‘Lord have mercy,’ Anne said drily. ‘I do not think that sounds very satisfactory at all, Muna.’

Edwina put her hands on her hips and huffed. ‘’Tis not a matter for jest, my lady. The demands of a husband can come as a shock to a gentlewoman. Why, my own husband kept me busy nigh on five times a night.’

Muna clapped her hands to her mouth. ‘Five times! Every night?’

‘I heard tell that he was a very lusty fellow,’ Anne said, smiling. ‘I am not sure whether you are to be congratulated or commiserated with, Edwina. Did you ever get any sleep?’

‘You are not taking this seriously,’ the maid grumbled. ‘Well, do not come complaining to me when you receive a shock on your wedding night!’

‘I promise I shall not complain,’ Anne said. ‘And,’ she added firmly, ‘I should like a little time alone, if you please, before the feasting starts.’

They went grumbling, Edwina herding Muna and the younger maids before her, closing the door on their chatter. Anne sank down on the window seat with a heartfelt sigh. She had so little quiet. The burden of managing the household had fallen on her shoulders since her mother had died. Always there was someone or something demanding her attention, from the maids who fussed and fluttered around her to the villagers who brought her their problems and requests, knowing that she would present their petitions to her father with soft and persuasive words. She loved the people of Grafton and she knew they loved her. Her entire life had been lived out in this land. And now through this betrothal she knew that the Earl of Grafton was seeking to ensure her a safe future, knowing that his health was starting to fail and that Grafton and its lady needed a strong lord to defend them.

Anne felt the prickle of tears in her throat. She swallowed hard, and deliberately turned her thoughts aside from her father’s ill health. The room was hot, its walls confining. Suddenly she did not wish to sit waiting here for the summons to the betrothal feast. The air would be fresher in the garden.

So it proved. She skirted the kitchens, where the cook was bellowing at the scullions and sweating to provide the finest banquet that Grafton had ever seen. The villagers were already flocking to fill the ancient tithe barn and share in the feast. But no one saw Anne as she slipped through the doorway into the walled garden and walked slowly through the parterre to the sundial at the centre. The shadows were lengthening and the smell of the lavender was still in the air. She ran her fingers over the sundial’s smooth surface. Sometimes it felt as though time stood still at Grafton. In her memories there was always the sun.

‘Lady Anne.’

Anne jumped, a small cry escaping her lips. She had not seen the man who was standing in the shadow of the doorway, but now he came forward, his footsteps crunching on the gravel, until he was standing before her.

‘I beg your pardon,’ Simon Greville said. ‘I did not intend to startle you. Your father is looking for you, Lady Anne. We are ready for the feast.’

Anne nodded. Her heart was beating swiftly, not only from the shock of his sudden appearance but also from the knowledge that they were alone for the first time. During the previous week they had ridden out together, danced under the indulgent gaze of the household and conversed on generalities. But suddenly it seemed precious little upon which to build a marriage; even as Anne reminded herself of her duty, the fear clutched at her heart.

‘Of course,’ she said. ‘Excuse me, Lord Greville.’

Simon did not move. He put out a hand and caught her arm. ‘A moment, Lady Anne.’

Anne looked up. The evening sun was in her eyes and she could not see his expression. She waited, her heart racing.

Simon slid his hand down her sleeve to capture her fingers in his. His hand was warm, the shock of his touch sufficient to send a shiver through Anne’s entire body.

‘I have your father’s permission to wed you, Lady Anne,’ he said, ‘but I do not yet have yours.’

Anne stared. ‘You do not need mine, my lord.’

Simon smiled into her eyes. ‘Yes, I do. I will not force an unwilling maid. So speak now, Anne of Grafton, if you do not wish to take me as your husband, for soon we shall be troth-plight.’

His hands tightened on hers as he waited for her answer. Anne searched his face, so dark, so stern. She felt a little quiver of apprehension.

‘I will do my duty—’ she began.

‘I do not want your duty.’ Simon sounded angry now. ‘I want you.’ He moderated his tone. ‘And I had thought—forgive me—that you might in some small way feel the same…’

Anne remembered the moment in the courtyard when she had first set eyes upon him. Then she remembered Edwina’s words about the wedding night. An involuntary smile curved her lips.

‘Well, I—’

She got no further, for Simon leaned down and kissed her, his hands suddenly mercilessly hard on her slender frame, his mouth hungry. Anne’s exclamation of shock was smothered beneath the relentless demand of his lips. Her head spun and the blood pounded in her veins.

He released her gently and she steadied herself with one hand against the mossy stone of the sundial. She was trembling down to the tips of her toes. She pressed her fingers against her lips in confusion and the beginnings of desire.

‘So is that a yes?’ Simon demanded. His eyes were bright and hard with passion. Anne saw it; for the first time in her life, she understood the truly awesome strength of her own power and felt the excitement flood her body. To be able to do this to such a man…She could bring him to his knees. She felt dizzy at the thought.

‘I am considering it,’ she said demurely. ‘’Tis true, my lord, that you are very pleasant to look upon…’

His lips twitched in response, but she could feel the impatient desire in him, barely held under control. ‘Thank you,’ he murmured. ‘And?’

‘And I have…enjoyed…the time that we have spent in each other’s company…’

‘And?’

‘And indeed I think you must kiss very nicely, my lord, although I have no means of comparison.’

Simon made a movement towards her, but she evaded him, dancing away down the path. She was laughing now, the exhilaration burning in her veins.

‘So having given consideration to your offer…’

She paused, looked at him. He caught her wrist, pulled her close and held her still.

‘Yes?’ he said.

‘I will marry you,’ she whispered, as their lips met again. ‘With all my heart.’

Grafton, Oxfordshire, England

February 1645

The snow had been falling all day. It hung like a shroud between the besieged manor house of Grafton and the army that encircled it a bare half mile away. Now, as the church bell tolled midnight, the darkness had an unearthly glow that struck a chill into the men’s hearts. In the morning they were to do battle, but for tonight they huddled in the byres and barns of the village, around the fitful fires. They drank the last of their ale, talked in low voices and tried not to think of the morrow.

When the knock came at the door, Simon Greville thought at first that he had imagined it. He had already met with his captains, they had talked of their strategy for the morning and had retired to wait for dawn and get what little sleep they could. He had given specific orders that he should not be disturbed further that night. Yet the knock came once again, soft but insistent, on the barn door. Simon was not angered to have his instructions gainsaid, but he was curious. His authority was such that only in the direst emergency would his men disobey his direct command.

He strode across the room and flung wide the door. It shook on its hinges and a flurry of wind swept in, bringing with it night chill and a scattering of snowflakes. The candles guttered and the smell of tallow stung the air.