold
shiver down Jane's spine.  The narrow streets around the Tower were
congested with vendors and all manner of carts and carriages.  The
noise was deafening and the putrid smells rising from the gut-tees and
the stench of the river were odious.

Clutching her cloak about her to avoid the outstretched clawing hands
of countless beggars, some crippled and maimed by the Civil War, Jane
climbed down from the carriage, her eyes sweeping over the crowd
searching for Anne, while Samuel went to enquire of a sentry if Sir
Simon Butteridge had left the Tower.  He disappeared inside and, after
what seemed like an age, he emerged some time later followed by Anne
and Simon.

Pushing her way past the people who got in her way, Jane hurried
towards them, sending up a silent prayer of relief that they had not
already left for Dover.  When Anne saw her, alarm filled her eyes, for
she had not thought Jane would come after her.

"Jane!  she exclaimed, quite indignant, for she knew she had come to
try to prevent her from leaving with Simon.  "What are you doing here?
You should not have come.  I--I wrote you a note explaining
everything."

"Yes.  I found it," Jane said sharply, her anger mixed with relief that
she had found Anne before she left the city.  "But you should not have
left in the manner you did.  It was foolish and thoughtless."  "But I
had to.  You don't understand."

'l understand perfectly.  You gave no thought for me--or your aunt and
uncle.  Anne," she implored, 'you cannot leave like this.  You cannot
go to France with Simon.  It's insane."  She turned to Simon, who stood
close to Anne.  His face was grave and he seemed much older than
before.  No doubt his recent



suffering had done this to him.  "Simon," she appealed despairingly,
'tell her she cannot go with you."

"Yes, I will, Jane," said Anne stubbornly, clutching Simon's arm
tightly.  "I will not leave him now.  I am resolved to remain with
him."

Having already tried to dissuade Anne from going with him, Simon took
her hands in his own and tried once more, compelling her to look at
him, to listen to him.  "Anne!  Sweet Anne!  Listen to Jane.  If you
come with me to France, life will not be easy.  At times it will be
intolerable.  There will be many hardships," '

"It will not be easy if I do not go with you.  I can see you are still
very weak following your injury--made worse by your time spent in
captivity---despite your efforts to keep it from me.  You need me,
Simon, as much as I need you.  Do not make me stay--I beg of you."
Again Simon remonstrated with her, but to no avail.  Anne remained
adamant.  Sighing deeply, Simon looked at Jane.

"You see how it is, Jane?  Her mind is set on it."  "Yes," she
whispered.  "Yes, I do.  But I have to say I am more than happy to know
you have been released, Simon.  H-have you any idea how it has come
about?"

He shrUgged.  "I have to confess it's a complete mystery to me.  I have
been paroled on the promise never to fight again and issued with a pass
to leave the country."

"And will you fight again, Simon?"

He grinned and cocked an eyebrow, and for a brief moment some fthe old
Simon showed through.  "As a gentleman I can be relied upon to keep my
word--but there are many who would dispute my claim to be a
gentleman."

"But as a gentleman--will you violate that promise?  I ask out of
concern for Anne should you decide to do so."

"My word is my bond, Jane," he replied seriously.  ,l was offered the
opportunity of serving in the Parliament Army in Ireland Of course I
declined.  I was also approached by the Spanish Ambassador, to enquire
if I would agree to serve the Spanish King in the Netherlands.  I
declined that, too.  But when I was offered a pass to leave the country
on condition that I do not fight--I accepted."

"And I am going with him of my own free will, Jane.  Smon did not ask
me to come here today."

Jane looked at Simon curiously.  "How did you know where to write to
Anne?"

"I recognised Sir George Marchington's carriage.  He is known to me and
I was already aware that he is a relative of Anne's.  But when I sent
my letter I did not think for one moment she would come here to this
odious place.  I cannot blame you for being concerned, Jane.  But I do
love Anne---more than my life.  The fact that I would Sell my soul to
make her happy is justification enough.  I have friends in France.  I
promise you I will take care of her."

"And Edward?  Have you given no thought to what his reaction will be to
all this?  What am I to tell her brother-my husband?  His anger will be
terrible indeed."

"I am sorry," said Simon.  "It is not my intention to cause discord
within your family.  But if I refuse a gentleman I can be relied upon
to keep my word--but there are many who would dispute my claim to be a
gentleman."

"But as a gentleman--will you violate that promise?  I ask out of
concern for Anne should you decide to do so."

"My word is my bond, Jane," he replied seriously.  "I was offered the
opportunity of serving in the Parliament Army in Ireland.  Of course I
declined.  I was also approached by the Spanish Ambassador, to enquire
if I would agree to serve the Spanish King in the Netherlands.  I
declined that, tOO.  But when I was offered a pass to leave the country
on condition that I do not fight--I accepted."

"And I am going with him of my own free will, Jane.  Simon did not ask
me to come here todaY."

Jane looked at Simon curiously.  "How did you know where to write to
Anne?"

"I recognised Sir George Marchington's carriage.  He is known to me and
I was already aware that he is a relative of Anne's.  But when I sent
my letter I did not think for one moment she would come here to this
odious place.  I cannot blame you for being concerned, Jane.  But I do
love Anne more than my life.  The fact that I would Sell my soul to
make her happy is justification enough.  I have friends in France.  I
promise you I will take care of her."

"And Edward?  Have you given no thought to what his reaction will be to
all this?  What am I to tell her brother---my husband?  His anger will
be terrible indeed."

'l am sorry," said Simon.  "It is not my intention to cause discord
within your family.  But if I refuse



to take Anne with me, she will follow on alone.  She is stubborn and
self-willed."

"That I know.  She is so like Edward.  But what am I to tell him--and
Lady Blanche?"

"The truth," said Anne softly.

Simon studied Jane for a long time and very calmly, knowing how
difficult the situation was for her.  "When we reach France we will
write to them--and I pray Lord Talbot will give his consent to Anne
becoming my wife."

"If Anne's reputation and dignity are to be maintained, then you leave
him with little choice, SimOn," Jane replied sharply.

"And you will be able to persuade him, Jane," said Anne hopefully.  "He
will listen to you.  I know Edward does not hold a high opinion of
Simon--but he's much changed.  None of this is his fault."  Sighing,
she moved towards Jane, taking her hands and looking deep into her
eyes.  "I know how difficult I have made this for you, Jane, and if I
could have avoided it I would.  But I will not be parted from Simon
now.  Please be happy for us."

Jane stepped back as Simon placed his arm about Anne's shoulders,
watching as Anne turned and looked at him, her eyes naked and
defenceless, and she knew she would not be persuaded.

"Then there is nothing more to be said.  Go, Anne---and be happy.  And
God bless you both."

As Jane journeyed back to Clerkenwell, her one thought was how she was
going to face Edward.  How could she tell him what Anne had done?

On Jane's arrival back at Marchington House, Lady Marchington hurried
to meet her in the hall, her face lined with concern.  She looked past
Jane towards the door, disappointed to see she had returned alone.
"Anne?  She is not with you?"

Dejectedly, Jane shook her head.  "No I saw her--but she insisted on
going with Simon to France.  Nothing I could say would persuade her to.
change her mind.  I must go to Windsor directly, Lady Marchington..  I
have a duty to Edward.  He must be told immediately.  I cannot keep it
from him."

Lady Marchington nodded.  "Yes--yes.  You are quite right, Jane.  He
has to be told.  But--I have to tell you there is another ... urgent
matter ... that must take you, to Windsor."

"Why--what is wrong, Lady Marchington?  Come tell me.  You look quite
distraught."

"Shortly after you left the house a--a messenger arrived from Windsor.
I have some grave news for you, Jane."

A band seemed to tighten around Jane's head as she stared at Lady
Marchington, and there was a constriction in her throat, for she feared
she was about to be told something quite dreadful which was going to
require all her self-control.

"Why?  What is it?"

"Edward has been wounded in an ambush---Or a skirmish, I'm not sure
which.  Indeed, I do not know the difference.  Military terms have
always confounded me."

Jane stood motionless, as if turned to stone.  "Edward?"

"Yes, my dear.  I'm afraid so."



"How badly?"

'l don't know exactly, but it appears he has suffered a sword wound and
was knocked from his horse, hitting his head on the ground.  He has
been unconscious for two days--and when he showed no sign of recovery,
the surgeon attending him, fearing the worst, felt he had a duty to
send for you, my dear."

Pale and stricken, Jane turned towards the door.  Anne's leaving with
Simon scarcely mattered to her now and vanished from her mind
completely.  Her one and only thought was to hasten to Edward's side,
refusing to consider the fact that she might already be too late.

"Then I must go to him.  I must hurry."

"Jane--wait.  There is something I must tell you before you leave."

Jane halted in her stride towards the door, turning to look at Lady
Marchington, waiting for her to speak.

"When Isabel learned Edward had been wounded--and knowing you were not
hereto she took it upon herself to leave for Windsor immediately."

"She--she did what?"  gasped Jane, angry and indignant that Isabel
should have the effrontery to rush to her husband's side.  "But she had
no right."

'l know.  But I could not prevent her from going."  Slowly Jane moved
to stand before Lady Machington an awful thought suddenly coming to
mind.  "Does she know about Anne?  That she has gone to France with
Simon?  Because if so, should Edward regain consciousness, Isabel will
be sure to tell him.  His reaction at this time could be
catastrophic."

Lady Marchington reached out and took Jane's hands in her own to
reassure her.  "Fear not, my dear.  I did not say a word about Anne."

Jane emitted a huge sigh of relief.  "Thank goodness.  Forgive me, Lady
Marchington, for speaking ill of your niece, but Isabel has a habit of
causing mischief, and if she were to sink her teeth into this then she
would inject all manner of poison."

Lady Marchington smiled with understanding.  "Don't apologise.  There's
no need.  I know Isabel only too well.  Nothing she does surprises
me."

Chapter Fourteen

With samuel to accompany her, Jane did not delay in setting out for
Windsor, unable to bring herself to contemplate the tragedy it would
inflict on her life should anything happen to Edward.  Pray God--not
now.  Not when she now knew how much she' loved him, how much he meant
to her.

It was a terrible, gruelling journey.  She swallowed against the
constriction in her throat as fear for Edward fought with her rage and
indignation that, owing to her absence from Marchington House when the
messenger had come from Windsor, Isabel had been there to go to him.
Her thoughts tormented her all the way to Windsor for, during the time
it took the coach to travel the twenty miles or so, she had time to
dwell on, and examine them.  Isabel's effrontery in rushing to Edward's
bedside caused all the hurt and doubts that had plagued her in Derby to
risk up inside her like a reopened wound.

During those two nights when she and Edward had been drawn together in
love, she believed all her agonies and fears where Isabel was concerned
were over, that what she had thought to be between them was nothing
more than a fabrication of her own jealous and suspicious mind.  But
once again Isabel had stepped in, seeming to take a malicious pleasure
in trying to separate her from Edward."

In the past he had stressed that the only link between himself and
Isabel was one of kinship--and she had come to believe him.  But what
did Isabel feel for him?  Why else would she hasten to his side if she
wasn't in love with him?  Unless, of course, in her jealousy and spite
it was to humiliate and hurt her for marrying Edward, for it must have
been a severe blow to her vanity and pride.

Edward didn't lie.  He was far too sure of himself to feel, tlae
compulsion to do anything so base.  But Isabel was also sure of herself
and she had the power to twist most men round her little finger.
Perhaps she had seen Edward as a challenge because he always kept her
at a distance.

Reaching the castle at Windsor, once again she found the Captain of the
Guard on hand.  As soon as she stepped down from the coach he
recognised her and came to her immediately.

"H-how is my husband, Captain?  Is he very ill?"  The Captain smiled
crookedly but a deep frown creased his brow.  "He was----but he has
been blessed with a robust and vigorous constitution, and if his temper
is anything to go by----brought about when he was told his family had
been informed of his injury--Then I would say he is greatly
improved."

Jane felt a great weight lited from her and she gave a deep sigh,
sending up a heartfelt prayer of



thanks to God that he had heard her entre aries to spare Edward so that
she might see him, that she might speak to him--and most of all that he
might live.

"I am so relieved to hear it.  When was he injured, Captain?"

Quickly the Captain outlined to her the events which had led to his
injury, how, when he was in charge of a small armed troop engaged on a
sortie into an area where there were still small pockets of Royalist
resistance, they had underestimated the number and the fighting had
been fierce.

"After being pierced through the shoulder, Lord Talbot was knocked from
his horse and rendered unconscious.  When he did not recover, the
surgeon thought it advisable to send for you, Lady Talbot."

"Thank you.  I'm glad you did even though he is now recovering.  And
don't worry, Captain," she smiled.  "I am well acquainted with my
husband's temper.  Is his wound healing?"

"The sword cut to his shoulder is ugly and his arm will be
incapacitated for some time, but a man as strong as Lord Talbot should
be able to withstand worse wounds."

"I see.  Now, will you take me to him?  I am impatient to see him."

The Captain seemed to hesitate.  "There is something you should know
before I do so, Lady Talbot."  He-frowned, looking extremely uneasy
suddenly, unsure how to tell her that after the arrival of a woman--a
dark-haired, beautiful woman--and despite his weakness, her husband had
ordered his horse to be saddled, then he had left the castle in a
fierce and angry mood.

Waiting patiently for him to.  continue, Jane came to his rescue,
believing she knew the reason for his hesitancy.  She smiled.  "There
is another person with him--is that it?

"Yes there was--but--'

"Then rest easy, Captain," she said with a lightness of voice which
belied her true feelings.  "That will be his cousin, Mistress
Marchington.  I was not at home when the messenger arrived and so she
came on.  ahead of me."

Relieved that she already knew about the woman, some of the awkwardness
passed out of the situation, but the Captain still had to tell her that
Lord Talbot was not at the castle.  He coughed nervously.

"I think you should know, Lady Talbot, that your husband left the
Castle over an hour ago."

Jane gave him a puzzled look.  "Left?  But I don't understand, Captain.
My husband is injured how is it possible for him to have gone
anywhere?"

"Forgive me but shortly after the lady arrived, he suddenly appeared in
a thunderous mood and ordered his horse to be saddled immediately.  The
lady was quite beside herself and tried pleading with him not to go,
and several of his fellow officers tried reasoning with him also, but
he was deaf to any of their pleas and left the castle as if all the
King's army had given chase."

Jane's blood seemed to freeze in her veins as she dared to ask the
question that sprang to her lips, "And his destination, Captain?  Do
you know that?"



He nodded.  "Dover, I believe, Lady Talbot.  That was what he said."

Jane couldn't believe what she was hearing.  Dover!  So--what she had
feared had happened.  Somehow Isabel must have found out about Anne,
and, giving no thought to the seriousness of Edward's condition, she
had told him and he had gone in pursuit.  Rage rose hot and fierce
inside her when she realised what Isabel had done, but the expression
she wore betrayed none of her inner turmoil to the Captain as she
steeled herself to ask the question uppermost on her lips.  "In your
opinion, will he make it, Captain?  Is he in any condition to undertake
such a ride?"

The doubt that fill the Captain's eyes and the dejected shake of his
head told Jane all she needed to know.  "I see," she whispered.  "And
the lady?"

"Went back inside the house--and as far as I am aware she is still
there."

"Then be so kind as to take me to her, will you, Captain?"

Arriving at the small, half-timbered house where she had spent a
wonderful night of love with Edward on her previous visit to Windsor
Castle, Jane thanked him for his assistance, then the Captain left
her--but he did not hurry away.  No matter how unconcerned Lady Talbot
had appeared to be on learning that her husband had been entertaining
another woman in his rooms cousin or not--he would wager there was
trouble brewing and it wouldn't be many minutes before Mistress
Marchington came out for air.

When he had taken her to Lord Talbot earlier, he recollected how she
had paused and looked at him when she became aware that he was staring
at her with undisguised interest.  Locking her gaze on his, her red
lips had smiled invitingly, provocative and impressive.  She was as
sultry and dangerous as a tropical storm.  What he wouldn't give for
one night with her in his arms, making love to her, for he suspected
there would be no pretences, no inhibitions, with a woman such as she.
The thought was tempting and sent his blood pulsating hrt through his
veins.  He grinned--perhaps he would wait around for a while in case
she needed company.

Jane entered the house and, pausing on the threshold of the small,
low-ceilinged room, saw Isabel was sitting alone before a burnt-out
fire.  In a split second she took in every detail of her features.  She
looked sultry and alluring in green velvet, but her face was red and
her eyes swollen from crying--which was completely out of character for
the usually composed and self-assured Isabel she knew.

"Why--what's this?"  retorted Jane with scorn.  "Tears, Isabel? Forgive
me if I appear surprised--but I always thought you to be incapable of
such weakness."

Isabel started and spun round, standing up quickly as all the colour
drained out of her face.  She was visibly shaken and stared at Jane as
if she had seen a ghost, shaking her head slowly in confusion.  "Jane!"
she managed to utter, her voice taut and strangled in her throat. 
"What are you doing here?  I--I thought you lad gone to---oh, my
God."

"You thought what?"  All of a sudden Jane seemed to freeze as a thought
she did not want to analyse



began shaping itself in her mind as black as a dark night.  "Isabel,
what have you done?"  she asked, her voice hardly above a whisper,
knowing what the words would be before they were spoken."

"Done?  Why--what do you mean, Jane?"  Isabel spoke nervously, as if
she was guilty of some terrible misdeed she did not wish to be
uncovered.

Jane moved to stand before her, her features like a hard mask, her
voice as cold as ice.  "What have you told Edward?  For it must be
something terrible to send him hurrying to Dover in his condition."

"Forgive me, Jane, but I could not help overhearing what you said to my
aunt as you left the house.  It is evident now that I misunderstood."

"What?  What did you misunderstand?"  "Thathat you were to go to the
Tower to be with Simon Butteridge--and after that to Dover.  I thought
it could mean only one thing," she cried brokenly, 'that you were
running away with him."  "And this is what you told Edward?"

She nodded dumbly.  Jane's face turned white.  Appalled, she stared at
Isabel in repugnant horror as she tried to put her shattered wits into
some coherent order.  For a moment she was silent, and then very
quietly she said, "Then you were mistaken, Isabel.  It was Anne I went
after--Anne who is in love with Simon, not I. She has gone with him to
France.  I went to try and stop her but I failed.  When I returned to
M.archington House I was told that Edward had been seriously
injured--and that out of concern for his well being," she said with
heavy sarcasm, 'you hastened to be with him."

Because you were not at home----and knowing you-could be gone for
hours, if not for good--I considered it right that someone should come
to Windsor."

"And when you arrived you lost no time in maligning me to Edward
despite his weakness caused by his injury.  How dare you, Isabel?  In
your jealous hatred you seized the first opportunity you could to drive
a wedge between Edward and I. Well--I hope you're satisfied.  Because
of your malicious thirst for revenge, you have probably killed him.  It
would seem he was in no fit condition to leave the castle, let alone
attempt to ride ninety miles or more to Dover."

Fresh 'tears sprang to Isabel's eyes and she had the humility to lower
her head, for she was ashamed of her actions.  When she had arrived at
Windsor she had been unable to stop herself from flinging what she
believed to be the searing truth at Edward .  that he had a faithless
wife.  His reaction had been swift and violent.  The hurt and angry man
who had looked at her hard was an Edward she didn't know, making her
alarmed and regreting ever having told him about Jane.

When he had rushed outside she had followed and pleaded with him not to
go after her, but like a man demented he had violently flung her away.
Only then did she realise how much Jane meant to him.  Until that
moment she had refused to accept their relationship had ended--although
if she had troubled to consider what the relationship had been between
them, she would have realised long ago that it was



a one-sided affair, which had ended in her wretched humiliation.

"You think you can go through life taking whatever you want, don't you,
Isabel--including Edward?"

Isabel raised her head and faced her.  "It's a question I hoped you
wouldn't ask--but I'll answer it.  Yes--I admit it.  I'have made a play
for him over the years--and if it makes you feel any better, like the
gentleman he is, he has always spurned me.  But don't misunderstand me,
Jane.  I'm very fond of him but I don't love him."  /

"Then why do you force yourself on him every hour you are with
him---if,.as you say, he spurns you?"

She shrugged, speaking airily.  "Because I saw in him everything I ever
wanted in a man--in a potential husband.  There's no denying he's
handsome.  He is also amusing and charming-and he knows how to make a
woman feel attractive."

"And he just happens to be rich," scorned Jane.  "For I know you put
wealth before such matters."

"Of course," she admitted unashamedly.  "I would never marry a poor
man, Jane--and nor would I marry the richest man on earth if I did not
find him charming and amusing."

"I love Edward very much, Isabel--and he loves me.  Nothing you can do
will ever change that."

"Yes--I know that now.  I knew by his reaction wIien I told him you had
gone to Simon that he loved you.  The fact that he was prepared to ride
to Dover in such a wretched state of health was confirmation of
that--and you are right," she admitted reluctantly.

"My monstrous vanity led me to believe I could have anything I
wanted---even Edward.  I could not endure knowing he loved you instead
of me.  I have behaved abominably--and for what it's worth, I'm sorry,
Jane.  I deserve your ridicule and contempt."

Faced with Isabel's remorse, Jane was still too angry and concerned
about Edward to relent.  Nor was she certain that, after what Isabel
had done, she was prepared to forgive so easily and develop a cordial
acquaintance with the woman who had been so keen to come between
herself and her husband.  She turned from her, going towards the
door.

"I must go.  Forgive me if I don't ask you to share my carriage back to
Marchington House but I feel the need to be by myself.  Goodbye,
Isabel."

Isabel watched her go, wiping the tears she was unaccustomed to
shedding as the image of the handsome Captain swam before her.  In need
of someone to cheer her up; she had a mind to remain for a little while
longer at Windsor.

Her whole being concentrated on her husband, it took all Jane's
self-control to withstand the journey back to London.  At the thought
of his condition her heart filled with tenderness and concern; but when
she realised what he must be thinking, what his feelings must have been
like to have driven him to pursue her to Dover immediately, she felt
wretched.

Her heart was breaking at the hopelessness of the situation, for she
was unable to do anything but wait for him to return---Should his
health not fail him enroute to Dover.  To have been so happy and
suddenly to see her whole world crumbling to pieces was



almost too much for her to bear and she was' unable any longer to keep
back the tears that spilled down her cheeks.  Oh--what must he think of
her?  Why hadn't she told him about Anne being in love with

Simon?  If she had not kept it from him, none of this would have
happened.

Feeling cheated and betrayed, as EdWard rode his horse hard towards
Dover he was in the grip of such a dark and murderous fury that left
him insensible to the pain in his injured shoulder.  He 'kept telling
himself that Isabel had lied, that in her viciousness and spite to get
back at Jane for marrying.  him she had set out to cause as much damage
to their relationship as she possibly could.  But he had to be
certain--for how else had Isabel come to know of Butteridge's release
from the Tower if not from Jane?

As he rode his poor horse almost into the ground he tried to shut the
memory of her beauty from his mind, but he could not.  She was too much
a part of him the sweet smell of her, the warmth and softness of her
allure.  She was lovely--perfect---and he would not' let her go easily.
His love for her was absolute--and that love was beyond price.

But if what Isabel said was true, then after declaring her love for him
and promising there would be honesty and truth between them always, her
act of betrayal was a profanation in itself.  If he found when he
reached Dover that he was too late, that she had taken ship for France
with Butteridge, then each time he thought of her lying in his arms
would be like dying a thousand deaths.

But the most bitter twist of all was all the more terrible because he
himself had been the instrument of Butteridge's release from the
Tower.

Fortunately he knew the country towards London and through the county
of Kent well.  Bent over his horse's neck and with the fire of
impatience burning inside him, he rode throughout the night, stopping
for only the briefest respite to quench his thirst and rest his horse
before going on his way to Dover.  When at last he rode into the town
and headed towards the quay he was nearing exhaustion.

Under a sky heavy with rain the quay was thronging with people.  There
were boats of every description and the rank odour of fish was strong.
A cold, fresh breeze blew off the choppy sea as Edward began to make
enquiries concerning Butteridge and his companion.  Despite his
apparent exhausted state and wild appearance as he led his horse--which
looked as if he'd ridden the Poor beast almost to death his tall
impressive figure drew the attention of an elderly fisherman mending
his nets beside his boat.  When Edward stopped to speak to him, he
confirmed what Edward already feared.

He was too late.  The ship taking the couple to France had sailed hours
ago.  Filled with desolation, Edward stared at the sea spread out
before him towards the distant horizon.  In his moment of weak-heSS the
pain was back in his head and his shoulder--but the most terrible pain
of all that twisted and went screaming through his veins was in his
heart.

The fisherman came to stand beside him as he was about to turn away,
sensing his despair and suspecting the couple must have been a pair of
runaway lovers whom he had come to Dover in the hope of



intercepting.  "I remember them because the lady was such a pretty
young thing---and clearly in love with the fellow, too, from the way
she clung to his arm.

Made a handsome couple they did--she as dark as he was fair."

Shaking his head, the fisherman was about to go back to his nets when
his remark caught all Edward's attention.  "Wait," he commanded, his
heart beginning to pound fearfully.  "What did you say?  Was her hair
not pale blonde in colour?"

"Nay.  Not the lady I saw.  Dark, she Was."  Feeling life beginning to
course anew through his veins, Edward looked again at the sea, the
truth of the matter hitting him like a thunderbolt.  Anne!  It was
Anne, not Jane, who had gone to France with Butteridge.  Anne who was
in love with him not dear, sweet Jane who had tried to keep it from
him.  What a fool he had been, a stupid blind fool.

"Sir," said the fisherman, interrupting his thoughts, having observed
the lightening of his countenance and wondering what he had said to
bring about this transformation, 'if you don't mind my saying so, you
look quite worn out."

Edward threw him a look of gratitude.  "Yes--yes, you're right," he
answered with a jaunty grin, for no matter how eager he was to return
to London to see Jane, he realised he was in no fit condition to go
anywhere until he had rested.  "Perhaps you would be so kind as to
recommend a decent inn where l can est."

Daybreak found him back on his horse-both rested,

but with Edward still suffering great discomfort from his injured
shoulder.  He was extremely angered by Anne's decision to go to France
with Simon Butteridge, which had come as a shock, but it was tempered
by his profound relief that Jane had remained true to her word and to
him.  He returned to London much weakened and in considerable
pain--though with a lightness of heart--and made straight for
Marchington House.

Without moving or speaking Jane stood on the stairs, her hand on the
banister, frozen in that very gesture as, with a feverish joy, she
watched Edward enter the house.  His head was bare, his dark hair
tousled and his clothes and face streaked with dust from his hard rid
from Dover.  His features were lined with weakness and fatigue.

Edward saw the anguish on her face, her lovely amber eyes misting over
with tears.  Her cheeks had no colour in them, but he perceived
something about her that was desperate and hurting.  It was as if she
had come into contact with a power too strong for her to fght or
understand.

"Edward!"  she said, her voice a sigh of relief, and with a quick
onrush of breath she hurled herself across the space that divided them
and became locked against his chest, Where he held her with the last of
his fading strength, unable to believe she was in his arms at last.

All the pent-up misery and anguish Jane had suffered since her return
from Windsor poured out of her as she kissed his face, his mouth, with
soft sweet lips, clinging to him, trembling and crying.  Looking down
at her, he thought she had the face of an angel with tears lighting up
her eyes.

"Oh, you fool--you fool," she admonished gently through her tears. 
"How could you go rushing off to Dover like that?  You have put me
through every kind of torture imaginable.  Knowing how seriously
injured you were, I feared for you so much.  If you should leave me
now, I shall die."

Overcome with emotion, Edward tightened his arms around her and kissed
her very slowly and tenderly until she became quiet.

There was no time to say more because Lady Marchington chose that
moment o appear.  She took charge of her nephew immediately, seeing to
it that he was given nourishment before being bathed and that the
doctor who was summoned attended to his wound.

It was only later, when they were alone and lay entwined at last, that
Edward, his dark eyes burning with all the love and passion he was
capable of feeling, placed his lips against Jane's sweet-smelling hair.
"My love--forgive me for doubting you.  What a fool I've been."

"You--you know about Anne?"  Jane asked timidly, looking up at him, her
eyes glowing with happiness.

"I know Anne has gone with Simon Butteridge to France.  My God, I
should have known.  I should have seen for myself how things were
between them."

"How could you have known?  Please forgive me, Edward.  I should have
told you before we left Derbyshire.  But Anne was so afraid of your
anger and that you would forbid her to see Simon that she begged me not
to--and I hoped she would get over him when we came to London.  But I
was wrong--so very wrong.  But look at you," she said, stroking his
lined cheek with concern.  "You look quite worn out.  Oh, my dear, I
have been so worried about you.  When I was told of your injury I went
directly to Windsor--and that was when I discovered from Isabel what
she had told you.  What must you have thought of me?"  she said
wretchedly.

The mention of Isabel's name brought a frown of disapproval to Edward's
forehead, and he didn't have to be told that going to Windsor and
finding Isabel in her place had been almost too much to be borne.
"Yes--Isabel has much to answer for.  Where is she?"

"As yet she has not returned from Windsor.  No doubt there is some
attraction to keep her there--and I would probably not be far wrong if
I said it had something to do with the handsome Captain I saw on both
occasions I went to the castle.  But don't be too harsh on her, Edward.
She really did think it Was I who had gone to Simon when he was
released from the Tower."

"And now I discover it is Anne-and that he has the sheer effrontery to
take her with him to France," he said, his voice quivering with
scarcely suppressed anger, knowing that, short of taking a ship for
France himself, there was not a thing he could do about it.  "Not in my
worst nightmare could I have imagined Anne, my lovely, untouched
sister, would do this.  Was it not enough that he wormed his way into
your affections without stealing my sister's?"

"Simon did not steal her affections, Edward, they were freely given.
And as for my own, they were



nothing but the fancies of a young girl' and not reciprocated by Simon,
which, l must tell you, for a short while left me feeling humiliated
and extremely foolish.  But," she murmured with her lips against his,
tantalising and soft, pressing her body against his, 'had I not been
left alone for so long to my own devices by my betrothed--who had
other, much more important matters on his mind than to dance attendance
on the woman he was to marry then perhaps I would not have fallen prey
to my emotions.

Can you wonder I was bewildered' and confused?

Why--I even began to think I must displease you."

He sighed and smiled, feeling warm and relaxed beside her.  "No.  Never
that.  But I must tell you that I am beginning to regret playing any
part in having Butteridge released from the Tower."

"Anne went with him willingly enough, that I know.  I did everything I
could to try and stop her, but she would not listen.  She was
determined, Edward.  She has made up her mind to marry him, and because
she has your temperament and your same wilful, stubborn pride, she will
do just that.  They promised to write to you when they reach France.
You will give your consent to their marriage, won't you?"

'l suppose I must though it will be against my better judgement.  Her
thoughtless behaviour leaves me with little choice if her reputation is
to be preserved.  '

"And what of you, Edward?  The doctor has made it plain that your
injured shoulder will prevent you from carrying out your military
duties for quite some time.  DOes that mean I shall have you all to
myself at last?  That, like the swan maiden in the story you told me
of, I can carry you away to Deighton Hall where we can spend the winter
months together in glorious solitude?"

He laughed softly as she recalled the time they had spent together by
the lake at Deighton Hall.  "Of course.  But do not forget that one of
the stories had a sad ending--for the couple were forced to part when
she found her feather mantle and flew away to join her own kind, as I
shall when my wound has healed and winter is over."

"No--there was no sad ending, Edward.  When I recounted the story to
your mother, she informed me that the story you told me was not
complete--for the swan maiden returned to her husband with a feather
mantle, and when she helped him put it on he, too, turned into a swan
and they flew away together and were happy ever after--as we shall be,
my darling, when we return to Deighton Hall.  Forever, I hope."

"I, also--where a lifetime together awaits us," he murmured, kissing
her upturned face and tightening his arms about her.  "And, God
willing, very soon the War will be over.  I am happy everything is
reconciled between us, Jane.  Never will I doubt you again."

She smiled, deliriously happy.  "I may have thought I loved Simon once,
but then you came back into my life and I fell in love with you.  You
are the only man I have loved-the only man I shall ever love--despite
your outward authoritarian manner you display to your troops--and to
myself on occasion, which !  shall do my best to ignore," she teased
him gently.  But then a serious note came into her voice and a deep and
abiding love filled her eyes.  "You are the kindest, the most
compassionate man I have ever met.  How could I help loving you?  Now
come, my love," she breathed, drawing his head down to her, 'and kiss
me.  We have so much lost time to make up for."