Page 2 of Lord of the Forest

The smirk that was almost a sneer was back. “You find nothing lacking in your perusal of me, I trust. A gentleman goes a-courting in his finest as I’m sure you’re aware. Ah, forgive me, has your father spoken to you yet?”

“He has, indeed, sir. And I have informed him, as I must inform you, I am not ready for marriage.”

He ran his eyes over her with insulting insolence, lingering on her breasts, her waist cinched in by her tight bodice, and the full swirl of her skirts where they splayed out over her rouleau.

“I’d say you were more than ready to be wed. You have seen a full score of summers now. It would not do to waste your prime in loneliness.”

“I’m not alone.” Her chin was still raised, but she’d taken a step back. Master de Glanville had an irksome habit of standing too close, but she didn’t want him to think she was afraid of him. “My mother and father provide ample company, as do my friends.”

“Ah, but are they young and vigorous like me? I know you were close to young Simeon Bayliss, and since his death, have found a friend in his father, Kester, but what manner of company is that old man? You should be dancing, riding to hounds, draping jewels about your bosom, and being bounced in the bedchamber by an adoring husband.”

Before she could retreat any farther, he stepped forward and seized her wrist in a cold, hard grip.

“I could give you all those things if we were wed. I could give you pleasure of which you—thankfully—know nothing. Give me that opportunity, Clemence, and you’ll not regret it.”

Oh, but she would. Most of the things he described could be done if she were a maid-of-honor at court, and she wouldn’t have the burden of a husband to please, only the queen. The man had no idea how long she’d felt like a caged bird, desperate to spread her wings and fly to freedom.

“Let go of me, sir. You have no right to touch me.”

“You don’t want to be touched by a man?” He leaned in and inhaled deeply, then gave his twisted smile. “In that case, why do you wear such heady perfume? It is designed to attract and intoxicate a lover, is it not? It must have cost a pretty penny.”

“Only the base from which I made it, which was imported from Venice. The rest I prepared myself, from flowers in the garden.” How dare he suggest she made perfume for the sole purpose of luring men!

“You impress me. I look forward to learning more about your skills and sampling them. I’m told you’re also a good housekeeper and cook.”

Her father really had been selling her to this man. Although he would only have concentrated on the attributes a man would look for in a wife.

“You are too kind, sir. Yet I wonder why you display an interest in me when I clearly have none in you.”

He pressed a hand to his breast. “You wound me, Madam. I thought your difficulty was with the concept of marriage at this time, not with me as a potential suitor. But perhaps I’ve not laid out my stall with sufficient temptations. Pray, walk with me, and grant me the chance to display my advantages before you. I see a charming bower yonder, decorated with a rambling rose. What better place for a lovers’ tryst?”

It was the very last thing she wanted to do. “You’ll have to excuse me, sir. I must hie myself to the dairy. There’s a soft cheese hanging that needs my attention, lest it dry out. Another time, mayhap.”

His smile didn’t reach his eyes. “I’ll escort you thither.” He offered his arm.

Now was the moment of truth. He would be greatly insulted if she didn’t take his arm, and Father would be furious. She’d be confined to the house for weeks, unable to call on Simeon’s father, Sir Kester Bayliss, or any other friend. She’d be unable to go on her rambles in search of wild herbs for perfumes and potions. By the time she was let out again, they’d all be past their best.

It might, after all, be better to be in the rose arbor where they could be seen from the house, rather than out of sight in the dairy. She took de Glanville’s arm. “Thinking on it again, sir, the dairy will be unpleasantly noisome at present. The rose arbor will do.”

As she walked beside him, she couldn’t help but think how different Walter de Glanville was from her precious, departed Simeon. How long had she been in love with Simeon? Two years alive, and three years dead. She’d never recovered from his death and never expected to. It had been almost this time of year that he’d passed away, having suffered horribly from the mysterious sweating sickness, that deadly disease that flourished in warm weather. She nursed a forlorn hope that, one day, a remedy would be found—none of the ones she’d mixed up and sent over to Hackpen Court had done more than ease Simeon’s suffering. Which, she supposed, was better than nothing.

Her heart clenched as she thought of Simeon. If only she could have cured him! Prayers had failed, tears likewise, and none of the incredibly expensive physicians Kester had employed had succeeded in saving his son.

“You seem melancholy, my dear. Mayhap I can cheer you with an image of what your life would be like with me.”

She returned to the present with an unpleasant shock. Nay. There was definitely no comparison between Walter and Simeon. Where Simeon had been young and slender, with a poetic soul and an almost ethereal male beauty, de Glanville was thickset, hirsute, and dark in a fundamental way, like the trolls and ogres in which the simple folk believed.

“I don’t know what you have to say that will sway my opinion, sir. But we have reached the arbor now, so marshal your words carefully.”

De Glanville settled himself on the turf seat, releasing the scent of the sweet-smelling chamomile planted there. Not wishing to be any closer to him than she need be, Clemence pulled away and stood in front of him.

“As I said, I have little time to linger. Pray, make what you wish to say brief.” She was desperate to buy herself some thinking time, and find a way out of the impasse into which her father had cast her.

“I am sole heir to a large manor in Suffolk.” De Glanville’s eyes were hard as if daring her to contradict him. “Far greater than your Clairbourne Manor and its appurtenances. And I already have, as you know, a fine house at Glemham. Once I come into my own—which should not be long now—you’ll want for nothing if you become my wife. Obviously, you can rely on my spotless character—I’m a good Christian.” He cleared his throat and then continued, “I rarely gamble, keep no whore, and am sound in mind and body. My lineage is good, and I have all my own teeth. I may not have high connections, but have every expectation of making them once I come into my inheritance.”

And he’d have her dowry, should his inheritance not materialize. Had her father no idea this man was as keen to get his hands on that money as he was to win her? The dowry was a small one, as Clairbourne hadn’t prospered of late. Of course, Father wouldn’t have told him that. Both men were as bad as each other. She rolled her eyes.

Walter hadn’t finished his list of attributes. “You, with your skills at huswifery, will enable me to entertain lavishly at Emborough—when ’tis mine. Your beauty, too, will attract the interest of gentlemen, and many will come to enjoy your playing and singing, which I’m told are superlative.”